Alto: The Voice of Bel Canto 1442265051, 9781442265059

Table of contents :
Dedication
Contents
Musical Examples
List of Figures
Acknowledgments
Introduction
Part I: The Alto Voice in the Baroque Era
1 Mezzos and Contraltos
2 Why Castrati
3 Altos in the Dawn of Opera
4 Altos, Neapolitan Style
5 Mr. “Hendel’s” Altos
6 Faustina Bordoni and Il Caro Sassone
7 Gluck’s Basses-Dessus and Mozart’s Altos
8 Intermezzo
Part II: Altos in the Romantic Revolution
9 Cambio di Voce
10 The Swan of Pesaro and I Musici
11 The Maestro and the Prima Donna Assoluta
12 Giuditta Pasta
13 Caroline Unger (Ungher): The Forgotten Prima Donna
14 Maria (Garcia) Malibran
15 Pauline (Garcia) Viardot
16 The Altos of Grand Opéra
17 “La Favorite,” Rosine Stoltz
18 Altos in Opéra Lyrique and Opéra Comique
19 The Bel Canto Altos of Bellini and Donizetti
20 Verdi and Verismo Altos
21 German Romanticism, Wagner, Strauss, and the Alto Voice
22 The Russian Altos
23 Altos in the English-Speaking World
Part III: Altos after 1900
24 Twentieth-Century Altos
25 Contemporary Alto Singers
Selected Bibliography: Books
Selected Bibliography: Articles, Essays, and Web Sites
Alto Singer Index
General Index
About the Author

Citation preview

Alto

Alto The Voice of Bel Canto

Dan H. Marek

R OW M A N & L I T T L E F I E L D

Lanham • Boulder • New York • London

Published by Rowman & Littlefield A wholly owned subsidiary of The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. 4501 Forbes Boulevard, Suite 200, Lanham, Maryland 20706 www.rowman.com Unit A, Whitacre Mews, 26-34 Stannary Street, London SE11 4AB Copyright © 2016 by Rowman & Littlefield All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote passages in a review. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Information Available Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Marek, Dan. Title: Alto : the voice of bel canto / Dan H. Marek. Description: Lanham : Rowman & Littlefield, [2016] | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2016021739 (print) | LCCN 2016023541 (ebook) | ISBN 9781442265059 (cloth : alk. paper) | ISBN 9781442235892 (electronic) Subjects: LCSH: Contraltos. | Opera. Classification: LCC ML1700 .M156 2016 (print) | LCC ML1700 (ebook) | DDC 783.6/8—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016021739 The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992. Printed in the United States of America

To Joyce DiDonato in whom the highest standards of bel canto yet live

Contents

Musical Examples

ix

Figures xi Acknowledgments xiii Introduction xv Part I:  The Alto Voice in the Baroque Era   1  Mezzos and Contraltos

3

  2  Why Castrati?

5

  3  Altos in the Dawn of Opera

23

  4  Altos, Neapolitan Style

25

  5  Mr. “Hendel’s” Altos

31

  6  Faustina Bordoni and Il Caro Sassone 39  7  Gluck’s Basses-Dessus and Mozart’s Altos

43

 8  Intermezzo

49

Part II:  Altos in the Romantic Revolution  9  Cambio di Voce 57 10  The Swan of Pesaro and I Musici 59 11 The Maestro and the Prima Donna Assoluta 69 12  Giuditta Pasta

81

13  Caroline Unger (Ungher): The Forgotten Prima Donna

95

14  Maria (Garcia) Malibran

99

15  Pauline (Garcia) Viardot

113

16  The Altos of Grand Opéra 133 17  “La Favorite,” Rosine Stoltz

137

18  Altos in Opéra Lyrique and Opéra Comique 141 19 The Bel Canto Altos of Bellini and Donizetti

149 vii

viii

Contents

20  Verdi and Verismo Altos

159

21  German Romanticism, Wagner, Strauss, and the Alto Voice

167

22  The Russian Altos

175

23  Altos in the English-Speaking World

181

Part III:  Altos after 1900 24  Twentieth-Century Altos

189

25  Contemporary Alto Singers

201

Selected Bibliography: Books

223

Selected Bibliography: Articles, Essays, and Web Sites

227

Alto Singer Index

229

General Index

233

About the Author

241

Musical Examples

Musical Example 2.1.  “Son qual nave” from Ataserse by Riccardo Broschi

8

Musical Example 2.2.  “Qual nave smarita” from Radamisto by George Frideric Handel

19

Musical Example 4.1.  “Destrier che alle armi usato” from Poro by Nicolò Porpora

27

Musical Example 5.1.  “Ombra mai fu” from Serse by George Frideric Handel. Embellishment by Dr. Putnam Aldrich

36

Musical Example 8.1.  Mozart’s Letter about Lucrezia Agujari

49

ix

Figures

Figure 5.1.   Senesino (Francesco Bernardi) by Alexander van Haecken (1701–1758) after Thomas Hudson (1701–1779)

32

Figure 5.2.   Giovanni Carestini. Courtesy Clarissa Lablache Cheer

34

Figure 5.3.   Caffarelli (Gaetano Majorano) by Pier Leone Ghezzi (c. 1740)

35

Figure 6.1.   Faustina Bordoni by Rosalba Carriera (1675–1757)

39

Figure 8.1.   Giuseppina Grassini by Louise Élisabeth Vigée Le Brun (1755–1842)

51

Figure 8.2.   Luisa Todi by Louise Élisabeth Vigée Le Brun

52

Figure 10.1.  Giuditta Pasta as Tancredi. Collection of the author

61

Figure 10.2.  Geltrude Righetti-Giorgi

64

Figure 11.1.  Isabella Colbran as Desdemona in Rossini’s Otello. Courtesy Clarissa Lablache Cheer

70

Figure 11.2.  Marietta Alboni. Collection of the author

77

Figure 12.1.  Giuditta Pasta as Desdemona in Rossini’s Otello. Collection of the author

81

Figure 13.1.  Caroline Unger (Ungher)

95

Figure 14.1.  Maria Malibran as Desdemona in Rossini’s Otello by Henri Decaisne (1799–1852)

99

Figure 15.1.  Pauline Viardot from a photo by Erwin Hanfstaengl

113

Figure 17.1.  Gilbert-Louis Duprez and Rosine Stoltz in Donizetti’s La Favorite by Gabriel Lépaulle (1804–1886)

137

Figure 18.1.  Célestine Galli-Marié as Carmen by Henri Lucien Doucet (1856–1895)

142

Figure 18.2.  Emma Calvé as Carmen. Collection of the author

145

Figure 19.1. Giuseppina Ronzi de Begnis as Fatima in Pietro L’Ermita (an alternate version of Rossini’s Mosé in Egitto) by A. E. Chalon (1780–1860)

152

Figure 20.1.  Maria Waldmann by Mondel and Jacob, Wiesbaden

163

Figure 21.1.  Marianne Brandt by A. Erlich, repro. Albert H. Payne, 1902

170

Figure 21.2.  Ernestine Schumann-Heink as Waltraute in Götterdämmerung, Metropolitan Opera, 1902

171

Figure 22.1.  Yulina Platonova

176

Figure 23.1.  Clara Butt as Brittania

182

Figure 23.2.  Minnie Hauk as Carmen

184

Figure 23.3.  Louise Homer as Amneris in Aida. Collection of the author

185

xi

xii

Figures

Figure 24.1.  Conchita Supervia by Antonio Esplugas (1852–1929)

191

Figure 24.2.  Giulietta Simionato as Santuzza by Louis Mélançon. Courtesy Metropolitan Opera Archives

192

Figure 24.3.  Sigrid Onégin as Lady Macbeth by Schneider, Berlin. Courtesy Metropolitan Opera Archives

193

Figure 24.4.  Kathleen Ferrier

197

Figure 25.1.  Risë Stevens as Octavian by Bender. Courtesy Metropolitan Opera Archives

201

Figure 25.2.  Marilyn Horne as Adalgisa in Norma by Louis Mélançon. Courtesy Metropolitan Opera Archives

203

Figure 25.3.  Frederica von Stade as Rosina by Heffernen. Courtesy Metropolitan Opera Archives

204

Figure 25.4.  Cecilia Bartoli as Rosina by Minnie Klotz. Courtesy Metropolitan Opera Archives

205

Figure 25.5.  Joyce DiDonato as Rosina by Ken Howard. Courtesy Metropolitan Opera Archives

206

Dan H. Marek by Louis Marek

241

Acknowledgments

Clarissa Lablache Cheer, a direct descendant of the great basso Luigi Lablache, has generously contributed illustrations from the Lablache Archive. Herr Rainer Rupp and Frau Heike Haberl of the Simon Mayr Gesellschaft kindly provided information on Mayr and his influence on Donizetti. Signor Sergio Ragni, a scholar on the subject of Isabel Colbran, was very helpful on the subject of Rossini’s muse. Kenneth Stern, who wrote a definitive book on the career of Giuditta Pasta, was the source of much information on the great diva. A special thanks to the late Robert Tuggle, John Pennino, and John Tomasicchio of the Metropolitan Opera Archives for help with the illustrations. I would also like to express appreciation to my former senior editor at Rowman & Littlefield, Bennett Graff, who was a great source of advice and encouragement to me. Thanks also to Natalie Mandziuk, acquisitions editor, and Monica Savaglia, Erin McGarvey, Annette Van Deusen, Theresa Phillips, and Darren Williams at Rowman & Littlefield.

I would like to express my special thanks to the following three scholars who have given me invaluable help in the preparation of this book: Philip Gossett, the world’s outstanding authority on nineteenth-century Italian opera, especially the works of Rossini, has devoted a great deal of his valuable time in correcting and editing my manuscript dealing with Isabel Colbran and Rossini, as well as other aspects of the operatic vocal scene, both in its historical and contemporary settings. Dr. Paul Micio of the Sorbonne and critic of the Donizetti Society originally reviewed my Giovanni Battista Rubini and the Bel Canto Tenors: History and Technique and offered many constructive criticisms that have helped me immensely. Dr. Miscio then spent several months editing my chapters on French repertoire and is also an expert on good writing style. His generosity is amazing. Alexander Weatherson, scholar and chairman of the Donizetti Society, edited and corrected the chapters on Donizetti and printed prepublication excerpts from this book in the Donizetti Society Newsletter. His input on the career of Rosine Stoltz was also very helpful.

xiii

Introduction

Dr. Charles Burney (1726–1814), the English composer, musician, and historian whose works have been a fountainhead for musicologists for more than two hundred years, neatly sums up the long history of singing:

of the Baroque era would not engage our attention on stage today despite the frantic efforts of stage directors intent on engaging the eye instead of the ear. But the incredible ease of obtaining recorded performances of these works on records makes a new appreciation of vocal virtuosity possible. Now we can concentrate on the beauty of the voices and the music, as we should. Special effects are not new. In Venice of the seventeenth century, whole armies and naval forces fought battles on the stage, along with horses and chariots, as well as elephants. In our time falsettists, called countertenors, such as David Daniels (b. 1966) and Andreas Scholl (b. 1967) have valiantly performed Baroque music, especially Handel, but the falsetto voice has limitations that have been rejected throughout vocal history. To my mind, the female alto voice is the most satisfying performer of this music. The so-called coloratura soprano and high tenor were unknown in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. As the baritone is considered the “normal” voice of the adult male, so is the alto the “normal” voice of the female. The fact emerges that the alto voice was the voice of bel canto for more than 250 years. The composers wrote music of a moderate range, and virtuosity—vocal, musical, and emotional—was the standard by which artists were measured. Maybe it is time to appreciate these virtues again.

But every excellence in music when it has been pursued to excess is thrown aside to lie fallow till forgotten; and after a series of years, like a fashion in apparel, it is started again as a new invention. Great powers of execution depend on the natural voice and peculiar talents of the singer; the exertion and use of those powers, on the state of composition at the time. If sobriety and simplicity reign, no great exertion will be allowed, however capable the singer may be of performing extraordinary feats; but if refinement, subtlety, high notes, or rapid divisions are the mode, the singer must not submit to the limits of nature and facility, but must torment himself day and night in attempting impossibilities, or he will be heard with as much indifference as a ballad-singer in the streets.1

This statement holds true today. The fantastic artistic feats of the castrati, their female counterparts, and the women singers called musici who replaced them in the early nineteenth century are now being appreciated because of the efforts, first, of Marilyn Horne (b. 1934) and now Cecilia Bartoli (b. 1966), Joyce DiDonato (b. 1969), Vivica Genaux (b. 1969), Jennifer Larmore (b. 1958), Ewa Podleś (b. 1952), and Sonia Prina (b. 1975), among others. The operas of Francesco Cavalli (1602–1676), Antonio Cesti (1623–1669), Leonardo Leo (1694–1774), Leonardo Vinci (1696–1730), Niccoló Porpora (1686–1768), Johann Adolf Hasse (1699–1783), and many other composers

NOTE 1.  Charles Burney, A General History of Music from the Earliest Ages to the Present Period, vol. 4 (London: Payne & Son, 1789), 413–14.

xv

I THE ALTO VOICE IN THE BAROQUE ERA

1 Mezzos and Contraltos

parts, like Curlew River by Benjamin Britten (1913–1976), and females in male roles like the familiar Cherubino in Le nozze di Figaro and Octavian in Der Rosenkavalier. In order to bring a little order to this study, I will revert to the old name for these voices—altos, which, curiously enough, means “high” in Italian (alt in German). The contralto voice is an acoustical instrument that is pitched a minor third below the lyric soprano, while the mezzo-soprano is only a half-step higher than the contralto. With this information in hand, we can begin to understand mezzo-soprano– contralto history. Throughout history, especially since the soprano began to be singled out as the prima donna assoluta during the beginning of the nineteenth century, mezzo-sopranos have lusted after their notoriety (and fees). Many have decided to try the soprano repertoire, with varying degrees of success. In studying vocal history one continually runs across accounts of altos, such as Maria Malibran (1808–1836) and her sister Pauline Viardot (1821–1910), who consistently sang parts that today are the sole province of sopranos. Certainly transposition played a part in such forays. Modern singers such as Christa Ludwig (b. 1928), Shirley Verrett (b. 1931), and Grace Bumbry (b. 1937) sang higher dramatic roles but felt more comfortable in lower altitudes. Regina Resnik (1922–2013) began as a dramatic soprano but moved permanently down to mezzo/contralto roles. All of these singers were probably more contraltos than mezzos, while higher mezzos, such as Cecilia Bartoli and Frederica von Stade (b. 1945) would happily sing ingenue parts such as Zerlina and Despina.

Be not afeared; the isle is full of noises, Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not.1

Like Prospero’s mysterious island, the passaggio2 can be a scary place. This is the land of the contralto and mezzo-soprano, both male and female. The problem of a smooth transition from one register to the other is the same, regardless of gender, granting that the passage is in the bottom of female voices and the top of their male counterparts. Registration is a relatively clear-cut issue for sopranos and basses, but the interior voices are forced to continually pass back and forth across this no-man’s-land. This is the source of much confusion because young singers are often unsure about their vocal category. For example, young female soprano singers who are auditioning for our school (Mannes College of Music) often audition as mezzo-sopranos because their top voices are deficient. Of course, their voices are lacking in true mezzo or contralto color, and they are advised to work on their problems technically to find their true voices. The problems lie deeper. In a recent issue of Musical America International Directory of the Performing Arts, there were listings for 455 mezzo-sopranos and only 24 for contraltos! The Metropolitan Opera lists mezzo-sopranos but no contraltos. What happened? Has the female physiology changed that much in the two hundred years since Gioachino Rossini’s (1792–1868) time? Of course not! The answer is that natural contraltos, fearful of being shut out of all of the juicy roles, call themselves mezzos in order to work regularly. Luigi Lablache (1794–1858), the great nineteenth-century basso, in his Method of Singing, threw up his hands at this confusion, stating that “as for Contralto voices, they are so varied in their capacities that it is impossible to prescribe general studies for them.”3 Into this troublesome state of affairs we can toss the Broadway belters (women who drive the chest voice up into the middle in order to sound more powerful), countertenors (male falsettists), and the castrati, many of whom started as male sopranos and whose voices gradually descended as they grew older. Further adding to the confusion is the spectacle of gender switching (en travesti), where we have males singing female

NOTES 1.  William Shakespeare, The Tempest (New York: Spencer Press, 1958), 3.3.136–37. 2. The passaggio (passage) is the Italian word for the region of the voice, roughly from D above Middle C to the G above, where the voice must pass from the chest register to the next register above. 3. Luigi Lablache, Abridged Method of Singing (Cincinnati, OH: John Church, 1873), 9. 3

2 Why Castrati?

The main reason for the adoption of the castrato voice was that by the end of the sixteenth century, falsetto singing was rejected in artistic solo singing. Women were not allowed to sing in the church, following the Pauline Dictum: mulier taceat in ecclesia (women are to remain silent in the church). St. Paul (c. 5–c. 67) meant that women were not to preach or engage in theological discussion, but the church interpreted this as absolute, so women were forbidden not only to speak, but also to sing. In earlier times, the soprano line (descant) of the polyphonic music was carried by boy sopranos, who were weak, musically unreliable, and whose voices changed just when they were sufficiently trained. It was necessary, therefore, for the alto male singers to hold their voices back by the use of falsetto to blend with the boys on the descant line. Practically all vocal music was polyphonic, but with the invention of opera in 1597, it was necessary to develop a more assertive solo sound. Giulio Caccini (c. 1560–c. 1615) renounced the use of the falsetto in solo singing

Toledo, sang in the Sistine choir from 1588 to 1625. The first Italian castrati, Petrus Paulus Folignatus and Hieronymous Rossinus were admitted to the papal choir in 1599. For the next 250 years, the Italian musici, as they were also called, both sopranos and altos, dominated the choir. It is therefore clear that the institution of the castrati was developed at first, not in the theater, but in the church. The last castrato, soprano Alessandro Moreschi (1858–1921) sang in the Sistine choir until Pope Pius X (1835– 1914) banned the castrati in 1903. Moreschi can still be heard on primitive recordings, but he was a very poor singer, and we cannot get any idea of the glorious singing of the greatest of these artists from them, although they are invaluable as historical documents. During the a cappella period (1474–1640), the word mezzosoprano was unknown. The male soprano of that era sang in about the same range as today’s mezzo; the lower treble voice was called alto. This is not to say that there were no women singers during the Renaissance. Since women were forbidden to sing in church and in most places on the stage as well, they usually appeared only in social situations. In the court of Ferrara, solo singing by women was encouraged. Francesca Caccini (1587–1641), the eldest daughter of Giulio Caccini, was a fine singer and composer. She was the first woman known to have composed opera and was the highest paid musician on the staff of the Medici family—employed as a singer, teacher, and composer. Settima Caccini (1591–c. 1660), her younger sister, was also a singer and composer said to have “an immortal reputation having mastered to perfection the art of singing.”3 The famous trio of the Bendidio sisters (Isabella, 1546–1610, and Lucrezia, 1547–1584) and Laura Peparara (c. 1560–c. 1601) were reported by G. B. Doni (1594–1647) to have sung 350 madrigals by memory during the period between 1579 and 1597.4 Women were also soloists in the intermedii (forerunners of opera) presentations and in the first operas in Florence. For the most part, however, the alto parts were sung by men in choral music, and the designation SATB still stands today. When the term alto was first used, it meant a falsettist, later a castrato. In the early sixteenth century, the alto line was called contratenor altus, which became contralto, earlier misunderstood as a contraction of contra

When a man sings a solo, he does not have to accommodate himself to others as in ensemble singing, so that he should choose a range which he can sing in natural voice without recourse to the falsetto.1

Bernhard Ulrich also states: It is possible that the falsetto was sufficient for less imposing times and conditions. The advent of the castrati is an energetic renunciation of the falsetto. The degeneration of the art of the falsetto must have set in with the introduction of the castrati. This happened in the last half of the sixteenth century. Authentic information about the use of castrati in singing during the preceding period is, so far as I am aware, not yet known.2

A special method of producing the falsetto voice with more power was supposedly developed in Spain during the sixteenth century, and the papal choir imported most of its singers (spagnoletti) from there. The papal choir under Pope Clement VII (1478–1534) consisted of seven sopranos, seven countertenors (altos), five tenors, and six basses. These treble voices were probably covert castrati. The last falsettist, Giovanni de Sanctis of 5

6

Chapter 2

alto or “against the high.” However, the term contralto was rarely used; the common term was alto. Since the first third of the seventeenth century, the four ospedali (orphanages for girls) of Venice were famous for the quality of the performances by the girls. In 1737 Niccoló Porpora held various posts in three of the ospedali—Incurabili, Pietà, and Ospedaletto, which attests to the excellence of the instruction to be found there. Antonio Vivaldi (1678–1741) was employed at the Pio Ospedale della Pietà for thirty years and wrote most of his major works there, many for the girls of the orphanage. Vivaldi claimed to have written ninety-four operas but only about fifty have been found. He never achieved the eminence of his great contemporaries and did not have access to the greatest singers of his time, but Orlando furioso (1727) has been a favorite of several alto singers, most notably Marilyn Horne. In 1774, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749–1832) reported on a performance of Ferdinando Bertoni’s (1725–1813) oratorio Saul furens by the female singers and orchestra of the fourth Venetian ospedale, the Mendicanti. The women presented an oratorio from behind a grill in the church, which was filled with listeners; the music was beautiful, and the voices were magnificent. An alto sang the role of Saul, the single figure in the libretto. I scarcely realized that such a voice existed.5

Today there is quite a lot of interest in the subject of the castrati. The film Farinelli (1994) and Cecilia Bartoli’s Sacrificium recording convey quite a lot of information, although Farinelli is largely fictional. It is very difficult for modern audiences accustomed to being marginalized by the pop music industry to understand why the Italians of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries would ever consider having their children sacrificed in such a manner, just for music’s sake. However, if we consider the ubiquity of pop music today, we can begin to understand the importance of opera in seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Italy. The church and the opera house were the centers of social activity. In Venice, a city of around 250,000 people, there were six opera houses operating simultaneously. Opera (seria) was in demand in every city and court in the land and there was intense competition for the best singers and composers. Most of the singers were attached to courts where they were required to furnish the entertainment as well as participate in religious ceremonies. A few became fabulously wealthy and famous and attained a level of virtuosity never before or since achieved. In such a “seller’s market,” there was ample opportunity for abuse. Superstition led some impoverished parents to believe that the operation itself would be enough to ensure their child’s fortune and a comfortable old age for themselves. There are estimates that some four thousand children per year were subjected to castration at the height of the eighteenth century.6 Most were Italian but there was some such activity in Germany. Very few achieved fame or riches, and the vast majority were relegated to miserable lives in church choirs or were minor abbés or servants. Some were even prostitutes.

The act of castration itself was never sanctioned and carried a penalty of death or excommunication at the very least, so it was a clandestine affair indeed. However, once the deed was done, the victim was allowed to seek any career path open to him. Many of the opera stars had stories about the accidents that rendered them eunuchs—such as being attacked by a goose as a child or falling off a horse. The operation itself was called an orchiectomy. The typical castrato was not capable of procreation but was able to have intercourse, a fact that has given rise to many stories about their sexual exploits with noblewomen. “Sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander,” especially when there is no risk of unwanted pregnancy in such a patriarchic era. The allure of the musico’s “rock star” status led to many abuses and arrogance, just like today’s pop stars. There is a famous story of an English noblewoman, in ecstasy over a performance, who cried out “One God! One Farinelli!” The church’s official stand, that sex is to be reserved solely for procreation, made it impossible for the castrati to marry, and this is the real tragedy of this story. A castrato’s connection with the future could only be in their memories and in those of their students. The intervention into the endocrine system of a boy had a number of physical consequences. The typical castrato grew very tall with a smaller-than-normal head covered with a thick head of hair. He was sallow, beardless, and some exhibited female-like breasts (gynecomastia). The chest, quite large with more expansion front to back at the sternum (called keel-chest or pectus carinatum), which, along with strenuous breathing exercises from boyhood, enabled the singer to expand the lungs much farther than normal, resulting in a stupendous breathing capacity. The castrato has to be seen as a “singing machine” constructed simply and solely by making use of the laws of biology. The underlying principle was that of exploiting and strengthening in adult human beings certain features characteristic of the boy’s voice. Among “white” voices, the boy’s voice is that which in the natural range known in vocal jargon as “chest voice” has the largest number of notes from b flat to d’’ or e’’. Fairly often, therefore, the range is to f ’’, which means that from ten to thirteen notes can be sung with full voice in the chest register, as against approximately half that number in the female soprano voice. The advantage is obvious if we consider the strength, the fullness, the “bite” of the chest or “natural voice” as compared with the more penetrating but less vibrant and rounded sounds of the female “head voice.” Thus orchiectomy inhibited the growth of the larynx before the voice broke, in other words before the boy, because of the lowering of the sounds by an octave which takes place in the adult, took on the characteristics of a man’s voice. An operation was therefore carried out on the testes (by binding the testicular cord and possibly even by removing the testes in certain cases), the result being—the effect was known at the time but not the cause—a stoppage of the secretion of testosterone, the hormone that causes the growth of the larynx.7

These physical characteristics, combined with strenuous and thorough training carried on from boyhood, enabled the castrati to access extraordinary vocal feats of phrasing, flex-



Why Castrati? 7

ibility, agility, dynamic control, power, and range. Without question, many of the female singers of the period trained by the same methods, such as Faustina Bordoni (1697–1781), Vittoria Tesi (Tramontini) (1700–1775), and Francesca Cuzzoni (1696–1778), were almost the equal of the evirati but never reached the heights of such great singers as Farinelli (Carlo Broschi, 1705–1782), Caffarelli (Gaetano Majorano, 1710–1783), Giovanni Carestini (c. 1705–c. 1759), and Senesino (Francesco Bernardi [1690–?]). The competition between singer and instrument is the story of a famous anecdote by Burney about Farinelli and a trumpet player: when he was seventeen he went to Rome with Porpora. During the run of an opera there was a struggle between him and a famous player on the trumpet. It started as an amiable and sportive contest until the audience began to take sides. After severally swelling a note, in which each manifested the power of his lungs and tried to rival each other in brilliancy and force, they had both a swell and shake together, in thirds, which was continued so long, while the audience eagerly awaited the event that both seemed to be exhausted and, in fact, the trumpeter wholly spent, gave it up, thinking that his antagonist was as much tired as himself and that it would be a drawn battle, when Farinelli, with a smile on his countenance, showing that he had only been sporting with him all the time, broke out all at once in the same breath, with fresh vigor, and not only swelled and shook the note, but ran the most rapid and difficult divisions and was at last silenced only by the acclamations of the audience. From this period may be dated that superiority which he ever maintained over his contemporaries.8

As the castrati grew older, their voices reflected a slow mutation so that they moved lower in pitch, a soprano often finishing his career as a contralto. The boyish voice took on a tenor quality in the bottom that was much louder and more brilliant than any female mezzo-soprano or contralto. Dr. Burney reported hearing Gasparo Pacchierotti, who had a range of more than three octaves, sing tenor arias in their original keys. The most important point was that the castrato voice retained the quality of a boy’s voice, but because it was driven by the strength of a grown man, it was much more powerful and penetrating. During the seventeenth century the librettists and composers were drawn to idyllic Acadian types of metaphors, such as descriptions of rivers and the sea, comparing them to feelings of love. There were also imitations of birdsong and expressions of fury and vengeance. However, as vocal technique advanced into the eighteenth century, artists such as Antonio Bernacchi (c. 1690–1756), Carestini, and Farinelli were able to perform dazzling feats of virtuosity such as lung-bursting runs, wide leaps (con slancio), trills, and martellato effects in so-called tempest arias that compared the fury of storms at sea with the raging of the human heart. Farinelli, considered a soprano with a threeoctave range, was a law unto himself but mostly sang in the alto range. One of the most famous of these arias was “Son qual nave” from Ataserse (1734), by Farinelli’s brother, Riccardo Broschi (1698–1756). It is performed beautifully by Cecilia Bartoli in the Sacrificium recording.

Musical example 2.1.  “Son qual nave” from Ataserse by Riccardo Broschi

Musical example 2.1.  (continued)

Musical example 2.1.  (continued)

Musical example 2.1.  (continued)

Musical example 2.1.  (continued)

Musical example 2.1.  (continued)

Musical example 2.1.  (continued)

Musical example 2.1.  (continued)

Musical example 2.1.  (continued)

Musical example 2.1.  (continued)

Musical example 2.1.  (continued)



Why Castrati? 19

The “tempest” aria was not only effective for the male singers, and it did not have to be an aria agitato. The aria “Qual nave smarrita tra sirti e tempesta” from Radamisto (1720), one of Handel’s first “tempest” arias, was written for Margherita Durastanti (1686–1734). Radamisto was later revived with Senesino in the title role. There were also tempest arias written for sopranos after Cuzzoni, the first great high soprano, who created the role of Cleopatra in Giulio Cesare (1724). “Da tempeste il legno infranto” has been happily twittered by legions of sopranos ever since. To my

mind, the raw power and resonant voice of a contralto like Marilyn Horne in “Furibondo spira il vento” from Partenope (1730) is far more satisfying. The powerful alto voice is the best choice for the tempest aria. We see, therefore, that composers for a period of more than two hundred years were writing music of a moderate range to accommodate the alto voice, both male and female. Screaming high notes was quite beside the point, and the soprano “diva” only gained ascendancy in the early nineteenth century. Basses and tenors were relegated to character roles, so we can truly say that the alto voice was the voice of bel canto.

Musical Example 2.2.  “Qual nave smarita” from Radamisto by George Frideric Handel

Musical Example 2.2.  (continued)



Why Castrati? 21

Musical Example 2.2.  (continued)

NOTES 1.  Bernhard Ulrich, Concerning the Principles of Vocal Training during the A Cappella Period and until the Beginning of Opera (1474–1640), trans. John Seal (Minneapolis, MN: Pro Musica Press, 1973), 98. 2. Ulrich, Concerning the Principles of Vocal Training, 100. 3.  Susan Parisi, “Settima Caccini,” The New Grove Dictionary of Opera, vol. 1, ed. Stanley Sadie (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), 669.

4. Ulrich, Concerning the Principles of Vocal Training, 93–94. 5. Jane Baldauf-Berdes, Women Musicians of Venice, 1525–1855 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993), 242. 6.  Henry Pleasants, The Great Singers (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1966), 38. 7. Rodolfo Celletti, A History of Bel Canto (New York: Oxford University Press, 1991), 108–9. 8.  Charles Burney, The Present State of Music in France and Italy (London, 1773; New York: Broude Brothers, 1969), 213–14.

3 Altos in the Dawn of Opera

Theatrical productions integrated with music and songs have gone on for thousands of years. Certainly the ancient Greeks included music with their plays, and it was as an attempt to re-create the Greek drama by a group of Florentine scholars and noblemen called the Camerata that the strange hybrid called opera was born. It is generally agreed that the first opera was Dafne by Ottavio Rinuccini (1562–1621), with music by Jacopo Peri (1561–1633) and Jacopo Corsi (1561–1602) in 1598. In these early operas the contralto voice, like the tenor and bass, was mostly assigned to character roles. In Dafne (1608), on the same libretto with music by Marco da Gagliano (1582–1643), the performer receiving the highest praise was Antonio Brandi (fl. 1600–1610), an alto castrato (Burney calls him a countertenor), as the shepherd-messenger Tirsi. Venice was the most important center for opera in the latter half of the seventeenth century, and its influence spread to all the major European cities. The first theater fully devoted to opera production, the Teatro San Cassiano, opened in Venice in 1737. The castrati, both alto and soprano, were “the stars of the show.” A visitor to Venice who reflected the French distaste for the castrati had this to say:

As regards women’s voices, in exactly the same way as both his contemporaries and his predecessors, Monteverdi uses two: the contralto or male alto, and a type of voice which is soprano in name but never sings in very high tessituras or over a very wide range, and in any event simply coincides with the mezzo-soprano voice.2

In L’incoronazione di Poppea, one of the most beautiful arias, “Oblivion soave” is sung by Poppea’s nurse Arnalta, a contralto. In keeping with the confusion about this voice, this role and others portraying a lusty old woman have alternated between a contralto and a countertenor (falsettist). Santa Marchesina (fl. 1706–1739) was a famous contralto who specialized in this kind of role, often serving as a foil between two buffo basses. In modern editions of these works, these roles are often designated as mezzo-soprano. Comic characters (often sung by contraltos) were regularly inserted into serious operas of the seventeenth century in much the same way that clowns give comic relief to Shakespeare’s dramas. This practice died out in the eighteenth century, however, and Handel only had one such episode in all his operas—that of the character Elviro (bass) in Serse. Pier Francesco Caletti-Bruni, known as Francesco Cavalli, was an outstanding composer of the early Venetian school. His opera Giasone (Jason) was “the single most popular opera of the seventeenth century.”3 Giasone (1649), as well as Serse (1655) and Pompeo Magno (1666), featured alto castrati in the title roles, in keeping with the principle, established by Claudio Monteverdi (1567–1643) and the Roman school that historical and mythological heroes were to be portrayed by evirati, while their love interests were generally portrayed by female sopranos. The range of pitch of Cavalli’s operas was modest; the sopranos (male and female) were mostly in the range of the mezzo-sopranos of today, rarely exceeding the high A, but he moved toward a more expansive style in his later works. The most famous example of the Baroque court opera was Il pomo d’oro by Pietro Antonio Cesti (1623–1669). It had five acts, divided into sixty-six scenes, with twenty-four stage settings and lasted for ten hours. There were ten separate roles written for alto castrati.

There is also one Thing that charms them, which I believe would not please you; I mean those unhappy Men who basely suffer themselves to be maimed, that they may have finer Voices. The silly Figure! which, in my Opinion, such a mutilated Fellow makes, who sometimes acts the Bully and sometimes the Passionate Lover, with his Effeminate Voice and wither’d Chin is such a thing to be endured?1

Because Roman ecclesiastical authorities did not permit women to appear on stage in a public theater, many fine women singers were forced to emigrate from there and the Venetian opera was born. The Roman contralto Giulia Saus Paolelli (fl. 1633–1653), who was Penelope in Monteverdi’s Il ritorno d’Ulisse in patria in Bologna and Venice in 1641, was one of the first “divas” in operatic history. The high soprano that we equate with this title was unknown during this time and well into the eighteenth century. 23

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All the parts [in Il pomo d’oro] were sung by men, with the quaint consequence that some of the male characters in the opera have higher voices than the female ones—a situation not uncommon in Italian seventeenth-century opera even when there were women singers, for the composers favored the woman’s alto voice and commonly reserved the soprano roles for castrati.4

Some of these roles, such as Didone (Dido) and Medea, expand the female roles to heroic proportions. Cesti’s writing for the voice was not so different from Cavalli’s and other composers of the time, but Celletti says that “it was with Antonio Cesti that Venetian opera took a decisive step in the glorification of the art of singing.”5 Other Venetian composers who were prominent in the latter half of the seventeenth century were Carlo Francisco Pollarollo (1653–1722), Antonio Sartorio (c. 1620–1684), Giovanni Legrenzi (1626–1690), Pietro Andrea Zeani (c. 1620–1684), and Giovanni Domenico Freschi (1640–1690). In general, these composers tended to write more florid music for sopranos than for altos, both male and female. However, there were plenty of opportunities for the altos—for example, a prototype of the “mad” scene, so dear to Bellini and Donizetti, in Legrenzi’s Totila (1677). The Roman consul Pubblicola (male alto) loses his mind at the false news of his wife’s death at the hands of the Goth invaders. In the same opera, the part of Vestige (female mezzo-soprano), is written in the C clef, a rarity in seventeenth-century opera. In Pollarollo’s Onorio in Roma, the eponymous hero (male alto) sings one of the earliest imitations of birdsong in “Usignoli che cantata.” In Cesti the coloratura begins to take on effects borrowed from instruments, such as the organ, violin, or harpsichord. The trumpet accompaniment in Sartorio and Legrenzi is used to distinguish royalty or warrior heroes.

The Venetian influence on opera was not slow to spread to other parts of Europe, principally the South German courts. Two composers in residence there were Carlo Pallavicino (c. 1640–1686), the director of the first permanent opera house in Dresden, and Agostino Steffani (1654–1728) in Munich and Hanover. Both composers moved in the direction of more florid figuration, increased velocity, expanded vocal range, and extended arias, which led to the glorification of the singer’s art in the da capo aria in the eighteenth century. Another technical improvement was the necessity of the attainment of spectacular breathing capacity by the singers of the century to come. The expansion of the vocal range introduced by Steffani is a novelty. Agamennone (tenor) in Breisede (“Dolce magna è la beltá”) reaches b’. The male alto rises to e’’; the (female) contralto voice, which following the precedent in Pollarolo’s Onorio in Roma we find used by Steffani in serious roles (Drusilla in Servio Tullio and Lavinia and Semiamira in Turno), sings up to d’’, a note unusual at the time for that vocal register, and incidentally initiated by Steffani in Turno, with a fairly decided virtuosity (e.g. Semiamira’s aria “Placidette belle aurette” in imitation of the sighing of the wind.)6

NOTES 1.  Donald J.Grout, A Short History of Opera, 2nd ed. (New York: Columbia University Press, 1965), 100. 2. Rodolfo Celletti, A History of Bel Canto (New York: Oxford University Press, 1991), 36. 3.  Amanda Holden, ed., The New Penguin Opera Guide (New York: Penguin Putnam, 2001), 159. 4. Grout, A Short History of Opera, 92. 5. Celletti, A History of Bel Canto, 43. 6. Celletti, A History of Bel Canto, 58.

4 Altos, Neapolitan Style

which became immensely popular as a counterbalance to the opera seria. These operas, mainly in the Neapolitan dialect, utilized the contralto voice in character parts and were disdained by the great castrato stars who only appeared in serious works. However, Leo did compose opere serie in his early career and later for Venice and Rome. Perhaps the best known was Andromaca (1742), his penultimate opera seria, which starred the soprano Giovanna Astrua (1720–1757) and the alto Gaetano Majorano, called Caffarelli. Caffarelli hated prima donnas and he and Astrua had a long history of conflict.

The other influence in the Italian opera of the eighteenth century came from the south. Alessandro Scarlatti (1660–1725) has been credited with being the founder of the so-called “Neapolitan” school, but Grout states that he should be understood as summing up the older tradition rather than as an initiator of a new movement. Perhaps Neapolitan is a misnomer; some called the style Galant or Rococo. While not inventing the ternary aria, Scarlatti gave it greater breadth and range of feeling. Most vocal students cut their eye teeth on such Scarlatti staples as “Gia il sole dal Gange” from L’onestà negli amori and “O cessate di piagarmi” from Pompeo, while never learning the art of improvisation that goes with them. Scarlatti had a rather modern desire to involve and stir the emotions of the listener much more than a typical composer of the period that, in my opinion, caused him to lift the tessituras of his works. However, he did not, as a rule, give the singers extremely high notes to sing. The highest note for his male altos and contraltos was usually E’’.

Caffarelli’s principal enemy was his own temperament; he was notorious for overbearing arrogance both to fellow artists and to the public. He had spells under house arrest and in prison, for assault, misconduct at a performance of Latilla’s Olimpia nell’ isola d’Abuda (1741), when he indulged in indecent gestures and mimicry of other singers, and for humiliating a prima donna [Astrua] in Hasse’s Antigono (1745). He was constantly late for rehearsals, and sometimes failed to turn up. He is said to mellow in old age and given large sums to charity; Burney was charmed by his politeness.2

In the operas of his mature years, however, Scarlatti’s writing is more virtuosic than that of Pallavicino or Steffani. This is particularly true of the male alto (Alfo in L’ammazone corsara, Elmiro in Rosaura, Muzio in Scipione nelle Gallia, Adalgiso in Carlo, re d’Allemagna) and of the female contralto voice which Scarlatti uses in serious roles as early as Honesta negli amori (1680, role of Rosmira) and carries to an unusual level of virtuosity for this type of voice with Cunegonda in La principessa fedele.1

Leonardo Vinci was the most important composer of the new Rococo or Galant style of composition for opera (the so-called aria opera), which featured recitatives alternating with as many as twenty-five da capo arias. Accompaniments were simplified and the melody emphasized. The casts were reduced to six stereotyped personages, which were arranged in a hierarchical order, the principal romantic couple (primo uomo and prima donna) taking first place. In locations where women were forbidden on the stage (Rome and Lisbon), female parts were taken by young castrati. The whole enterprise was designed to glorify the singer, whose influence had never been higher before or since. This strippeddown style even influenced Handel in some of his later operas. After a period of composing buffo operas, Vinci ventured into the realm of drammi per musica with Publio Cornelio Scipione in 1722. The young mezzo-soprano Faustina Bordoni, usually called simply Faustina, as Analgilda and Antonia Merighi (fl. 1711–1740, d. by 1764), contralto, in the male role of Lucejo,

Scarlatti apparently wrote more than one hundred operas but only about half are traceable, so we don’t know much about who were in the casts. However, we do know that the alto castrato Nicoló Grimaldi, called Nicolino (1673–1732), a fellow Neapolitan, became famous in Scarlatti operas. Among them were La caduta de’ Decemviri (1697), Muzio Scevola, and Il prigioniero fortunato (1698). Nicolino also starred in Pirro e Demetrio (1697), which introduced Italian opera to London in 1707. Both Antonio Bernacchi and Giovanni Carestini, two of the greatest alto castrati, were in Griselda in 1721. Others in the Galant school were Leonardo Leo and Leonardo Vinci. Leo is best known for the commedia per musica, 25

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were equally praised for their work in this opera. Silla Dittatore (1723), Vinci’s second drama per musica was written on the same subject as Mozart’s Lucio Silla—the abdication of the Roman dictator Sulla in 79 BC. The opera starred Nicolino as Silla and Merighi again in a pants role as Pompeo. The great contralto Vittoria Tesi sang the title role of Eraclea in Vinci’s next opera along with the famous Farinelli in 1724. Vinci went on to compose thirty-seven operas in a little more than a decade of accomplishment. His greatest works were Didone abbandonata, Siroe re di Persia, Catone in Utica, Semiramide reconosciuta, Alessandro nell’ Indie, and Ataserse, all written to libretti by his great friend Metastasio (Pietro Antonio Domenico Trapassi) (1698–1782). Invariably, the principal characters were portrayed by alto singers such as Mariana Benti Bulgarelli (La Romania) (? 1684–1734), a fine actress who was Metastasio’s mentor (and mistress). The title role in Didone abbandonata was written for her, but, in the premiere in Rome, she was not allowed onstage and had to be content to coach the alto castrato Giacinto Fontana (Farfallino) (fl. 1712–1735) in the female role of Dido. The role of Jarba was sung by Gaetano Berenstadt (c. 1690–1735), an alto castrato of German origin, who was one of the very few castrati who were not Italian. Nicolino, Carestini, and Bulgarelli were all in the cast of Siroe re di Persia in 1726. Il Medo (1728) featured soprano Farinelli as well as altos Bernacchi and Tesi. Farfallino then sang the eponymous role of Semiramide in 1729. Alessandro nell’ Indie (1729) and Ataserse (1730) had three altos in the cast—Carestini, Fontana (Farfallino), and Giuseppe Appiani (1712–1742), a contralto and student of Porpora. Vinci was an inveterate gambler and had money troubles all his life. Moreover, he was often in trouble with amorous affairs. Several years later in Naples, Charles de Brosses provides more details, giving substance to the rumor: “they say that he was insolent and having been punished more than once for a gallantry he conducted too openly with a Lady, he died of being poisoned.”3 As we study the careers of La Tesi, Bulgarelli, and Faustina and those of the great alto castrati, we can begin to surmise that the high soprano voice had no hegemony on the central roles in the Baroque opera, especially those of Vinci, Hasse, and Handel. The first so-called golden age of singing (there have been several) was roughly the period from Antonio Lotti (1667–1740) to George Frideric Handel (1685–1759). Lotti, Giovanni Bononcini (1670–c. 1750), and Nicolò Porpora were three composers who bridged the interval between Scarlatti and Handel, the great master of the eighteenth century. Lotti utilized several of the great altos who would become more famous in the decades to come—the alto castrato Francesco Bernardi (Senesino), mezzo-soprano Faustina Bordoni, and contralto Vittoria Tesi. In Burney’s words, Bononcini “continued during his whole life [to be] a friend to the voice and a lover of simplicity.”4 He also stated that Bononcini was an unsuccessful rival to Handel, but he was well regarded all over Europe. This view is regarded today as somewhat excessive. Rodolfo Celletti (1917–2004) says:

From the strictly vocal point of view, he [Bononcini] writes best among the composers of the first half of the eighteenth century, and Handel borrowed from him a number of patterns, and indeed from time to time the odd tune.5

Porpora is remembered today as one of the greatest voice teachers of all time, but he was also a composer who expanded the degree of virtuosity (some might say empty virtuosity) in the opera seria by exploiting the talents of his famous pupils. He was the teacher of the great castrato soprano Farinelli and the alto Caffarelli, as well as many others. Franz Haböck, in his monumental unfinished study Die Gesangkunst der Kastraten, published forty-two arias that were sung by Farinelli. They were composed by most of the greatest composers of his time including nine by Porpora. Rodolfo Celletti makes the following observation about Porpora’s compositions: In the Largos and Andantes of the best known operas (which incidentally are few), Porpora adheres to the rule, which later became universal, of keeping the voice in the middle of its range.6

This is an extraordinarily important point, because it reveals what is often misunderstood about the art of the castrati. As we try to peer back into the mists of vocal history, we tend to view their art in terms of the subsequent history of Romanticism, including Giuseppe Verdi (1813–1901) and Richard Wagner (1813–1883) and all the other great composers of the last two centuries. Perhaps because of the fact that human beings and other animals tend to raise their voices in times of stress, composers have tended to gradually rely on powerful high notes to express increasingly dramatic texts. The outer limit of human vocal endurance has been reached in the music of Richard Wagner and others, such as in Verdi’s Otello and Strauss’s (1864– 1949) Elektra. Even in lyric music, the voice was often pushed to extremes of pitch in the bel canto operas of Bellini and Donizetti. This is not only the taste of the “groundlings.” In a recent article in the New York Times about the return of James Levine (b. 1943) to the podium after a long hiatus, Then he [Levine] reminisced about the very first time he rehearsed at the Met in 1971, for a “Tosca” with the tenor Franco Corelli. “I confess I love great high notes,” Mr. Levine said, noting that many conductors in those days were reluctant to let singers hold them for so long. “I came to a place where I knew, in the last act, he would take this note and make a beautiful, long diminuendo. And I held this with the orchestra. When I did, the orchestra stopped, shuffled and applauded. I said, ‘What’s this?’ And they said, ‘It always drives us crazy—they’d cut it, other conductors.’ They were all big Corelli fans, as it turned out, which I thought was very cute.”7

This is not to say that this is necessarily a bad development, but it is certainly different from the common style of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. During the Italian Baroque and Classical periods, composers were not writing for posterity, but composing for the elevated taste of mostly noble patrons and subject to the needs of the sing-



Altos, Neapolitan Style 27

ers. Singers were well educated in both technique and musicality to exhibit sprezzatura, or an easy grace, devoid of signs of struggle in producing the tone, such as grimacing, violent gestures, shouting, and off-pitch singing. Indeed, these faults have become synonymous with opera in the minds of many in the modern audience who have a hard time reconciling people screaming at each other in foreign languages as singing about love. While it is inherently dramatic, the Italian singing [seventeenth and eighteenth centuries] we are studying is also a courtly art, one of graciousness and good manners. The texts are invariably about aspects of love, including joy, doubt, jealousy, and a thousand other variations, but never extending to vulgarity and violence.8

So rather than envisioning the Baroque singers as a pack of eunuchs screaming at the top of their lungs on impossibly high pitches, an examination of the arias written for Farinelli, who is always described as a soprano, reveals the astounding fact that the arias are all in the middle range, almost never rising above the staff. Sometimes the pitch descends as far as low G, (a pitch half a step lower than today’s pitch). It is the fact that these singers were males singing an octave higher than normal that makes them seem to be so high. Therefore, the difference between a soprano and an alto castrato was, in fact, rather small. This is not to say that they were incapable of singing higher notes, but as Celletti points out, the middle of the voice was the norm. The effects they were after were contained in the music and the text, and those who were able to add the most beautiful improvised ornaments were considered the best artists. Most of the composers of the period did not write out these flourishes but left it up to the well-trained singers. However, Porpora did write out many of the embellishments and paved the way for the extravagant opera seria of the eighteenth century. The following excerpt is from Porpora’s opera Poro

(1731), written for Farinelli. This aria is definitely in the alto range and contemporary mezzo-sopranos such as Cecilia Bartoli, Joyce DiDonato, and Vivica Genaux have begun to mine the forgotten riches of this repertoire in recordings. In the eighteenth century, the acknowledged center for the production of fine singers was the Bologna school, founded by Francesco Antonio Pistocchi (1659–1726) in 1706. Until then, as Galliard says, “Italian singing was a little crude.”9 Pistocchi was a child prodigy with a beautiful soprano voice and also a talent for composing. When he was about sixteen, he lost his voice—Burney says from “a dissolute life style,” but Heriot thought the reason was probably from natural causes during the period when castrati sometimes suffered some of the same symptoms of the cambio voce that normal adolescents do. In dire financial straits, Pistocchi turned to composing and even worked as a music copyist. He was not content with this, however, and by dint of sheer perseverance and technical study he was able to restore his voice by 1687, but it was by then a rich, full contralto. He appeared in operas all over Europe for the next few years, observing the different styles and methods of the various singers until his last performance in Albinoni’s Il più fedele tra vassalli. Pistocchi then accepted a position of Maestro di Cappella at Anspach, where one of his students was Princess Carolina of Brandenburg-Ansbach (1713–1757), later Queen Carolina, who became one of Handel’s staunchest supporters. After a successful career at Anspach, which included leading the famous Brandenburg orchestra, Pistocchi returned to Bologna, where he retired to a convent, teaching promising young artists when it suited him. It was not as a singer that Pistocchi is remembered, but, along with Porpora, he was one of the great teachers of the period. Pistocchi’s background in instrumental music and composition led him to an instrumental style in the vocal effects that he taught.

Musical Example 4.1.  “Destrier che alle armi usato” from Poro by Nicolò Porpora

Musical Example 4.1.  (continued)



Altos, Neapolitan Style 29

Musical Example 4.1.  (continued)

Leaving aside the technical advances which the castrati helped to popularize, they must be given the credit for having introduced and developed the taste which governed the best singing of the Golden Age, and the inventor of which, according to Tosi, was Pistocchi. The best concise and accurate definition of this taste is probably that given by Tartini in his Trattato di musica (1754): “It consists first and foremost in the voice of the singer being produced with sweetness, control, power, sostenuto when required, etc. Secondly it consists of appoggiaturas, trills, rubato and protracted sounds, and methods of singing, natural and artificial, adapted to cantilena, etc.”10

Some of Pistocchi’s students were guilty of corrupting these virtues by indulging in empty virtuosic displays and left him open to criticism. Probably the “chief corrupter” but undeniably a great singer was the contralto Antonio Bernacchi. Pistocchi also produced the alto castrati Antonio Pasi (fl. 1704–1732) and Giovanni Battista Minelli (? 1687–d. after 1737), the great tenor Annibale Pio Fabri (1697–1760), and Gizziello’s teacher Domenico Gizzi (1687–1758). Bernacchi, like his mentor, originally had a deficient voice, both in natural quality and also in technique. When he first appeared on the stage, his best friends advised him to study with Pistocchi or find another career. Bernacchi was received kindly by Pistocchi, who provided several years of intense instruction. During this time, Bernacchi refused to sing in public, even for

his closest friends. When he reappeared, he was judged, in Burney’s words, to be “the most refined and artificial singer of his time.”11 I presume that the word “artificial” means that Bernacchi made up for the lack of natural talent by his great technique. The Bologna school of Pistocchi emphasized a good strong clear quality in the middle of the voice. Some mystery arose as to how this clear middle sound was produced, and contemporary accounts spoke of singing “divisions from the chest.” Today we would refer to this quality as middle register. The singing of Marilyn Horne clearly illustrates this quality. Bernacchi was a great exemplar of this technique, having previously exhibited a weak middle voice. In 1727, Bernacchi and Farinelli were both cast in Orlandini’s Antigona in Bologna. Farinelli was then twenty-two and had had great successes in Rome, Naples, Venice, and Vienna. In a duet, Farinelli showed off all his virtuosity, musicality, and beauty of voice, then Bernacchi, called “the king of singers,” not only matched all that his much-younger rival had done, but added further variations of his own. The two became fast friends and Farinelli entreated Bernacchi to give him lessons in grazie soprafine (ultra-refined graces), which presumably included singing in a strong middle register. Farinelli and Giovanni Carestini then began to use this more “engaged” singing to great applause. Bernacchi’s pupils included Senesino, Carestini, Giambattista Mancini (1716–1800), and

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the great tenor Anton Raaff (1714–1797), Mozart’s friend and the first Idomeneo. Gaetano Orsini (1679–1750) was a contralto castrato serving the imperial court in Vienna from 1700 to 1740. Mancini says that he “had a gift for preserving in his old age a florid, mellow and flexible voice.”12 Orsini appeared with Faustina Bordoni in Spartico (Sparticus) by Giuseppe Porsile (1680–1750), a piece that required great breath control and excellent command of coloratura.

NOTES 1.  Rodolfo Celletti, A History of Bel Canto (New York: Oxford University Press, 1991), 65. 2. Winton Dean, “Caffarelli,” The New Grove Dictionary of Opera, vol. 1, ed. Stanley Sadie (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), 677.

3. Kurt Markstrom, The Operas of Leonardo Vinci, Napoletano (Hillsdale, NY: Pendragon Press, 1992), 336. 4.  Charles Burney, A General History of Music: From the Earliest Ages to the Present Period, vol. 4 (London: Payne & Son, 1789), 116. 5. Celletti, A History of Bel Canto, 72. 6. Celletti, A History of Bel Canto, 73. 7.  Michael Cooper, “Met’s Maestro Heading Back to His Podium,” New York Times, 23 September 2013, A1. 8.  John Glenn Paton, ed., 26 Italian Songs and Arias (Van Nuys, CA: Alfred Publishing, 1991), 6. 9.  Pier Francesco Tosi, Observations on the Florid Song, trans. and annotated M. Galliard, ed. Michael Pilkington (1743; repr., London: Stainer & Bell, 1987), vii, 46. 10. Celletti, A History of Bel Canto, 115. 11. Burney, A General History of Music, 55–56. 12. Giambattista Mancini, Practical Reflections on Figured Singing, trans. and ed. Edward V. Foreman (Vienna, 1774; Champaign, IL: Pro Musica Press, 1967), 7.

5 Mr. “Hendel’s” Altos

Besides Rossini, George Frideric Handel was the composer who most appreciated the alto voice. In thirty-six years, he wrote forty-two operas, which included many roles for altos, both male and female. Handel (often called Hendel in London) had a fairly stable group of singers for whom he wrote many of his most enduring masterpieces. Jane Barbier, contralto (dates unknown; will proved 1757) appeared in Handel’s first London operas—Rinaldo (1711), Il pastor fido (1712), and Teseo (1713). Margherita Durastanti was an Italian soprano who finished her career in roles of a mezzo-soprano range. She was a very good actress who frequently played male roles. She was in the service of Marchese Ruspoli in Rome along with Antonio Caldara (c. 1670–1736) and Handel, who composed the solo parts in many of his finest solo cantatas for her. Durastanti was the first singer for whom Handel wrote music especially suited to her vocal qualities. John Keates says that she and Handel were much in each other’s company in the summer of 1707 and their relationship could have been more than professional, though there is no proof. Durastanti created the title parts of Agrippina (1709) and Radamisto (1720), and Cloelia in Muzio Scevola, a pasticcio (1721), Gismondo in Ottone (1723), Vitige in Flavio (1723), Sesto in Giulio Cesare (1724), and Tauride in Arianna (1724). Handel brought Durastanti back in 1733 in revivals of Ottone and Il pastor fido. Durastanti had a longer personal association with Handel than any other musician. When she was in her fifties, Lady Bristol reported to her husband that the other singers were all “scrubbs except old Durastanti who sang as well as ever.”1 Francesca Vanini (Boschi) (?–1744) was an Italian “pathetic style” contralto who was married to Giuseppe Boschi, Handel’s favorite bass. Along with her husband, she sang in twelve operas in Venice including the part of Ottone in the premiere of Handel’s Agrippina in 1709. Vanini was renowned for singing male parts. She created the heroic part of Giofreddo in Rinaldo for Handel in 1711. It is the first Italian language opera written

specifically for the London stage and was the most performed of all of Handel’s operas during the composer’s lifetime. Anastasia Robinson (c. 1692–1755), an Englishwoman, also began her career as a soprano but switched to contralto, possibly as a result of illness. As a soprano, she created the part of Oriana for Handel in Amadigi di Gaula and Ode for Queen Anne’s Birthday. Then, as a contralto, she premiered Elmira in Floridante, Matilda in Ottone, Teodata in Flavio, and most importantly, Cornelia in Giulio Cesare. In all these operas Robinson was teamed with another alto, Handel’s primo uomo, the notorious castrato Senesino. In 1724, Senesino insulted Robinson and was caned by her elderly husband, Lord Peterborough, to whom she was secretly married. Senesino was forced to kneel at her feet and confess that she was a “nonpareil of virtue and beauty.”2 Robinson had personal charm and enjoyed great popularity despite her technical limitations, which Handel accommodated by sometimes doubling her part with the orchestra. Today, the best-known woman alto on Handel’s roster was Faustina Bordoni, called simply “Faustina.” Bordoni was called a soprano, but her range was b to g’’, today considered mezzosoprano. She was considered to be one of the greatest singers of her time. Faustina was a very dramatic singer, beautiful, and unequaled in coloratura work. Johann Joachim Quanz (1697– 1773), Frederick the Great’s flute teacher and an authority on embellishment practice, was mostly alone in designating a special category for the mezzo-soprano in this period. He wrote: Faustina had a mezzo-soprano voice that was less clear than penetrating. Her compass was now only from B flat to G [below high C], but after a time [i.e., 1727] she extended its limits downward. Her execution was articulate and brilliant. She had a fluent tongue for pronouncing words rapidly and distinctly, and a flexible throat for divisions, with so beautiful a trill that she could put it in motion upon short notice just where she would. The passages might be smooth or by leaps, or consist of iterations of the same tone. She sang adagios with great passion and expression, but these were not equally successful if such deep sorrow were to be impressed on the hearer.3 31

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Faustina made her London debut as Roxana in the premiere of Handel’s Alessandro in 1726. The aria “Brilla nell’ alma,” in the wonderful recording by Joyce DiDonato, gives us an idea of what a brilliant singer Faustina was. She went on to create four more parts for Handel—Alcestis in Admeto, Pulcheria in Riccardo Primo (1727), Emiro in Siroe, and Elisa in Tolomeo (1728). She also sang in a revival of Radamisto in 1728. Faustina’s rivalry with Francesca Cuzzoni is legendary and supposedly culminated in a hair-pulling stage fight in G. B. Bononcini’s Astianatte in 1727. Dr. John Arbuthnot (1667–1735), a satirist who was an associate of Jonathan Swift and the inventor of the John Bull character, wrote: But who would have thought the Infection should reach the Haymarket and inspire two Singing Ladies to pull each other’s coifs? . . . It is certainly an apparent Shame that two such well bred Ladies should call Bitch and Whore, should scold and fight like Billingsgates.4

Lately, research has determined that it was the singers’ supporters that instigated the fracas, and in the true tradition of London journalism, the fight was greatly exaggerated in the press. Faustina never returned to London after 1728.

Figure 5.1.  Senesino (Francesco Bernardi) by Alexander van Haecken (1701–1758) after Thomas Hudson (1701–1779)

To illustrate the point that altos in Handel’s time were relatively interchangeable, let us look at the casts for Radamisto, the first opera he composed for the newly formed Royal Academy of Music in April 1720. The part of Radamisto, son of Farasmane, was sung by Margherita Durastanti (soprano) and Zenobia, his wife, by Anastasia Robinson (contralto). In the revised version, December 1720, Senesino (alto castrato) assumed the role of Radamisto and Durastanti the role of Zenobia. In 1728, Faustina Bordoni (mezzo-soprano) sang Zenobia. To add further to the confusion, the part of Tiridate, king of Armenia, was first sung by a tenor and subsequently by a bass. Tigrane, prince of Pontus, was sung by three different voice types—first by soprano Caterina Galerati ( fl. 1701–1721), then by soprano castrato Matteo Berselli ( fl. 1708–1721), and finally by alto castrato Antonio Baldi ( fl. 1714–1735). The first important alto castrato for Handel was the aforementioned Nicolino, who was the finest artist of his generation. He was certainly the first top-ranking castrato to come over for any length of time, and but for him it is possible that the Italian opera would have proved no more than a passing vogue, as it had in France, and would have succumbed before a combination of national prejudice and the fact that it was in a language incomprehensible to the majority of the audience.5

Nicolino was born in Naples and flourished in Venice from 1700 to 1708. He was closely associated with the operas of Alessandro Scarlatti, especially La caduta de’ Decemviri (1697) and Muzio Scevola and Il prigioniero (1698). Nicolino was praised as a fine actor as well as a singer. In 1708, Nicolino, who had a taste for adventure, traveled to what was then the wilderness of the London stage. His debut was in Pirro e Demetrio (1694) by Scarlatti, a huge success despite the opera being considered absurd by Richard Steele (1672–1729) and others in the English press. Nicolino’s biggest success came in Mancini’s Idaspe fedele (1710), where he engaged in mortal combat with a stage lion while singing “Mostro crudel, che fai?” at the top of his lungs. Handel arrived in London in 1711 and featured Nicolino in Rinaldo, his first opera there. Nicolino then returned to Italy, but in 1714 he was briefly back in London to create Amadigi di Gaule for Handel. He again took up residence in Venice and for the next few years traveled back and forth between there and Naples, singing in operas by Tommaso Albinoni (1671–1750), Bononcini, Francesco Gasparini (1661–1727), Domenico Sarro (1674–1744), Pollarolo, and Leonardo Leo. His most prized possession was reputed to be the staff of St. Joseph, “which flowered when he became betrothed to the Most Holy Virgin,”6 and which he “removed from the hands of heretics”7 in London. He bequeathed it to the church of Real Monte in Naples where, according to Heriot, it could still be seen in 1927. Without question, the castrato Senesino (Francesco Bernardi) was Handel’s most important singer. Heriot says that there were three castrati named Senesino, all born in Siena.8 Bernardi was the most famous and the other two were generally known by their real names. There is very little known



Mr. “Hendel’s” Altos 33

about Senesino’s early life. His dates have been given as 1686 to 1758, but that would have made him an almost exact contemporary of Antonio Bernacchi, who is reported to have been his teacher. He was probably younger than Bernacchi, for he made his debut in 1707 in Venice. At any rate, he was a spectacular success from the very beginning. If he was born circa 1690, he would have been seventeen years old, a common age for castrati to begin their careers. Senesino sang in many theaters in Italy in operas that are forgotten today by such composers as Giovanni Maria Ruggeri (c. 1690–1720), Giuseppe Boniventi (between 1670 and 1673–after 1727), Antonio Lotti (1666–1740), Pollarollo, and Caldara. Between 1715 and 1717, he was engaged at the most important theater in Italy, the San Carlo in Naples, where he appeared in six operas, including Alessandro Scarlatti’s Carlo d’Allemagna and La virtù trionfante. In September 1717, Senesino was engaged at Dresden, where he was paid the princely sum of 7,000 thaler and given a carriage for his personal use. He sang in Lotti’s Giove in Argo (1717), Ascanio (1718), and Teofane (1719). He was dismissed for insubordination after he refused to sing an aria in Johann Heinichen’s (1673–1729) Flavio Crispo and tore up the music of his castrato colleague Matteo Berselli (fl. 1708–1721). Senesino won laurels for his singing but, like many castrati, his acting initially left much to be desired. The Neapolitan impresario Count Zambeccari says of him “Senesino continues to comport himself badly enough; he stands like a statue, and when occasionally he makes a gesture, he makes one directly opposite of what is wanted,” but audiences in Venice and Vienna seem generally to have been delighted, and his appearance at the Saxon court opera at Dresden in 1719 was on the crest of a wave of recent Italian successes.9

Mr. “Hendel” traveled to the continent to engage singers for the second season of the Royal Academy of Music in 1720. He was commissioned by his board of directors to engage “Senezino” whose fame had spread to London. Handel heard Senesino in Teofane and engaged the capricious musico for a fee of 3,000 guineas. Quanz described Senesino: He had a powerful, clear, equal and sweet contralto voice, with a perfect intonation and an excellent shake. His manner of singing was masterly and his elocution unrivaled. Though he never loaded Adagios with too many ornaments, yet he delivered the original and essential notes with the utmost refinement. He sang Allegros with great fire and marked rapid divisions from the chest, in an articulate and pleasing manner. His countenance was well adapted to the stage, and his action was natural and noble. To these qualities he joined a majestic figure.10

Senesino remained with Handel’s company until 1728 and sang in all thirty-two of the operas produced during that period. Among them were thirteen by Handel: Radamisto (1720), Floridante (1721), Ottone (1723), Flavio (1723), Giulio Cesare (1724), Tamerlano (1724), Rodelinda (1725), Scipione (1726), Alessandro (1726), Admeto (1726), Riccardo Primo (1727), Siroe (1728), and Tolomeo (1728). There were

also eight by Bononcini and seven by Attilio Ariosti (c. 1666–c. 1740). Senesino and Handel had at least one thing in common—volatile personalities. They parted company in 1728 with the closing of the academy. In 1729, Handel was again on the continent in a search of new singers for the Second Academy. He engaged a pretty contralto, Francesca Bertolli (?–1767), who, along with Senesino and soprano Anna Maria Strada del Pò (fl. 1719–1741), sang in most of Handel’s operas. Bertolli appeared in fifteen or sixteen operas as well as oratorio performances. Handel composed nine parts for her—Idelberto in Lotario (1729), Armindo in Partenope (1730), Gandartes in Poro (1731), Honoria in Ezio (1732), Melo in Sosarme (1732), Medoro in Orlando (1733), Ramisa in Arminio (1737), Leocasta in Giustino (1737), and Selene in Berenice (1737). In the revised and expanded 1732 oratorio Esther, Bertolli, along with the other Italian singers, Senesino, Strada, and the bass Antonio Montagnana (fl. 1730–1750), all coped valiantly, if not altogether successfully, with the English text. “You would have sworn it had been Welch,” commented one audience member, who was disappointed to find “this Sacred Drama a mere Consort, no Scenary [sic], Dress or Action.”11 To replace Senesino, Handel engaged the forty-four-yearold Antonio Bernacchi, who appeared in two operas: Lotario (1729) and Partenope (1730). Bernacchi had previously appeared in Rinaldo and Amadigi for Handel in 1717. For good measure, Bernacchi insisted on the inclusion of his mistress (whatever that might mean), the contralto Antonia Merighi as a member of the company. It turned out well, for Merighi proved to be a good singer (advertised as a counter tenor) and actress. She created Matilda in Lotario, Rosmira in Partenope, and Erissina in Poro (1731). She was also heard in Giulio Cesare, Tolomeo, Scipione, Rinaldo, and probably Rodelinda. Some of these were soprano parts that Handel adjusted for her. Merighi defected to the Opera of the Nobility in 1736 in operas by Hasse, Riccardo Broschi, Farinelli’s brother (1700–1756), G. B. Pescetti (1704–1756), Egidio Duni (1708–1775), and Francesco Maria Veracini (1690–1768). She then returned to Handel in 1738 and created parts in Faramondo, Alessandro Severo, and Serse. Bernacchi was undoubtedly a great singer, but in these two engagements he failed to please. Handel was forced to reengage Senesino in 1730 and the musico created four new parts—Poro (1731), Ezio (1732), Sosarme (1732), and Orlando (1733)— and sang in many revivals. In 1733, as a gesture of “biting the hand that fed him,” Senesino intrigued with Porpora and others to set up the so-called Opera of the Nobility as a rival company. It stole many of Handel’s stars, including Cuzzoni, Montagnana, and it featured Farinelli, the most famous castrato in history. Between 1733 and 1736, Senesino sang in five operas by Porpora and even presented Handel’s Ottone. He returned to Italy in 1737 and sang in Turin, Rimini, and Florence. His last known performances were in Porpora’s Il trionfo de Camilla at the San Carlo in 1740. A final glimpse of him

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is caught in March of that year, when Horace Walpole met him returning to Siena in a chaise: “We thought it was a fat old woman, but it spoke in a shrill little pipe, and proved itself to be Senesini.”12 Senesino’s porcine appearance made him the butt of many jokes and caricatures. He was irascible and temperamental but a great singer nonetheless. Despite Zambeccari’s assessment of his acting, Londoners felt that he was outstanding, especially in his delivery of recitative. A song called The Lady’s Lamentation for the Loss of Senesino was popular for years after his departure. In most of Handel’s operas, Senesino played the title character, so I think we are justified in stating that Handel built the majority of his operatic output around his love of the contralto voice. With Senesino gone and Bernacchi in decline, Handel had to find another star alto singer to attract the fickle London public. He found just such an artist in Giovanni Carestini (Cusanino). Carestini was taken to Milan under the protection of the Cusiano family when he was twelve years old (hence the pseudonym, which is rarely used). Carestini was definitely a student of Bernacchi of the Bolognese school who made his debut in the female role of Costanza in Bononcini’s opera

Griselda in 1721. Burney says he began his career as a “powerful and clear soprano” who developed into “the fullest and finest countertenor [an unusual designation for the time] that has, perhaps, ever been heard.” He goes on to say: Carestini’s person was tall, beautiful and majestic. He was a very animated and intelligent actor, and having a considerable portion of enthusiasm in his composition, with a lively and inventive imagination, he rendered everything he sang interesting with good taste, energy and judicious embellishments. He manifested great agility in the execution of difficult divisions from the chest in a most articulate and admirable manner [a hallmark of the Bolognese school]. It was the opinion of Hasse, as well as of many other eminent professors, that whoever had not heard Carestini was unacquainted with the most perfect style of singing.13

The engagement of Carestini seems to have continued the uproar surrounding Senesino and, especially, Cuzzoni, whom Handel threatened with defenestration for refusing to sing her aria “Falsa imagine” in Ottone in 1723. Carestini created four parts for Handel—Arianna in Creta (1734), Oreste (1734), Ariodante (1735), and Alcina (1735). It was not all roses; Grove’s quotes an anecdote from Burney: In Alcina occurs the beautiful song “Verdi prati,” which he [Carestini] sent back to the composer as not suited to him. Handel on this became furious, ran to the house of the singer and addressed to him the following harangue: “You tog! Don’t I know petter as yourself vaat is pest for you to sing! If you vill not sing all de song vaat I give you, I vill not give you ein stiver!”14

Figure 5.2.  Giovanni Carestini. Courtesy Clarissa Lablache Cheer.

Carestini also sang in Handel’s oratorios—the revised Esther from 1718, Deborah (1733), and Athalia (1733). He also created the principal male role in Parnasso in festa (1734), a masque, and sang in a revised Acis and Galatea. Burney says that he continued “in the highest reputation for twenty years after quitting England.”15 Carestini returned to Naples in 1735, where his salary exceeded that of Caffarelli’s. He returned to London in 1740 but enjoyed little success. He then returned briefly to Italy, then Austria, where he was in Maria Theresa’s employ, then in Dresden for Hasse from 1747 to 1749. After a long engagement in Berlin, from 1750 to 1754, Carestini then, for all practical purposes, wrapped up his career in St. Petersburg from 1754 to 1756. In 1733 Handel added another Italian contralto, Caterina Maria Negri ( fl. 1719–1745) to his company, the Second Academy. Negri, a student of Pasi of the Bologna school, was a deep contralto who often sang male roles. She sang in eleven of Handel’s operas, including parts composed for her—Carilda in Arianna in Creta, Polinesso in Ariodante, Bradimante in Alcina, Irene in Atalanta, Tullius in Arminio, Arsace in Berenice, Philocteles in Oreste, and Cloride in Parnesso in festa. Aside from some agility required, Negri seems to have had a modest ability. In 1736, in a departure from his usual practice, Handel composed Atalanta for a soprano castrato, Gioachino Conti, known as Gizziello.



Mr. “Hendel’s” Altos 35 Handel never till now had a first man to write for with so high a soprano voice. Niccolini, Senesino, and Carestini, were all contraltos. There was often dignity and spirit in their style; but Conti had delicacy and tenderness, with the accumulated refinements of near thirty years, from the time of Handel’s first tour to Italy. I think it not difficult to discover, particularly in the first act, that in composing Conti’s part in this opera, he modelled his melody to the school of this new singer. Indeed, Handel was always remarkably judicious in writing to the taste and talents of his performers; in displaying excellence, and covering imperfections.16

After the departure of Carestini and his soprano experiment, Handel “made do” with Domenico Annibali (c. 1705–1779 or later), again a contralto castrato, in Arminio, Giustino, and Berenice (1737). Burney remarked that “his abilities during his stay in England seem to have made no deep impression.”17 Burney is also witness to the decline of opera in England during this time. He says that this was no fault of Handel, upon whom he unequivocally bestows the title of “genius.” He says that the English public was so surfeited with “the most exquisite musical feats that the art of man has ever been able to furnish” that they flocked to “their homely food, The Beggar’s Opera and ballad farces on the same plan, with eagerness and comfort.”18 It was into this atmosphere of decline and desperation due to competition with the Opera of the Nobility at the King’s Theater that Handel imported the last (and greatest) alto castrato, Gaetano Majorano, called Caffarelli (also Caffariello, Caffarellino, and Gaffariello). Caffarelli was one of two students of Porpora said to be the greatest singers in the history of the art, Farinelli being the other. Caffarelli, according to Heriot, “may have been one of those strong-minded children who insisted on immolating themselves for the sake of their voice.”19 Porpora and Caffarelli are the subjects of the hoary

old story related to innumerable indolent students by their voice teachers (myself included) about the youngster being held to a single set of seven vocalises for seven years, without being allowed to sing a single song, who was then told to go forth and sing anything he wanted to, for he was the greatest singer in Italy and the world! Porpora disliked Cafarelli’s personality, but always stated that he was the greatest singer he had ever produced. It is hard to separate his greatness as a singer from all the juicy stories about his behavior. If Caffarelli were around today, he would be on the front page of National Enquirer every week! In 1728, he narrowly escaped being assassinated by the jealous husband of a noblewoman by hiding all night in an unused cistern. In 1739, he and another castrato, Reginelli, had a pitched battle with canes in the sacristy of the church of Donna Romita on a solemn occasion attended by members of the nobility. He narrowly escaped prison by royal intervention. Caffarelli made his debut at the age of sixteen in a feminine part, a common practice of the time. The opera was Sarro’s Il Valdemaro and the young castrato was soon in demand from the greatest theaters in Italy. Cafarelli’s voice would be considered today as a spinto mezzo-soprano, for it was very strong and he was sometimes criticized for forcing. In 1728 in Venice and Turin, he had outstanding success in Pollarollo’s Nerina as well as Sarro’s Didone Abbandonata in Milan. In 1730 in Rome, he appeared in Porpora’s Mitridate, Siface, and Germanico and created a furore as Pirro in Hasse’s Cajo Fabrico. After an uninterrupted series of successes in Milan, Bologna, and other major theaters, in 1734 he appeared in Merope by Geminiano Giacomelli (1690–1740) with Farinelli and “their very different styles were equally admired.” The Baron Grimm, in a concert at the Louvre, gave this assessment of a performance by Caffarelli: It would be difficult to give any idea of the degree of perfection to which this singer has brought his art. All the charms and love that can make up the idea of an angelic voice, and which form the character of his, added to the finest execution, and to surprising facility and precision, exercise an enchantment over the senses and the heart, which even those least sensible to music would find it hard to resist.20

Figure 5.3.  Caffarelli (Gaetano Majorano) by Pier Leone Ghezzi (c. 1740)

In 1738, Caffarelli was invited to London by Handel, where he created parts in Faramondo and Serse, which begins with the immortal “Ombra mai fu,” which Burney said “had a clear and majestic style, out of the reach of time and fashion.”21 For Caffarelli, London was one of very few engagements where he was not successful. The public was still in love with the memory of Farinelli and also the climate did not agree with Caffarelli, who was not well most of the time. In 1737, Handel suffered a stroke but made an amazing recovery. In 1738, failing to get enough subscriptions for the ensuing season of opera, he began to compose oratorios, which were much cheaper to produce and were all in the language of his audiences—English. He sporadically produced several operas after that, but in 1741 after the last of them, Deidame, received

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Musical Example 5.1.  “Ombra mai fu” from Serse by George Frideric Handel. Embellishment by Dr. Putnam Aldirch

only three performances, he composed Italian opera no more. This development also signaled a sea change in the fortunes of the English singers, and the reign of the Italian musici, however marvelous, came to an end. Thereafter, Handel composed his oratorios mostly for normal voices; the tenor John Beard (1716– 1791) appeared in more Handel works than any other singer, first appearing in the oratorio Esther as a boy in 1732. The popularity of the oratorio format, which brought out some of Handel’s greatest works, also assured his future financial security. Caterina Galli (c. 1723–1804) was an Italian mezzo-soprano who made her debut in G. F. Brivio’s (?–c. 1758) Mandane, sang in Enrico and Sirbace by Baldassare Galuppi (1706–1785) and in Porpora’s Temistocle, all of which were male roles. Galli

was trained by Handel, who composed parts for her in Joshua (1748), Alexander Balus (1748), Susanna (1749), the title role in Solomon (1749), Theodora (1750), Jephtha (1752), and The Choice of Hercules (1751). Solomon was the first travesty role composed by Handel since Durastanti’s Radamisto back in 1720. Besides these works, Galli sang in many revivals, including Messiah, Samson, Hercules (1749), Saul (1750), Belshazzar, Esther, and Alexander’s Feast (1751), and probably Deborah (1754). Galli was the mezzo/contralto soloist for Handel’s famous Messiah performance for the Foundling Hospital in 1754. Galli, having a voice of a lower pitch, which the Italians call mezzo-soprano, and her appearance being less feminine than Fra-



Mr. “Hendel’s” Altos 37 si’s began in this opera [Enrico] with a man’s part, and afterwards frequently employed in male parts on the opera stage. There was something spirited and interesting in her manner; however, she was little noticed by the public till she sung in Handel’s oratorio Judas Maccabeus, 1746, when she acquired such favor in the air “Tis liberty alone” [Israelitish Man] that she was not only encored in it every night, but became an important personage among singers, for a considerable time afterwards.22

by many singers. Monticelli was attached to the Austrian court from 1740 but his only confirmed public appearances were after 1748. After two seasons at the San Carlo in Naples, Monticelli joined Hasse’s company in Dresden as primo uomo in 1753, where he died in 1758.

Maria Antonia Marchesini (fl. 1736–1739) (La Lucchesina) (not to be confused with Santa Marchesini) was engaged by Handel in 1738. She created roles in Faramondo and Serse, and was probably the first witch of Endor in Saul. Susanna Cibber (1714–1766), sister of Thomas Arne, who frequently sang Polly in the Beggar’s Opera, was the mezzosoprano in the first performance of Messiah in Dublin (1742). She apparently had a great deal of emotional impact, for a clergyman in the audience exclaimed upon hearing “He Was Despised and Rejected” exclaimed, “Woman, for this thy sins are forgiven thee.”23 Cibber, whose voice was described by Burney as “a thread,” subsequently gave up her career as a singer and became one of the greatest tragic actresses in the history of the London stage. Handel made subsequent alterations in the Messiah score to fit the singers he had on hand. In 1750, he arranged three arias—“But Who May Abide the Day of His Coming,” “Thou Art Gone up on High,” and later, “How Beautiful Are the Feet” for Gaetano Guadagni (c. 1725–1792), a young contralto castrato who would later become immortal by creating the eponymous part in Cristolph Willibald Gluck’s (1714– 1787) Orfeo in 1762. Guadagni was the last great alto castrato employed by Handel and had earlier appeared in Theodora. He was something of a character who became quite rich but gave away his fortune to the poor and died in poverty. After he retired, he enjoyed presenting Ofeo ed Euridice, enacted in his little puppet theater, singing the title part behind the scenes. The mezzo-soprano Angelo Monticelli (c. 1712–c. 1758) debuted in Venice and also appeared in Milan and Rome where, because he had a pleasant face and good figure, he often assumed female roles. He was engaged as primo uomo at the King’s Theater from 1741 to 1746. Horace Walpole reported that he was “infinitely admired, after Farinelli,”24 while Burney said that his singing was “sweet, simple, smooth and unimpassioned.”25 Monticelli was considered a good actor and did not attempt vocal feats beyond his powers, a virtue often ignored

1. John Keates, Handel: The Man and His Music (New York: Random House, 2009), 207. 2.  Lady Mary Wortley Montague, The Letters and Works of Lady Mary Wortley Montague (London: George Bell and Sons, 1898), 353. 3.  Henry Pleasants, The Great Singers: From the Dawn of Opera to Our Own Time (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1966), 98–99. 4.  Thomas Forrest Kelley, First Nights at the Opera (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2004), 39, 42. 5.  Angus Heriot, The Castrati in Opera (1927; repr., New York: Da Capo, 1975), 125. 6. Heriot, The Castrati in Opera, 127. 7. Heriot, The Castrati in Opera, 129. 8. Heriot, The Castrati in Opera, 91. 9. Keates, Handel, 102. 10.  Dean, “Senesino,” The New Grove Dictionary of Opera, vol. 4 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997), 315. 11. Keates, Handel: The Man and His Music, 187. 12.  Dean, “Senesino,” Grove Music Online, updated 15 May 2009, www.grovemusic.com, 14 December 2013. 13.  Charles Burney, The Present State of Music in France and Italy (London, 1773; New York: Broude Brothers, 1969), 369–70. 14. Anonymous, Grove’s Dictionary of Music and Musicians, ed. J. A. Fuller Maitland, Waldo Selden Pratt, and Charles Newell Boyd (London: McMillan, 1911), 463. 15. Burney, A General History of Music, 370. 16. Burney, A General History of Music, 398. 17. Burney, A General History of Music, 402. 18.  The Beggar’s Opera by John Gay, called a ballad opera, premiered in 1728. The ballad opera was a vehicle for social satire, not necessarily used to ridicule Italian opera. 19. Heriot, The Castrati in Opera, 142. 20.  Dean, “Caffarelli,” The New Grove Dictionary of Opera, vol. 1 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997), 677. 21. Burney, A General History of Music, 423. 22. Burney, A General History of Music, 449. 23.  Peter Jacobi, The Messiah Book: The Life and Times of Handel’s Greatest Hit (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1982), 38. 24. Heriot, The Castrati in Opera, 162. 25. Burney, A General History of Music, 62.

NOTES

6 Faustina Bordoni and Il Caro Sassone

For all his genius and subsequent fame, Handel was not the most renowned and beloved opera composer during the early part of the eighteenth century. That honor was bestowed upon another German composer, Johann Adolf Hasse, called Il Caro Sassone (the beloved Saxon), although he was not, in fact, from Saxony. Hasse has recently been recognized as being one of the founders of the so-called classical or Galant style. Furthermore, Hasse was a singer (tenor), a fact which is common among many of the great composers, including Rossini. To my mind, this engenders a love for the beauties and a respect for the limitations of the human voice, which is missing from many modern composers like Thomas Adès, who don’t seem to understand the difference between instrumental and vocal music. Hasse was a student of both Porpora and Alessandro Scarlatti in Naples, which further informed him in the intricacies of vocal composition. Hasse was also a prolific composer of sacred music, but we concern ourselves only with his prodigious output of opera here.

others of the period, Hasse saw the alto voice as the lead singer in his operas. In 1728, he produced Attalo, rè di Bitinia, which starred Giovanni Carestini in the title role. Tesi was the prima donna in Tigrane in 1729, celebrating the name day of Charles VI of Naples. By 1730, Hasse’s fame had extended beyond Naples, and he was engaged to write Ataserse for Venice, then the most important center for opera. Farinelli sang Arbace and the young Francesca Cuzzoni was Mandane. The opera was well received and Hasse continued to provide operas for Venice

In a word, Hasse represents in the vocal art of the Baroque opera a balance between cantabile style and melismatic style. But he is probably the composer whose melody-writing best expresses both the “imitative” qualities demanded of an operatic composer of his period and the fluency of Metastasio’s verses. This is the general view of his contemporaries, who in Italy and Germany placed him ahead of any other opera composer. The clarity and simplicity of the melodic thinking also made him popular with many great singers—something which did not always happen, for example, with Handel—especially on the part of those who were outstanding in the pathetic and graceful style.1

Hasse, even more than Handel, always had access to the greatest singers of the period, probably through the good offices of Porpora. Most especially, his wife Faustina Bordoni, for whom he wrote at least fifteen operas, was one of the finest singers of all time. In one of his earliest compositions, the serenata Antonio e Cleopatra (1725), he was able to command the services of Farinelli and the great contralto Vittoria Tesi. Like

Figure 6.1.  Faustina Bordoni by Rosalba Carriera (1675–1757)

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until 1758. Hasse also began contributing compositions for the girls in the Ospedale degli Incurabili in 1830. In the same year, two events shaped the future for Hasse—he married Faustina Bordoni and he was engaged as maestro di cappella in Dresden. It is probable that the court was as much interested in Faustina as prima donna as it was in Hasse, the maestro di cappella. At this point, let us pause to consider the career of Faustina Bordoni, who was one of the very greatest singers of the eighteenth century, male or female. When Faustina left Naples in the spring of 1723, Vinci composed a cantata for her entitled La partenza del Faustina. Faustina was born in Venice and the protégé of the aristocratic composer Benedetto Marcello (1686–1739), who wrote the delightful satire on the follies of the operatic world Il teatro di musica alla moda in 1720. Her singing teacher was Michelangelo Gasparini (c. 1670–c. 1732), also a composer. Faustina made her debut in 1716 in Venice in Carlo Francesco Pollarolo’s Ariodante and continued there until 1725 in the service of the Elector Palatine. While in Venice, she sang in operas by Tomaso Albinoni (1671–1750 or 1751), Leo, the Pollarolos (father and son), the brothers Gasparini, Giuseppe Maria Orlandini (1676–1760), Vinci, and others. In 1718 she encountered the soprano Francesca Cuzzoni, who became her principal rival in the years to come. From 1717, Faustina also traveled to Reggio nell’Emilia, Milan, Modena, and Bologna. She sang in seven operas in Naples (1721–1723), Florence, and Parma, where she appeared in Vinci’s Il trionfo di Camilla (1724–1725). She made her German debut in 1723 in Munich and also became a great favorite in Vienna during the decade of the twenties. Giambattista Mancini, author of Practical Reflections on Figured Singing (1774), wrote a detailed account of Bordoni’s singing: [Faustina Bordoni was born in Venice, where she learned the art of singing under the direction of Michaelangelo Gasparini of Lucca. The professor was not only perfect in his art, but became a very celebrated contrapuntalist under the direction of the celebrated and most gifted Antonio Lotti. He wrote several Theatrical Operas of fine and rare taste like his other gifts, and also conducted church music well. This singer, well guided by her master, developed a rare method, consisting of a distinct and purified vocal agility, which she used with incomparable facility, earning applause from the very first years in which she presented herself before the public. Her style of agility was so pleasing because it sounded to the very end, and in a way so new, and above all so difficult, in sustaining a passage with notes in sextolets, or even in triplets, and performing with such exact proportion, without ever slowing down in ascending or descending, giving to each its proportionate coloration, as is exactly necessary for the setting forth of each passage. The perfect and happy execution of this agility is extraordinary, and gives the character of a great professor to anyone who possesses it to perfection. Our Faustina Hasse sang with this rare method, so she could not be imitated. Besides this natural excellence of agility she had another kind of agility, accompanying with everything a fast and very solid trill and mordent. She had a perfect intonation, a secure knowledge of spinning forth the

tone and sustaining the voice, the refined art of conserving and refreshing the breath, and the excellence of a finished taste. All of these were sublime gifts in her, perfectly mastered, and maintained through assiduous study, by which she attained a facile execution of great perfection, united to the just precepts of the art. If from all this emerges a complex perfection, one must also say that our virtuosa reaped approbation as her just reward, with universal esteem; so much is true, that she always received merited applause, and distinction in every place where she was heard.2

In 1725, Bordoni was engaged for three operas at the Teatro San Giovanni Grisostomo, the greatest and most opulent opera theater in Venice. There she triumphed in Ifigenia in Tauride and La Rosmira fedele by Vinci and Berenice by Orlandini. In 1730 she married Hasse and went on to a long and happy career until she retired in 1751. The relative stability of the appointment in Dresden allowed Hasse to produce a large body of work (he composed around seventy stage works). Hasse’s Arminio (1731) was premiered in Milan and starred Carestini in the eponymous role and Faustina as Tusnelda. Cleofide was Hasse’s first opera for Dresden and featured four altos—Domenico Annibali, Antonio Campioli (fl. 1703–1738), castrati Nicolo Pozzi, and of course, Faustina Bordoni. It is probable that J. S. Bach (1685–1750) attended the premiere of Cleofide and the Hasses most likely were present at Bach’s concert the following day. To get an idea of how much Faustina was valued—Hasse was paid 500 gold ducats for his services and Faustina 1,000. This was the equivalent of eight years’ pay for such a singer as Annibali!3 Hasse’s next opera Catone in Utica was premiered in 1731 in Turin and featured La Tesi and Farinelli. In 1732, Hasse’s Cajo Fabrizio was produced in Rome with alto castrati Annibali and Angelo Monticelli. Faustina, who was pregnant, did not participate. Hasse produced two operas in 1732 for Venice. Faustina was prima donna in Demetrio but not in Euristeo, which featured Francesca Cuzzoni. This was five years after the famous hair-pulling fight; was it the reason Faustina was not in the cast? In 1733 Siroe, a libretto by Hasse’s good friend Metastasio, featured two of the greatest altos of the period—Vittoria Tesi and Caffarelli, with Farinelli rounding out the cast. Tito Vaspasiano (1735), set to the same Metastasio libretto as Mozart’s La clemenza di Tito (1791), premiered in Pesaro and included a novelty and portent of things to come—tenor Angelo Amorevoli (1716–1748) sang the title role, while Carestini and Bordoni were the primo uomo and prima donna. Alessandro nell’ Indie (1736), set to the familiar Metastasian libretto, premiered in Venice with Vittoria Tesi as Cleofide. Back in Dresden in 1737, Faustina sang the title roles in Senocrita, Atalanta, and Asteria. Alto Domenico Annibali, back from London where he was working for Handel, was featured in a revision of Tito and a new opera Irene in February 1738. On May 9, Hasse’s Alfonso received a lavish production in the rebuilt and redecorated Dresden Opera House to celebrate the marriage of Princess Maria Amalia to King Charles of the Two Sicilies. The cast included altos Faustina, Annibali, and Pozzi. From 1738 to 1739, the Hasses traveled to Venice, where Faustina sang in



Faustina Bordoni and Il Caro Sassone

four operas including one by her husband, Viriate, along with Angelo Monticelli. Metastasio’s libretto for Didone abbandonata was set more than fifty times by the composers of the bel canto era. Hasse’s version premiered in 1742 in honor of Frederick Augusta’s birthday and featured Faustina as Dido, as well as contralto Caterina Negri and alto castrato Domenico Annibali. In the Carnivale season of 1745 in Venice, Hasse set another Metastasio libretto, Semiramide riconosciuta. The cast included La Tesi and Carestini. Back in Dresden in October 1745, Hasse set Arminio to a libretto by Giovanni Claudio Pasquini (1695–1763), a protégé of Metastasio. It featured three altos—Faustina, Annibali, and Negri. Arminio was a favorite of Frederick the Great, and he asked Hasse and Faustina to give chamber concerts every night during his nine-day stay in Dresden. In June 1747, Carestini arrived in Dresden for a four-year stay, where he was featured in a Hasse opera, La spartana generosa. Clouds appeared on the horizon for the Hasses that same summer, when Johann was asked to preside over a performance of Porpora’s Filandro, which featured Porpora’s pupil, twenty-five-year-old soprano Regina Mingotti (1722–1808) as prima donna. This was the first time in seventeen years that Hasse had produced an opera seria by any other composer and the first time any other singer besides Faustina had been a prima donna in Dresden. Faustina was now fifty years old and presiding over a thirty-one-year career, an astounding fact in any era, but she was not through yet. She was the prima donna in Hasse’s Leucippo in October, along with Carestini, and in February 1748, she and Mingotti both sang in Demofoonte. This produced a rivalry reminiscent of the Cuzzoni-Faustina battle of 1726. The issue was the relative positions of the characters on the stage, which was a matter of utmost importance in the Baroque era. The principals appealed to Metastasio to settle the dispute, which resulted in the following letter: Vienna, 10th February, 1748. Most dear friend, I hasten to answer your letter of the 5th, and to return your kindness by enclosing the arrangement of the positions which I allocated to the characters in “Demofoonte,” when it was presented in this Caesarean theater…

RIGHT Matusio RIGHT Dircea Adrasto

Creusa Creusa

ACT I Scene I Scene II Scene III Demofoonte Scene IV Timante Scene V Scene VI Timante

LEFT Dircea LEFT Timante Timante

Cherinto Cherinto

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And so on: in one instance we have the remark “Demofoonte may cross to the center for his aria.” The final ripieno is disposed as follows:

Matusio

Demofoonte Dircea Cherinto

Adrasto

“This” continues Metastasio, was how I regulated the character’s positions at the Imperial theater. At moments, when the action necessitates it, the more illustrious [degno] character may be at the left, but this does not produce the least inconvenience. In the first place the right hand is not considered the most eminent position by every nation; and, even if it were, the character could make the left the most distinguished merely by walking across the stage. . . . If in view of such considerations and necessities the more illustrious character is on the left, and the lowlier one on the right, they can be distinguished in various ways, for instance by placing the former a few steps ahead of the other or placing him in the middle of the stage facing the audience, and the other a long way from him and further back, sideways onto the audience and facing his superior.

There follows a ludicrous discussion as to “who should demand respect, Dircea of Creusa [Mingotti], as being the principal role, or Creusa of Dircea [Faustina] as a princess in disguise”; the whole business sounds not so much like stage management as the heart-searching of an anxious ambassadress faced with a ticklish point of protocol.4 Attilio regolo, another Metastasio libretto, was premiered in 1750 with the two prima donnas in the cast, as well as altos Annibali and Negri. On February 20, 1751, Faustina appeared on the opera stage for the last time in her husband’s Ciro riconosciuto on another of Metastasio’s librettos. Her partner was the great Felice Salimbeni (c. 1712–1751), a soprano castrato and another of Porpora’s illustrious pupils. Salimbeni died in August of the same year, probably of consumption. Faustina retained the title of virtuosa di camera and retained her salary of 3,000 thaler a year. At this point we will take our leave of the Hasses, although Johann continued composing opere serie until his retirement to Venice in 1773. He and Metastasio were the last and staunchest defenders of the tradition of the opera seria. In 1771 the partners collaborated in what was to be the last opera for both—Ruggiero, ovvero l’eroica gratitudine for Milan. The youthful Mozart was commissioned to write his serenade Ascanio in Alba for the same occasion. Leopold crowed that Wolfgang had put Hasse’s opera in the shade, but Mozart wrote: Tonight is Herr Hasse’s opera; since, however Papa is not going out, I cannot see it. Luckily, I know almost all the arias by heart, and thus I can stay home and see and hear it in my mind.5

Faustina Bordoni-Hasse lived in a comfortable retirement with Johann in Venice. She died on November 4, 1781. Johann

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followed his beloved Faustina in death on December 16, 1783. Faustina’s old rival, Francesca Cuzzoni, died in Bologna in obscurity and abject poverty, making buttons for a living, on June 19, 1778. Before leaving the German courts for France, I will mention Karl Heinrich Graun (1704–1759), another Italianized German who was well known in his time as Frederick the Great’s official composer. Graun was another tenor singer who composed several operas to Frederick’s librettos; Montezuma (1755) was the most important and featured an alto castrato (probably Carestini) in the title part.

NOTES 1. Rodolfo Celletti, A History of Bel Canto (New York: Oxford University Press, 1991), 78–79. 2.  Giambattista Mancini, Practical Reflections on Figured Singing, trans. and ed. Edward Foreman (1774; repr., Champaign, IL: Pro Musica, 1967), 10. 3.  Frederick L. Millner, The Operas of Johann Adolf Hasse (New York: UMI Research Press, 1979), 7. 4.  Angus Heriot, The Castrati in Opera (1927; repr., New York: Da Capo, 1975), 76–78. 5.  Frederick L. Millner, The Operas of Johann Adolf Hasse (New York: UMI Research Press, 1979), 33.

7 Gluck’s Basses-Dessus and Mozart’s Altos

In 1748 Tesi was in Vienna, where she enjoyed the patronage of Maria Teresa, who bestowed upon her the title of virtuosa di camera. There she again created a role for Gluck in Semiramide riconosciuta on a libretto by Metastasio to great acclaim. In 1754, Gluck composed another opera for Tesi, Le cinesi (The Chinese Ladies). It was written as a one-act comedy for the imperial court in Vienna and conceived as a satire on the operatic conventions of the time. Tesi retired in the 1750s and began teaching. Among her pupils were the renowned Caterina Gabrielli (1730–1796) and Anna Lucia de Amicis (c. 1733–1816). While in Vienna, Tesi met Mozart and his father as well as Giacomo Casanova (1725–1798). Tesi was described by Quantz, who heard her in 1719, as having a “contralto voice of masculine strength.” Tesi was fond of singing arias written for the bass voice (an octave higher, of course). The recorded voice of Dame Clara Butt (1872–1936) probably conveys the quality of such a voice. Mancini, in his Practical Reflections on Figured Singing (1774), gives Tesi first place, even ahead of Faustina and Cuzzoni:

In other parts of Europe in the eighteenth century (like twentyfirst-century America), the contralto voice was not in favor. Gluck preferred the haut-contre (high tenor) sound in most of his operas. Italian travelers during this time complained that the French singers were screaming, so perhaps the French bassesdessus (mezzo-sopranos) were contraltos forced to sing too high. Stendhal (Marie-Henri Beyle, 1783–1842) states that: Unquestionably, there must exist a certain number of contraltos in France; but as soon as a young lady evinces difficulty in reaching G or A, she is invariably told that “she has no voice.”1

Gluck’s earliest operas were not distinguished by the reforms that later made him famous and were written in the common opera seria form. His Demofoonte (1743), premiering at the Teatro Regio Ducal in Milan, featured Carestini in the title role, and Ezio (1750, revised in 1763), had Gaetano Guadagni as Ezio. Gluck’s Ipermestra of 1744 in Venice featured a female contralto, Vittoria Tesi (Tramontini). Tesi, another product of the Bologna school, studied with Francesco Campeggi (fl. 1730) and Bernacchi. She made her debut in 1716 in Parma and thereafter appeared with all the great singers, both female and castrati, of her time. She was named virtuosa di camera for the prince of Parma in Venice in 1718. The following year she was singing with Durastanti and Senesino in Dresden. She returned to Italy, where she travelled to all the great theaters until 1747. A highlight was that she sang in the opening of the Teatro San Carlo in Naples in 1737. There is a wonderful legend that in 1743, apparently to escape the intentions of a certain nobleman who was not content to have her remain his mistress, she went into the streets and offered the first man she met 50 ducats to marry her. The poor man gladly accepted her offer and they entered into a faux marriage. When the nobleman resumed his pursuit of her, she told him that she was already wed to another. This may be based on her unlikely marriage to Tramontini, but whatever the case, it makes a good story.

she did not lack the study which assured the possession of the art of singing, and a perfect and exquisite method, and yet, animated by her natural genius, she resolved to acquire with more tenacity the art of acting. She was correct in this resolution, for she was adorned with all the rare prerogatives which so infrequently appear together, but were united in her. An estimable and very complex personality, accompanied by a noble and gracious portamento; a clear and exquisite pronunciation; a sounding of the words according to their true sense; the adaptability to distinguish one character from another as much through a change in facial expression as with appropriate gestures; complete intonation, which did not vacillate in even the most fervent action, were excellences so singular in her, and so perfectly guided by her art, that she remained the one perfect mistress. This lady merited such great fame and honor that finally in 1769 she was decorated with the order of faith and Constancy by the King of Denmark, and she is the same lady who was the mainstay of the Italian theater in her time.2

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In 1762, Orfeo ed Euridice, the first joint work of Gluck and Raniero de’ Calzabigi (1714–1795), premiered in Vienna. This revolutionary work, shorn of opera seria conventions, emphasized the essence of the music and honest emotion. As noted, the title role was created by the alto castrato, Gaetano Guadagni, who could not have known that he was participating in the beginning of the end of his tragic race. The aria “Che faro senza Euridice,” in which Orfeo pours out his grief for the loss of his spouse, has been a mainstay for legions of mezzosopranos ever since. Its very simplicity has made it possible to be sung by less than virtuoso singers but few understand how to reach its depths of despair. Later, Gluck arranged the role for tenor. Guadagni also created the title role in Telemaco in 1765. The rest of Gluck’s operas were written for sopranos, with the possible exception of Iphigénie en Tauride of 1779, which is often sung by a mezzo-soprano. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756–1791) composed twentytwo operas in various styles and genres, from his youthful trifles to the consummate masterpieces of his maturity. Always anxious to please his aristocratic patrons and capricious singers, he could adapt to any demand but to him the music was always paramount, not just another part of an artistic whole. Therefore, he shared the same ideals as the Italian composers of his day, but he surpassed all of them not by a changed approach to opera but by the superior beauty, originality, and significance of his musical ideas, by his greater mastery of counterpoint, by his higher constructive powers, and by his ability to write music which not only perfectly portrayed a dramatic situation but at the same time could develop freely in a musical sense, without being in the least hampered by the presence of a text.3

Mozart’s first stage work, written when he was eleven, was a pasticcio called Die Schuldigkeit des ersten Gebots, Pt I., K. 35 (The Obligation of the First Commandment), a sacred singspiel, which premiered at the archbishop’s palace in Salzburg on March 12, 1767. Parts II and III, now lost, were by other composers. Gerechtigkeit (Divine Justice) was played by Maria Anna Braunhofer (1748–1819), who is listed as an operatic soprano. However, she also created the role of Giacinta in Mozart’s buffo opera La finta simplice, K. 46A (The Pretended Simpleton) (1768), which is a mezzo-soprano part. There are two rewarding arias for Giacinta, “Che scompiglio” (What Havoc!) and “Se a maritarmi” (Whether to Get Married) in the opera. Alfred Einstein writes that “the most unified realization of character is achieved in the figure of Giacinta—the anxious sentimental woman in love,”4 surely an astounding achievement for a boy of twelve! Prior to La finta, Apollo et Hyacinthus (1767), K. 38, was really Mozart’s first opera, an intermezzo in Latin, written to a libretto based on Ovid’s Metamorphoses. It featured two boy altos, Johann Ernst as Apollo and Josef Vonterthon as Zephyrus (dates unknown). Additionally, Hyacinthus was played by boy soprano Christian Enzinger. Wolfgang did not shield his schoolmates from vocal difficulty, and the arias “Jam pastor

Apollo” for Apollo and “En duos conspices” for Zephyrus are written in the typical Italian vocal idiom of the day. Mitridate, re di Ponto, K. 74A, written when Mozart was just fourteen years old, premiered at the Teatro Regio Ducal in Milan on December 26, 1770. Some, citing Mozart’s extreme youth, condemned the opera in advance, but they were soon silenced when the work’s premiere began a run of twenty-two sold-out performances. Mitridate featured a contralto castrato, Giuseppe Cicognani (fl. 1770s) as Farnace. Cicognani was undoubtedly an important singer, for he was mentioned among the greats in Mancini’s Practical Reflections on Figured Singing, although no details were given.5 Farnace has two rewarding arias in Mozart’s youthful work, an aria agitato “Venga pur, minacci e frema” and “Gia dagli occhi il velo è tolto,” a beautiful short aria di portamento. The career of Giuseppe Cicognani can be traced back to Brescia in 1756. He sang with many of the great virtuosos such as Giovanni Manzuoli (c. 1720–1782), Gaetano Guadagni, Caterina Gabrielli, Caffarelli, Caterina Galli, Giuseppe Aprile (1732–1813), and Anna de Amicis. Composers who worked with Cicognani included Tommaso Traetta (1727–1779), Niccolò Jommelli (1714–1774), Giovanni Vincenzo Sarti (fl. 1643–1655), and Hasse, who wrote “Primo uomo musico Cicognani has a seductive voice and a beautiful cantabile.”6 Mozart’s next opera, Ascanio in Alba, K. 111, a festa teatrale or serenata, was commissioned by Empress Maria Theresa (1717–1780) for the wedding of her son, Archduke Ferdinand of Hapsburg (1754–1806) in Milan. Capitalizing on the success of Mitridate the previous year, the fifteen-year-old genius composed the music in only three-and-a-half weeks. The success of Ascanio made the young composer “the toast of the town” and his association with Joseph II (1741–1790), Maria Theresa’s eldest son, proved invaluable for the creation of his mature works ten years later when Joseph became emperor. The eponymous role of Ascanio in the premiere on October 17, 1771, at the Teatro Regio Ducal was sung by Giovanni Manzuoli, who began his career as a soprano in Florence in 1731. During a forty-year career, in the manner of many castrati, his voice gradually settled into a contralto. Manzuoli had a thirteen-year engagement at the San Carlo in Naples and sang extensively in Madrid and Lisbon, as well as London, Vienna, and throughout Italy. Ascanio marked the end of a great career. But Ascanio was not the first time that Mozart had encountered the great singer. On a trip to London in 1764, he met Manzuoli and Johann Christian Bach (1735–1782), two artists who had a profound effect on the young prodigy. On the 24th of November, [1764] Wolferl, himself wide-eyed with excitement as so many others had been in listening to him, was taken to the opening of the Italian Opera Company, where he heard really fine singing for the first time. Giovanni Manzuoli, a celebrated castrato, and a great favorite with London audiences, was enchanted by him and gave him some lessons in singing, by which he profited instinctively as if absorbing the knowledge through his skin.7



Gluck’s Basses-Dessus and Mozart’s Altos 45

This knowledge is of supreme benefit for those who write for the voice. We know that both Rossini and Wagner were good singers and understood that the human voice is not the same as other instruments. The voice has a direct line to the emotions and is the most expressive instrument, but it is subject to the constraints of contracted muscles and other physical and emotional limitations. Einstein describes the same scene with an insight into Mozart’s vocal ideal: In the spring of 1764 he went to London, and there breathed the familiar air of Italian opera. He met the composer who was to be a model in so many forms up until the first Vienna years, Johann Christian Bach, and the singer Giovanni Manzuoli, of whose voice and style of performance one needs only to read Burney’s description in order to recognize Mozart’s ideal: “the most powerful and voluminous that has been heard on our stage since the time of Farinelli, and his manner was full of taste and dignity.” When Johann Christian and the young Mozart—who later had the good fortune to compose his Ascanio in Alba for Manzuoli as the protagonist—had this castrato for a model, the vocal portraits they made were almost identical.8

The performances of Ascanio did not, however, end well. Mozart wrote to his sister on November 24, 1771: Manzuoli, who up to the present has been generally looked upon as the most sensible of the castrati, has in his old age given the world a sample of his stupidity and conceit. He was engaged for the opera at a salary of five hundred cigliati, but, as the contract did not mention the serenata, he demanded another five hundred for that, which is one thousand cigliati in all. The court only gave him seven hundred and a fine snuff-box (quite enough, I think). But he, like a true castrato returned both the seven hundred cigliati and the snuff-box and went off without anything. I do not know how it will all end—badly, I expect.9

Ascanio in Alba was written in haste by the precocious teenager in the prevailing style of the day. Though astonished by how well Mozart had mastered the operatic manner of his time, we wait in vain for the deep feelings that his mature operas instill in us. There is no doubt as to who the primo uomo is, for Ascanio has four arias in various moods in keeping with the standard form of the opera seria. These days Ascanio in Alba seems to have been captured by the falsettists, who call themselves countertenors, with varying degrees of success. The next opera to feature an alto in a lead role was La finta giardiniera (The Make-Believe Lady Gardener), which is called Mozart’s first dramma giocoso or “playful drama.” La finta giardiniera has a libretto of uncertain authorship—possibly Carlo Goldoni (1707–1793), revised by Marco Coltellini (1724–1777). The plot is convoluted, to say the least, and Mozart’s musical style faithfully follows the libretto, so there is a lack of continuity and dramatic synthesis. However, there are very beautiful moments that foretell the masterpieces to come. The role of Cavalier Ramiro, a rejected lover, does have a serious character that is sustained throughout the opera. Ramiro’s

aria, “Dolce d’amor compagna,” is the most beautiful in the whole opera. Ramiro was first sung in the premiere on January 13, 1775, at the Savatortheater in Munich by Tomasso Consoli (c. 1753–c. 1808), a mezzo-soprano castrato. There are several connections between La finta giardiniera and Mozart’s next opera seria, Il rè pastore (The Shepherd King), which was first sung on April 23, 1775, in the palace of Archbishop Colloredo in Salzburg. The legacy of Munich in Mozart’s new opera is not confined to its music. From Munich came the version of the libretto used, which corresponded to the two-act book set by Pietro Guglielmi for the Bavarian Court in 1774, in which Tommaso Consoli sang the prima donna role of Elisa. Consoli was imported from Munich a year later to sing the primo uomo role of Aminta, and it is easy to imagine composer and castrato (he sang Ramiro in Giardiniera) conspiring while in Munich to make sure the archbishop “chose” Il rè pastore. In his letter of 7 August 1778 Mozart jests about getting Metastasio to write a libretto in which the castrato sings both prima donna and primo uomo, who never meet. The joke is all the more savory because Consoli did just this in successive years in Munich and Salzburg. He must have greatly pleased Mozart as the music for Aminta and Ramiro suggests.10

Such shenanigans were common in the eighteenth century. Castrati often assumed female roles at the beginning of their careers; Goethe reported that they were very good at it, indeed. More confusing is the fact that the music of Aminta, which includes the lovely air, “L’amero saro costante” is pitched higher than that for Ramiro and suggests that Consoli’s range was quite impressive, unless some transcription took place. Between Il rè pastore and Le nozze di Figaro, Mozart composed seven operas, which include the acknowledged masterpieces Idomeneo and Die Entführung aus dem Serail, but none were written for an alto in a leading role. In 1783, Joseph II, the Holy Roman Emperor and archduke of Austria, finding opera seria boring, assembled a troupe at his Vienna court to present the new sensation, Italian opera buffa. The troupe included the skillful librettist Lorenzo da Ponte (1749–1838) and several other composers besides Mozart: Antonio Salieri (1750–1825), Giovanni Paisiello (1740–1816), and Vicente Martin y Soler (1754–1806). Mozart had been looking for a subject for an Italian opera and, in 1786, he settled upon the second comedy of Beaumarchais’s trilogy Le Mariage de Figaro. It’s amazing that Joseph would have allowed this subject to be performed in his court. The original play had been banned in France by Louis XVI, and the Bastille was stormed only three years after the premiere of the opera. Apparently the aristocracy could not see what was coming and, eventually, much of Europe was affected. As there was no mezzo-soprano designation in Mozart’s time, the character of Cherubino is listed as soprano. Today, when we think of a “pants role,” we usually think of Cherubino first, and what young mezzo has not been given “Voi che sapete” by her teacher as a primary aria? The first Cherubino was Dorotea Bussani (neé Sardi) (1763–d. after 1810), who

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was newly married to Francesco Bussani (1743–d. after 1807), a basso buffo who doubled as Dr. Bartolo and Antonio in the original production of Figaro. From the beginning, the Figaro production was beset by intrigue and discord. Mozart and his father blamed Salieri, who allied himself with the Bussanis. Da Ponte described Francesco Bussani as A certain [Francesco] Bussani, inspector of scenery and wardrobe, who was proficient in all professions except that of an honorable man, ran to Count Rosenberg when he heard that I had inserted a ballet into Figaro and told him in tones of astonishment and disapproval: “Your Excellency, the poet has introduced a ballet into his opera!”11

The ballet was suppressed but restored after the emperor was convinced that it was an integral part of the plot. Dorotea Bussani, (who married the treacherous Francesco that year [1786]) made her debut as Cherubino, and must have been perfect for the part—years later a critic would still remark on her “great vivacity and playful expression.”12

Da Ponte, however, was not impressed: Dorotea Bussani (the original Cherubino), who Da Ponte snorted, “though a vulgar woman of little merit, had purely by means of pulling faces and silly clowning, and perhaps by methods more theatrical still, built up a great following among cooks, ostlers, waiters, lackeys and wig makers . . . and in consequence, was thought a gem.”13

Bussani also created the roles of Ghita in Martin y Soler’s Una cosa rara (1786), Despina in Cosi fan tutte (1790), and Fidalma in Domenico Cimarosa’s (1749–1801) Il matrimonio segreto (1792). Cimarosa’s opera has been called the greatest opera buffa of the eighteenth century, excepting, of course, Mozart’s masterpieces. Una cosa rara was a huge hit in the same season as Figaro and Mozart displays his sense of humor by quoting a theme from it in the last act of Don Giovanni. Bussani was apparently more a contralto than a mezzosoprano, for “a contemporary wrote that he had never heard such a beautiful and charming chest voice, nor one used with so much humour and so mischievously (Grundsätze zur Theaterkritik, 1790).”14 From 1795 to 1805, Dorotea Bussani sang in Italy, and from 1807 to 1809 in Lisbon. However, when she was older, her appearances in London did not please the English public. Don Giovanni capitalized on the success of Figaro and premiered at the Estates Theater in Prague on October 29, 1787. There are no roles for altos, although Zerlina and Donna Elvira are occasionally sung by lyric mezzo-sopranos such as Cecilia Bartoli. We know that Pauline Viardot sang Donna Anna, but she hastened to say that she sang many roles unsuited to her voice. During the Vienna run that started on May 7, 1788, Dorotea Bussani sang Susanna, but Mozart did not care for her interpretation. Francesco Bussani sang both Il Commendatore and Masetto.

The triumvirate of Da Ponte operas was concluded by Così fan tutte at the Burgtheater in Vienna on January 26, 1790. The opera was given only five times before performances were halted by the death of Joseph II on February 20. The following summer, the opera was performed five final times and then no more in Vienna during Mozart’s lifetime. The story of lovers trading places did not upset eighteenth-century audiences, which enjoyed stories of cross dressing, disguises, and other escapades, but nineteenth- and early-twentieth-century moralists considered it somewhat risqué. It has been called “Laclos’s Les liaisons dangereuses with heart.”15 Apparently Mozart did not nurse a grudge against Francesco Bussani, for he cast him as Don Alfonso along with his wife, Dorotea, as Despina. I have always preferred Despina sung by a mezzo-soprano and played older, since an ingenue dispensing worldly advice to the sisters seems ludicrous. Dorotea Bussani apparently considered the Fiordiligi, Adriana Ferrarese del Bene (c. 1755–d. after 1804), her archrival. The aria [“Come scoglio”] is parodistic in tone, and, with its wide intervals and absurd jumps from the top to the bottom of the soprano range [stile con slancio], seems likely to have been at any rate partly intended to poke fun at the phenomenal range and technique of Ferrarese del Bene, the original singer of Fiordiligi, who was Da Ponte’s mistress at the time of the première but seems to have been no favourite of Mozart’s either personally or artistically.16

William Mann has an opinion about Mozart’s sense of humor regarding these vocal gymnastics: It was evidently recognized that these monster leaps were a special effect, to be reproduced even when the singer was not Adriana Ferrarese who prided herself on her extensive vocal compass. Mozart did not care for her and, being required to display this specialty of hers, made her expose her gear-change from head-to-chest-register, and back, as violently as possible. It was also said that Mozart was playing on Ferrarese’s technique of ducking her head for low notes and throwing it back for her top register, so that in these bars she would look as well as sound undignified.17

The alto lead, Dorabella, was sung by Louise (Luisa) Villaneuve (fl. 1786–1799), a mezzo-soprano of French origin. Villaneuve started out as a ballet dancer and made her singing debut in Milan in 1786. In 1788 she sang the role of Amore in Martin y Soler’s L’abore di Diana and debuted in Vienna in the same role where she was acclaimed for her “charming appearance, her sensitive and expressive acting, and her artful, beautiful singing.”18 Mozart was in a jocular mood when he wrote Così, and Dorabella’s second act aria, “È amore un ladroncello,” alludes to Villaneuve’s celebrity as Amore in Soler’s opera. Mozart composed three other pieces for Villaneuve to be inserted in other operas—“Alma grande e nobil core” (K. 578), for Cimarosa’s I due baroni di Rocca Azzura, and “Chi sa, chi sa, qual sia” (K. 582) and “Vado, ma dove?” (K. 583) interpolated into Soler’s Il burbero di buon cuore. Some



Gluck’s Basses-Dessus and Mozart’s Altos 47

books on Mozart assert that Villaneuve and Ferrarese del Bene were sisters in real life as well as on the stage, but there is no evidence that this is so. This leaves La clemenza di Tito, which was started after most of Die Zauberflöte had already been composed. The opera was commissioned to celebrate the coronation of Leopold II (1747–1792) as king of Bohemia and premiered in the Prague National Theater on September 6, 1791. Coming only two years after the French Revolution, the old-fashioned opera seria was based on a reduced Metastasio libretto by Caterino Mazzolà (1745–1806) that had already been set by nearly forty composers. The magnanimity of the rulers was the standard public relations ploy of eighteenth-century despots and in this case was meant to strengthen the grip of the Bohemian aristocracy on the peasantry. There is no sense that Mozart knew any of this, rushed as he was. He composed the opera in only eighteen days, with the secco recitatives being written by another composer, probably his student Franz Süssmayr (1766–1803). Mozart had originally envisioned the role of Sesto as a tenor. However, the impresario entrusted to produce La clemenza di Tito, Domenico Guardasoni (c. 1731–1806), had promised to engage “a castrato of leading quality” for the primo uomo role (more important than whatever “distinguished maestro” he chose). This turned out to be Domenico Bedini (c. 1745–d. after 1795). Bedini’s career began modestly enough in comic opera in 1762 in Pesaro and Rome. He was then secondo uomo in several opera houses in Italy and Munich and finally achieved primo uomo status after 1776. He retired after singing during Carnival in Florence in 1792. Today Sesto is invariably sung by a mezzo-soprano. I am fond of Cecilia Bartoli’s deeply committed characterization and her martellato singing of the coloratura section of the great aria “Parto, parto.” Teresa Berganza was also a memorable Sesto and was featured in the Karl Böhm (1894–1981) recording. The musico role of Annio was created by alto Carolina (Anchulina) Perini (fl. 1790). We know that Perini, “the famous Italian soprano,” was chosen to sing at the coronation banquet for Leopold II that took place earlier on the very day of the premiere. I have found nothing further about Perini and suspect that the “famous” description was a bit of press agentry by Guardasoni to drum up business. The part of the villain Vitella has also often been sung by mezzo-sopranos. Dame Janet Baker (b. 1933) scored a triumph singing the part at Covent Garden in 1975. The original

Vitella was Maria Marchetti-Fantozzi (b. after 1760–d. after 1800) who was known, especially in Naples and Milan, as an excellent actress as well as a singer and who had an extraordinary range and a virtuosic coloratura ability. Like Pasta, she was adept at portraying tragic and passionate heroines such as Cleopatra and Semiramide. Fantozzi went on to further success in Venice and Berlin. At the premiere she “roused the emperor to raptures.”19

NOTES 1.  Stendhal [Marie-Henri Beyle], Life of Rossini, trans. Richard N. Coe (1823; repr., London: Calder, 1956), 384. 2.  Giambattista Mancini, Practical Reflections on Figured Singing, trans. and ed. Edward V. Foreman (1774; repr., Champaign, IL: Pro Musica Press, 1967), 9. 3.  Donald J. Grout, A Short History of Opera (New York: Columbia University Press, 1965), 274. 4.  Alfred Einstein, Mozart: His Character, His Work (New York: Oxford University Press, 1945), 394. 5. Mancini, Practical Reflections on Figured Singing, 12. 6. Anonymous, Giuseppe “Cicognani,” www.quellusignolo.fr/ castrats/cicognani.html, 4 January 2015. 7. Marcia Davenport, Mozart (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1932), 42. 8. Einstein, Mozart, 356–57. 9. Cliff Eisen et al., “Giovanni Mazuoli,” In Mozart’s Words, www.letters.mozartways.com, 4 January 2015. 10. Daniel Heartz, Haydn, Mozart, and the Viennese School, 1740–1780 (New York: Norton, 1995), 606. 11.  Louis Biancolli, ed., The Mozart Handbook (New York: Grosset & Dunlap, 1954), 140–41. 12.  Rodney Bolt, The Librettist of Venice (New York: Bloomsbury, 2006), 155–56. 13. Bolt, The Librettist of Venice, 193. 14. Christopher Raeburn, “Dorothea Bussani,” The New Grove Dictionary of Opera, vol. 1, ed. Stanley Sedie (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997), 658. 15. Bolt, The Librettist of Venice, 201. 16. Biancolli, The Mozart Handbook, 278. 17. William Mann, The Operas of Mozart (New York: Oxford University Press, 1977), 541–42. 18.  Dorothea Link, “Louise Villeneuve,” The New Grove Dictionary of Opera, vol. 3, ed. Stanley Sedie (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997). From (Wiener Zeitung, iii, 1789, 1673). 19. Mann, The Operas of Mozart, 570.

8 Intermezzo

The last half of the eighteenth century could be called the second golden age of singing, but there were other factors that were struggling for expression. The Baroque fascination for fantasy and spectacular scenic effects was giving way to more realism. Metastasian veneration for “enlightened despots” such as La clemenza di Tito was being replaced by social satires like Le nozze di Figaro. In the opera seria, which moved along in parallel fashion for a long time, the castrati were still “the stars of the show,” but they were slowly being replaced by more human figures and genuine emotion in the works of Handel, Gluck, and Mozart. Comic opera, which never utilized the

evirati, became increasingly popular and actually led to the development of the melodramas of the nineteenth century. The range of the music was expanded so that the resplendent high note gradually became the focal point of the music. This led inexorably to the elevation of the high soprano to the status of “prima donna” and the high tenor as her hero and love interest. Although florid singing continued up until Rossini and beyond, the original purpose of florid music—namely, to amplify the emotional content of the musical and dramatic situation—increasingly began to lose its meaning. In such an atmosphere, the alto voice was bound to suffer diminished

Musical Example 8.1.  Mozart’s Letter about Lucrezia Agujari

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interest by a jaded public. There ensued a frantic competition among the high sopranos, both female and male, to reach the highest notes at the fastest possible speeds. Mozart wrote a famous letter to his sister in 1770 reporting that he had heard Lucrezia Agujari (1743–1783), called La bastardella, sing a high C in the passage in musical example 8.1. The altos were not totally replaced by any means during this period. Of all the singers after Farinelli, the one who elicited the greatest expressions of admiration, not only for his virtuosity, but also for his almost mystical ability to move the heart, was Gasparo Pacchierotti. I have written extensively about this great singer in Singing: The First Art. Pacchierotti was part of a group of singers who were expanding the range of virtuosity to the highest level ever known. The normal range of the castrato contraltos was the two octave G to G of today’s baritones, although an octave higher, of course, and, as we learn from Burney, Pacchierotti [1740–1821] sang up to a B flat or even a C. Burney also notes the fullness and flexibility of his low voice, and remembers hearing him sing tenor arias in their original pitch, descending to the B flat. This would indicate a range of at least three octaves. In other words, his voice must have provided a foretaste of those female mezzosopranos of the nineteenth century who inspired such wideranging roles as Cenerentola, Rosina, Malcolm Graeme (in La donna del lago) and Fidès (in Le prophète), the delight of their originators and the despair of most of those who followed.1

Pacchierotti was very intelligent and well read, so he could have been influenced by the reforms of Gluck and others who were reacting to the excesses of the opera seria of old. Lord Richard Mount-Edgecombe (1764–1839) reflected on Pacchierotti’s impeccable taste: his powers of execution were great, but he had far too good taste and good sense to make a display of them where it would have been misapplied, confining it to one aria d’agilita in each opera, confident that the chief delight in singing and his own supreme excellence lay in touching expression and exquisite pathos. Yet he was so thorough a musician that nothing came amiss to him; every style was to him equally easy, and he could sing, at first sight, all songs of the most opposite characters, not merely with the facility and correctness which a complete knowledge of music must give, but entering at once into the views of the composer, and giving them all the spirit and expression he had designed. Such was his genius in his embellishments and cadences, that their variety was inexhaustible. He could not sing a song twice in exactly the same way; yet never did he introduce an ornament that was not judicious and appropriate to the composition.2

This attitude of respect for the composer was revolutionary for the era. Until then, the composer was regarded as little more than a servant. It took a long time for the attitudes to change to the veneration to the composer’s work that is pervasive among informed musicians today. Violet Paget (Vernon Lee) quotes Marcello’s satirical work Il teatro di musica alla moda:

The composer must be very humble towards everyone, standing with his hat off before the singers, and showing every possible degree of politeness toward the [performing] bear, the figuranti [set designers], and the candle-snuffers; but he has to maintain his station with the poet, “ordering him to put in such and such metres and syllables, insisting on the poem being legibly copied, with lots of commas, semicolons, notes of interrogations, &c., although in his composition he is to pay no attention whatever to commas, semicolons, or interrogations.”3

Girolamo Crescentini (1762–1846) was the mezzo-soprano castrato singer, composer, and teacher who had perhaps the most beautiful voice of all the castrati. The youthful Schopenhauer wrote in his diary: His supernaturally beautiful voice cannot be compared with that of any woman: there can be no fuller and more beautiful tone, and in its silvery purity he yet achieves indescribable power.4

Crescentini was another product of the Bologna school, studying with Lorenzo Gibelli (1718–1812), a very wellknown teacher who also taught the youthful Rossini. He made his debut in Rome in 1783 at the age of twenty-one (quite a late start for a castrato). He made rapid progress, especially in Naples, where he often sang with Giacomo David (Davide) (1750–1830), the most famous tenor of the era. He sang in the premieres of Catone in Utica by Giovanni Paisiello and Amleto by Gaetano Andreozzi (1755–1826). Crescentini was known for his pure voice and expressive singing, which was perhaps equal to Pacchierotti’s, although he lacked the latter’s power. In Milan, January 1796, he created the part of Romeo in Niccoló Zingarelli’s (1752–1837) Giulietta e Romeo and was always identified with the role. Indeed, Crescentini composed “Ombra cara aspetta,” which became known as “Romeo’s Prayer” and was inserted into the opera. The style was really inappropriate for the dramatic situation and Zingarelli complained that it “lacked common sense.” As these things often go, it created a sensation and was forever identified with the opera. Stendhal used Crescentini’s performances of “Romeo’s Prayer” to explain the improvisatory genius of these artists and to rail against the composers’ assumption of control of all of the ornamentation. There is no composer on earth, suppose him to be as ingenious as you will, whose score can convey with precision, these and similar infinitely minute nuances which form the secret of Crescentini’s unique perfection in his interpretation of the aria; furthermore, all this infinitely minute material is itself in a perpetual state of transformation, constantly responding to variations in the physical condition of the singer’s voice, or to changes in the intensity of the exaltation and ecstasy by which he may happen to be inspired. At one performance, he may tend towards ornaments redolent of indolence and morbidezza; on a different occasion, from the very moment when he sets foot upon the stage, he may find himself in a mood for gorgheggi instinct with energy and life. Unless he yields to the inspiration of the moment, he can never attain to perfection in his singing. A great singer is essentially a creature of nerves; a great violinist, on the other hand, needs a temperament of a radically different quality.5



Intermezzo 51

The following year in Venice (1797), Crescentini created the part of Curiazio in Domenico Cimarosa’s Gli Orazi ed I Curiazi, where he shared the stage with Josephina Grassini (1773– 1850), one of the greatest contraltos of the age, as Orazia. Grassini was also the first Giulietta in the Zingarelli piece and relied on Crescentini’s advice as a teacher all her life. It should be noted that all these singers were singing contemporary music, which, at this time, was calculated to please both performer and audience, not irritate them. Crescentini’s skill as a musician made him popular with the composers who formed a bridge to Rossini. His successes included Luigi Cherubini’s (1760–1842) Ataserse at Livorno, Giuseppe Sarti’s (1729–1802) Didone abbandonata at Padua, and Il ritorno di Baco dall’ Indié by Angelo Tarchi (1760–1814). Crescentini went to Lisbon in 1797, where he remained for four years as a singer and director of the opera. He returned to Milan, where in 1803 he was applauded in Giovanni Simone Mayr’s (1763–1845) Alonso e Cora and Vincenzo Federici’s (1764–1826) Ifigenia en Aulide. In 1805, Crescentini was in Vienna when Napoleon’s troops occupied the city. The emperor, who had no liking for the singing of the castrati, heard Crescentini’s singing of “Romeo’s Prayer.” He was so moved that he unpinned the Order of the Iron Crown of Lombardy from his own jacket and bestowed it upon the singer right then and there. He then elevated Chevalier Crescentini to a knighthood and the nobility and appointed Crescentini singing teacher to the imperial family. Crescentini moved to Paris in 1806, where he remained until 1812, when he returned to Bologna and in his later years taught singing at the Royal College of San Pietro a Majella. The great Isabella Colbran (1785–1845) was one of his pupils. Josephina (Giuseppina) Grassini had a contralto voice of great power but it was also unusually flexible. She was noted for her innate musicality and good taste. Grassini made her debut in 1789 in Pietro Alessandro Guglielmi’s (1728–1804) La pastorella nobile (1788). Guglielmi was an important composer in the late eighteenth century who composed both opera seria and buffo operas. He was a competitor of Paisiello and Cimarosa, whose innovations were a part of the bridge to Rossini. Grassini started out in opera buffa at La Scala to no great acclaim, but soon realized that her forte was in drama, so she resumed her studies and returned to the stage in 1792. Grassini starred in the first La Scala performances of Zingarelli’s Ataserse (1793) and in the premieres of Marcos Antonio Portugal’s (1762–1830) Demofoonte (1794), Ferdinando Bertoni’s (1725–1813) Orfeo ed Euridice (1776), Telemaco nell’ isola di Calypso (1797) by Simone Mayr, and Cimarosa’s Artemisia regina di Caria (1797). At La Fenice, she sang the title role in the first performance of La morte di Semiramide by Sebastiano Nasolini (? 1768–1798). Like her soprano counterpart Angelica Catalani (1780– 1849), she was very beautiful but perhaps not very well endowed intellectually. Physically, Grassini had every desirable quality in the gift of nature. She was tall and well proportioned, with a carriage

best described as queenly. Her coloring was dark, her features clean-cut and noble. Talma, the great French tragedian, declared he had never seen any actress with such an expressive physiognomy. Her voice was a contralto limited in range, but rich in quality, and of unusual power and flexibility. In her youth she was associated constantly with Crescentini and Marchesi, two of the best male sopranos of the time, who did much to benefit her musical style. Fétis, the French critic, who knew her well, admired especially the free emission of her voice and the breadth of her phrasing. Mentally, nature had treated Grassini in niggardly fashion. She was slow-witted, indolent, unimaginative and unambitious. Whatever personal charm she possessed was due to her unusual beauty and her kindly disposition. She was notoriously dull in company.6

On June 4, 1800, Grassini was interpreting Cora in Andreozzi’s La vergine del sole at La Scala. In the audience was Napoleon, en route to his army’s victory over the Austrians at Marengo on June 14. The “little corporal,” smitten by Grassini’s beauty and lovely voice, added her to his coterie of lovers and brought her to Paris where she sang in concerts, there being no Italian opera at the time. At one, the Grand National Festival at the Champ de Mars, there were eight hundred musicians. According to some of the critics, she created a sensation. Grassini was a free spirit, known to have had numerous affairs, and she took up a relationship with the violinist Pierre Rode (1774–1830), who was solo violinist to Napoleon. Rode

Figure 8.1.  Giuseppina Grassini by Louise Élisabeth Vigée Le Brun (1755–1842)

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was the composer whose set of violin variations were notoriously appropriated by Angelica Catalani with words allegedly by the singer. Stendhal famously remarked about Catalani that “God had somehow forgot to place a heart within reasonable proximity of this divine larynx.”7 Rode and Grassini embarked on a concert tour to the Netherlands and Germany, after which she returned to Italy. From 1803 to 1805 Grassini was in London. She made her debut at the King’s Theater in Andreozzi’s La vergine del sole. She also appeared in the title roles of Zaira and Il ratto di Proserpina by Peter von Winter (1754–1825). In Il ratto she was judged to be the victor in a singing contest with the famous soprano, Mrs. Billington (Elizabeth) (1768–1818). In 1806, Grassini and Crescentini returned to Paris where Napoleon apparently forgave her indiscretions and appointed her “first chamber virtuosa.” Grassini subsequently premiered Luigi Cherubini’s Pimmalione (1809), reprised Orazia in Gli Orazi ed I Curiazi at the Théâtre Italien in 1813, and created Dido in Didone abbandonata (1814) by Ferdinando Paer (1771–1839) at the Tuileries Palace. While Napoleon was in exile on the island of Elba, Grassini moved to Rome. After he escaped and returned to governance during the “Hundred Days,” she returned to Paris. After the Bourbon Restoration, Grassini remained in Paris, where she became the lover of the Duke of Wellington (1769–1852), who had defeated Napoleon in the Battle of Waterloo in 1815. Wellington had been appointed British ambassador to France. However, Grassini was soon compelled to leave France by Louis XVIII (1755–1824), who could not countenance the immense popularity of Napoleon’s former lover. Grassini returned to London where she was heard in the premiere of Aristedemo by Vincenzo Pucitta (1778–1861), Angelica Catalani’s favorite composer. In 1815, Grassini returned to Italy where she sang in Trieste, Padua, Florence, and Brescia. In 1817, she sang in two performances of Gli Orazi at La Scala. Grassini retired in 1823 in Milan and took up teaching. Two of her pupils were among the most illustrious singers of the nineteenth century—her niece, Giulia Grisi (1811–1869) and Giuditta Pasta (1797–1865). Giuseppina Grassini passed away in Milan in 1773 at the age of seventy-five.

Figure 8.2.  Luisa Todi by Louise Élisabeth Vigée Le Brun

Grassini was not the only great female alto singer of the interim era. Luisa Todi (1753–1833) was a Portuguese mezzosoprano (born Luisa Rosa de Aguiar). Unlike most of the other singers of the era, Todi was equally adept at opera buffa and opera seria. She started her career as an actress in 1767 or 1768 in Molière’s (1622–1673) play Tartuffe in Lisbon. From 1769 to 1771, after studying singing, she appeared in Giuseppe Scolari’s (1720–d. after 1774) Il viaggiatore ridicolo (1770) and two other comic operas. Todi gained recognition as an important singer in Oporto from 1772 to 1777. Luisa was more than just a singer. She spoke four languages—French, Italian, English, and German—very well and was praised for her clear diction. Todi was very skilled technically and was an excellent actress who had an immediate emotional impact on her audiences. Todi was engaged in 1777 in London for Paisiello’s comic opera Le due contesse (1776) but failed to make much of an impression. Burney thought that she must have improved very much since she was in England, or we treated her very unworthily, for though her voice was thought to be feeble and seldom in tune while she was here, she has been extremely admired in France, Spain, Russia and Germany, as a most touching and exquisite performer.8

She then switched to serious parts and her international fame was established by her triumph at the Concerts Spirituels in Paris in 1778, whose director was Gluck’s famous haut-contre Josef Legros (1714–1787). To get some idea of the quality of these concerts, there were two other artists on the programs: Anton Raaff (1714–1797), the first Idomeneo, and his young friend, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, whose symphony No. 31 in D major (Paris) was premiered by the orchestra, reputed to be one of the finest in Europe. Todi was judged to be “the best foreign singer ever featured in France.”9 Todi returned to the Concerts Spirituels in 1779 and 1780 to even more acclaim. From 1780 to 1783 she appeared at the Teatro Reggio in Turin and gave several concert tours in Italy, Switzerland, Austria, and Germany. In 1783, La Todi was back in Paris where, like Cuzzoni and Faustina before her, she became embroiled in a battle with the German soprano Gertrud Elizabeth Schmeling (1749–1833), who was known as Mara (from her married name). Mara was the favorite singer of Frederick the Great who was loath to let her travel. He kept her close to his court by either putting her in jail or sending her husband off to play in a regimental band. The pair finally escaped his clutches by traveling to Bohemia in 1780. In Paris the rivalry between the two singers reached a white-hot pitch, which divided the public into two warring factions. Luisa Todi was judged the victor and was called “the nation’s singer.” In 1784 Todi traveled to Russia with her family to join a brilliant company at the court of Catherine the Great (1729–1796). Catherine was not only a great patroness of the arts, especially opera, but also a librettist of some nine operas. Giuseppe Sarti (1729–1802), an acquaintance of Mozart,



Intermezzo 53

was the director. Sartri’s opera Fra i due litiganti il terzo gode (1782) was immortalized by Mozart by being quoted in the last act of Don Giovanni. Luisa appeared in Sarti’s Castore e Polluce (1786) and her performance in his Armida e Rinaldo so impressed Catherine that she presented the singer with two diamond bracelets. To express her gratitude in turn, Todi and her husband composed an opera, Pollinia, and dedicated it to the monarch. Luigi Marchesi (1754–1829), a notoriously temperamental soprano castrato, was in the opera. He and Sarti became jealous of Todi and began to intrigue against her. Catherine responded by sacking the pair, though she reinstated Sarti in 1790. La Todi remained in Russia for four years (1784–1788) and was the singing teacher to the royal princesses. Catherine continued to shower her with jewelry of incalculable value. In 1788 Luisa Todi was in the court of Frederick Wilhelm II of Prussia where she triumphed in Andromeda by Johann Friedrich Reichardt (1752–1815) and Medea by Johann Gottlieb Neumann (1741–1801). Then she returned to Paris for her third engagement at the Concerts Spirituel in March 1789. Todi sang, among other selections, “Sarete alfin contenti,” a scene composed for her by Cherubini, and she was judged to be the greatest singer of her time. Luisa Todi left Paris only a few weeks before the French Revolution swept away most of the nobility who had been the sponsors of the arts and culture of the land. After a year’s visit to Hanover, La Todi embarked on a tour of Germany and sang for Ludwig von Beethoven (1770–1827) in Bonn. She then traveled to Venice, where she appeared in the Teatro San Samuele from 1790 to 1791, which was declared the “Todi year.” While in Venice, she began to have vision problems, which caused her to retire from the stage for a few months. This was the subject of many tributes and poems written in her honor. When she returned to the theater, there was rapturous applause. The following season (1791–1792), Todi sang in Bergamo, Padua, Turin, Parma, and Prague. She was engaged by the Madrid Teatro de los Caños del Peral from 1792 to 1795. La Todi’s native country, like Mozart in Austria, failed to recognize her outstanding career, mostly because women were

forbidden to appear on the stage there. However, after an engagement at the San Carlo in Naples from 1777 to 1779, she returned to Oporto in 1801. Sadly, misfortune followed the singer for most of the rest of her life. Todi’s beloved husband died in 1803, and she wore mourning clothes all her remaining years. In 1809 Napoleon’s army invaded Oporto and, while trying to escape, Luisa lost most of her possessions in the river Douro, including the priceless jewels bestowed upon her by Catherine II. Todi and her family were imprisoned by the French, but General Soult remembered “the nation’s singer” and protected her. In 1811 Todi moved to Lisbon, but by 1823, she had lost her sight completely. She died in 1833 after suffering a stroke. She was interred in a Lisbon cemetery that was covered by the foundation of another building. Portugal’s greatest singer remains buried beneath the floor of a nondescript cellar despite repeated requests for a proper memorial from family descendants and Todi devotees. However, Lisbon named the street where she died Rua Luisa Todi in 1917. Also, in Todi’s hometown, Setúbal, there is a bust and monument, and the main avenue is named Avenida Luisa Todi.

NOTES 1.  Henry Pleasants, The Great Singers: From the Dawn of Opera to Our Own Time (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1966), 85. 2. Heriot, The Castrati in Opera (1927; repr., New York: Da Capo, 1975), 107. 3.  Vernon Lee [Violet Paget], Studies of the Eighteenth Century in Italy (London: Unwin, 1907), 164–65. 4. Heriot, The Castrati in Opera, 119. 5.  Stendhal [Marie-Henri Beyle], Life of Rossini, trans. Richard N. Coe (1823; repr., London: Calder, 1956), 344–45. 6.  Francis Rogers, “Giuseppina Grassini,” The New Music Review and Church Music Review 7, nos. 73–84 (December 1907–November 1908): 119–20. 7. Stendhal, Life of Rossini, 326. 8.  Charles Burney, A General History of Music: From the Earliest Ages to the Present Period, vol. 4 (London: Payne & Son, 1789), 509. 9. Michel Brenet, Les Concerts en France sous L’ancien Régime (Paris: Fischbacher, 1900), 319.

II ALTOS IN THE ROMANTIC REVOLUTION

9 Cambio di Voce

The description of the adolescent “change of voice” is an apt term for the changes that occurred in opera at the turn of the eighteenth century. The Age of Enlightenment, or Age of Reason, was coming to a close and the romantic era was dawning. The French revolution in 1789 is generally regarded as the political end of the era, but the musical end was probably the apotheosis of Tamino and Pamina in Die Zauberflöte of Mozart. Seeds for the romantic age were also planted by Mozart in the real-life characters in Le nozze di Figaro and by Handel in his scheme of financing his opera seasons by subscription, taking advantage of the demand for culture from the emerging middle class, as well as support from the nobility. Perhaps sensing that the castrato voice was inadequate for such strong emotions, he also cast a tenor as Bajazet, who commits suicide in full view of the audience in Tamerlano (1724). But it was opera buffa, or burletta, the “humble sister” of the opera seria that elevated the tenor and soprano voices to the romantic stars-of-the-show status that they still enjoy today. Neapolitan opera buffa dated from the beginning of the eighteenth century at the Teatro dei Fiorentini in the shadow of the mighty Teatro San Carlo. Comic opera was performed during the off-season, between acts of spoken plays and for the general entertainment of the masses. The singers were not the great virtuosi, nor was the music meant to inspire or uplift. However, composers were never paid very much in the eighteenth century and they had to make a living; burlettas were written by many of the great composers of the day, such as Giovanni-Battista Pergolesi (1710–1736), Galuppi, Niccolo Jommelli, Leo, and Niccola Piccini (1728–1800). The singers, held to the high standards of serious opera, were nothing special, but that level of mediocrity would be considered very good today. They were very good actors and improvisers, rooted in the traditions of the commedia del arte. The contralto voice, so dear to the composers of opera seria, was not used in the opera buffa. On the other hand, the tenor, which was relegated to supporting roles in the opera seria, became the male lead, while the bass, formerly a messenger or

other minor character, assumed the roles familiar to us of the blustering old doctor or blundering servant. Thus, the archetype of the romantic tenor like Almaviva and the basso-buffo such as Dr. Bartolo and Don Pasquale were born. The musical language and orchestration were cut from the same cloth as the opera seria, but concerted numbers of six or more characters, all babbling about being driven mad or howling about the state of their confusion, were used as finales. The opera seria was a stylistic dead end as soon as the race of singers for whom it was created died out, but from the humble seed of the burletta sprouted the mighty tree that led to the full-length comic operas of Mozart, Rossini, Donizetti, and, indeed, the dramatic operas of Verdi and Puccini. After Cimarosa, Paisiello, and Paer, all of whom mostly cast sopranos as the prima donnas in their voluminous output of operas, Johann Simon Mayr, known as Giovanni Simone Mayr in Italy, was the bridge into the nineteenth century, and he led the development of the opera seria into the melodrama of the Romantic age. Mayr was the teacher of Donizetti for eight years, and Rossini and Verdi were greatly influenced by him. Mayr wrote almost seventy operas, which are rarely performed today, though many have been recorded. Mayr’s chief contribution, besides being a great teacher, was in applying the orchestral harmonic effects achieved by Joseph Haydn (1732–1809) and Mozart to Italian opera. Stendhal says that “he had scarcely a notion how to extract melody from the human voice, but he was very skilled in extracting music from his instruments.”1 Another innovation was instituted by the flamboyant but enormously successful impresario Domenico Barbaja (1778– 1841), when he took over the management of the Teatro San Carlo in Naples in 1809. Mayr supported Barbaja’s policy of composing opera seria in the French style, dispensing with recitativeo secco in favor of orchestral accompaniments. Mayr’s Medea in Corinto in the new style was a triumph in 1813. Rossini took over the musical directorship of the Teatro San Carlo in 1815 and presided over the production of several of Mayr’s operas. 57

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Mayr had a long career writing opera serie that began in Venice at the Fenice with Saffo ossia I riti d’Apollo Leucadio in 1794. Mayr’s early operas were cast in the familiar mold and featured castrati such as Crescentini in Saffo, Telemaco nell’isola di Calypso (1797), Alonso e Cora (1803), and Zamori ossia L’eroe dell’ Indie (1804). Luigi Marchesi starred in Lodoiska (1796), Lauso e Lidia (1798), and Ginevra di Scozia (1801). Last, but certainly not least, Giovanni Battista Velluti (1781–1861) premiered in Raùl di Crequi (1809). Female altos who are familiar to us include Giuseppina Grassini in Telemaco, Margherita Chabrand (1780?–?) in I misteri eleusini (1802), Teresa Giorgi-Belloc (1784–1855) in Adelasia ed Aleramo (1806) and Fedra (1821), Marietta (Maria) Marcolini (c. 1780–1814 or later) in Il sacrifizio di Ifigenia (1811), Isabella Colbran in Medea in Corinto (1813), Cora (1815), and Mennone e Zemira (1817), Giuditta Pasta in Danao (1818), and Rosa Mariani (1799–d. after 1832) en travesti as Alfredo Re in Alfredo il grande re degli Anglo-Sassoni (1819).

Mayr’s name has faded into operatic history, but he was very important in the primo ottocento. Besides his innovations already mentioned, of general interest is the fact that Mayr was at the forefront of the gradual replacement of the castrati with tenors as the leading men of the opera seria. During this time the San Carlo was a veritable treasure trove of great tenors, and Mayr, as well as Rossini, began to take advantage of this cornucopia. Manuel Garcia (1775–1832), Andrea Nozzari (1775–1832), Domenico Mombelli (1751–1835), Gaetano Crivelli (1768–1836), Niccola Tacchinardi (1772–1859), Giovanni David (1789–1851), and, especially, Giacomo David all created leading roles in Mayr’s operas. Giovanni Battista Rubini (1792–1854) appeared in no less than nine Mayr operas during his splendid career.

NOTE 1.  Stendhal [Marie-Henri Beyle], Life of Rossini, trans. Richard N. Coe (1823; repr., London: Calder, 1956), 17.

10 The Swan of Pesaro and I Musici

Even as the soprano voice was in its ascendancy to the status of prima donna, the alto voice was not finished as a central interest in opera, nor is it to this day. The alto as the voice of bel canto had a towering champion—Gioachino Rossini, who particularly loved the contralto voice. In a letter from late 1852 or early 1853 to Luigi Christostomo Ferrucci in Rognoni, he wrote:

Rossini’s first opera, a farse, Il cambiale di matrimonio, premiered at the Teatro San Moisè in Venice in 1810 and starred the eighteen-year-old composer’s family friend, mezzo-soprano Rosa Morandi (1777–1856) as Fanny. Although its rhythmic and melodic verve was considered a bit rambunctious and rude, the farse was a hit, due in no small part to Morandi’s singing. Morandi had previously (1807) appeared in Mayr’s cantata S. Napoleone and the premiere of his opera Nè l’un, nè l’altro at La Scala. In later years, she also created the title roles in Nicola Vaccai’s (1790–1848) Malvina (1816) and Rossini’s Edoardo e Cristina in 1819. Her other Rossini roles were in L’italiana in Algeri, Matilde di Shabran, Tancredi, and Otello. Navigating the period of change from the opera seria to Romantic melodrama, Rosa Morandi also created the title roles for the young Saverio Mercadante’s (1795–1870) Il posto abbandonato ossia Adele ed Emerico and Gaetano Donizetti’s (1797–1848) Chiara e Serafina in 1822. In 1811, while employed as a coach and cembalist for the Accademia dei Concordi at Bologna, Rossini composed a beautiful cantata on the subject of Dido and Aeneas, so beloved by opera seria composers. It was titled La morte di Didone and was written for Maria Ester Mombelli (1794–1827 or later), daughter of the tenor Domenico Mombelli. Mombelli did not get around to performing the cantata until 1818. Grove’s lists Mombelli as a mezzo-soprano or soprano. I would say her voice is more of the latter, judging from the tessitura of the role (Lisinga) that Rossini composed for her in Demetrio e Polibio, which received a professional production by the Mombelli troupe in 1812. Sister Mariana “Anna” Mombelli, a contralto, sang Siveno. A beautiful duet “Questo cor ti giura amore” from the opera was composed by the teenaged Rossini. Ester Mombelli later created the role of Madame Cortese (1825) in Rossini’s Il viaggio a Reims and participated in the Paris premiere of Giacomo Meyerbeer’s (1791–1864) Il crociato in Egitto. Il crociato is best known these days as the last opera written for a castrato, Giovanni Battista Velluti, for whom Rossini also composed Arsace in Aureliano in Palmira (1813). Incidentally, it was Rossini as director of the Téâtro

The contralto is the norm against which the other voices and instruments must be gauged. If you want to do without the contralto you can push the prima donna assoluta as high as the moon and the basso profondo right down to the bottom of the well and this will leave you with nothing in the middle. One should concentrate on the central register in order to always be in tune; at the extreme ends, what you gain in force you lose in grace, and by this abuse you paralyse the throat, resorting as a remedy to canto declamato, that is, out-of-tune shouting. Then it becomes necessary to give the orchestration more body in order to cover the excesses of the voice, to the detriment of good musical color.1

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart passed away on December 5, 1791, and Gioachino Rossini was born on February 29, 1792. If we believed in transmigration of the soul, it is not hard to imagine that the same irrepressible musical genius burned in both men; the same spirit of joy in music making and in the love of a good joke. Rossini’s mother was a singer and was called “the [Angelica] Catalani of seconde donne.”2 As a child, Rossini had a beautiful soprano voice and sang the boy’s role in Camilla by Paer and even substituted (in his treble voice) for an ailing basso-buffo in Valentino Fioravanti’s (1764–1837) I due gemelli while still a child. Edmond Michotte, a wealthy amateur from Belgium, made a visit to Rossini in Beau Sejour (Passy) in 1858. Michotte recounts that Rossini remembered the purity, miraculous flexibility, and, above all, the penetrating accent of the castratis’ voices. He also mentioned that Rossini’s uncle and father had planned to assure the family’s fortune by submitting the boy to the knife, but Gioachino’s mother would have none of it at any price.3 59

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Italien who supervised the production of Il crociato. Ester Mombelli was later well known for her portrayal of Angelina in La Cenerentola. Probably desperate for cash, Rossini swiftly set his next opera, L’equivoco stravagante (1811), to a bizarre libretto by Gaetano Gasbarri in which one of the rivals for a girl’s affection convinces the other that she is a covert castrato and an army deserter to boot. The contralto prima donna was Marietta (Maria) Marcolini as Ernestina, who would be very important to Rossini’s early career. Besides L’equivoco, Marcolini created the eponymous role in Ciro in Babilonia (1812), Clarice in La pietra del paragone (1812), Isabella in L’italiana in Algeri (1813), and the title role of Sigismondo (1814). She was also renowned for her portrayal of Tancredi (1813), Rossini’s “breakout” opera. Stendhal wrote that Marcolini had “a ravishing contralto voice and magnificent gifts as a comic actress.” He also gossips that Marcolini was Rossini’s mistress during this period. It may well be imagined that, in a land such as Venice, Rossini’s glory as a composer was easily equaled by his triumphs as a man. It was not long before la Marcolini, a delightful cantratrice buffa, and, at the same time, a woman in the fullest flower of her youth and talent swept him away from the great ladies who had been his first protectresses. The gossips whispered of base ingratitude; and there were many tears shed.4

Stendhal further infers that Marcolini, not to be outdone by the noble ladies flocking around Rossini, then threw over Prince Lucien Bonaparte as a sacrifice to him.5 The next important alto in Rossini’s compositional career was Teresa Giorgi-Belloc, who created the role of Isabella in L’Inganno felice for the nineteen-year-old Rossini at the San Moisé in Venice in 1812. L’Inganno felice was such a hit that it ran for a month. At the close of the run, portraits of GiorgiBelloc were sold in the theater, while canaries, doves, and wild pheasants were released from the loges. Giorgi-Belloc was a versatile mezzo-soprano and contralto who often sang soprano roles, as many of the altos were obliged to do during this period of transition to the soprano voice as prima donna. Giorgi-Belloc was a fixture at La Scala for twenty years, where she created Ninetta in Rossini’s La gazza ladra in 1817. At La Scala, Mayr thoroughly revised the title part in his Medea in Corinto for her in 1823. Giorgi-Belloc specialized in Rossini roles and was most well-known for the contralto parts in Tancredi, La Cenerentola, and L’italiana in Algeri. She retired in 1828. Curiously, Richard Coe, in his index to Stendhal’s book, calls Giorgi-Belloc “an ugly and coarse voiced soprano of French parentage.”6 I think he must have had her confused with Adelaide Malanotte (1785–1832), the first Tancredi, whose voice was compared to the sound of an English horn. Rossini’s next opera, Ciro in Babilonia (1811), premiered only two months after his success, was a fiasco. The cast included Marietta Marcolini in the eponymous trouser role of Ciro. An opera seria, it was labeled a “sacred oratorio” so that

it could play during Lent. Rossini’s famous wit came to the fore in an aria di sorbetto (an aria sung by a minor character during which the audience could take a break for refreshments and conversation). Rossini related the following anecdote to Ferdinand Hiller (1811–1885): For the opera Ciro in Babilonia I had a horrible seconda donna [Anna Savinelli as Argene]. Not only was she ugly beyond all description, but her voice too was without any dignity. After the most careful testing, I found that she had a single note, the middle B flat, that didn’t sound too bad. I thereupon wrote an aria [“Chi disprezza gl’infelici”] in which she had to sing just that note. I set it all in the orchestra, and as the piece was liked and applauded, my unitonal singer was delighted with her triumph.7

As we have seen, Marcolini’s assumption of the male role of Ciro was not a unique event. Cross-dressing and gender switching was common in the Baroque and Classical eras. Examples are Handel’s writing the role of Radamisto for Margherita Durastanti and, of course, Mozart’s Cherubino in Le Nozze di Figaro. Mostly, however, gender switching took place among the castrati, many of whom began their careers in female roles and only switched to the male roles as they got older. The most important thing about this subject is the understanding that performers and audiences of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries saw nothing incongruous about a military hero or emperor piping about his exploits in a high treble voice. Our idea of masculinity these days is probably a bass-baritone in a voice-over selling razor blades on television. Rodolfo Celletti points out that the otherworldly sound of the castrato voice was ideal for portraying the atmosphere of fantasy of the Baroque era. By now the goals and the components of bel canto are all known to us and can be itemized. The aim is to evoke a sense of wonder through unusual quality of timbre, variety of colour and delicacy, virtuosic complexity of vocal display and ecstatic lyrical abandon. To achieve this, bel canto opera dispenses with realism and dramatic truth, which it regards as banal and vulgar, replacing them with a fairy-tale view of human feelings and of nature. Thus a decisive function is performed by: (a) so-called hedonism, which is actually an expression of the smoothness, pathos, and tenderness of vocal sound; (b) virtuosity, in other words the amazing feats of daring needed to portray the wonders of a world of fantasy; (c) symbolic flowery language which underlines the mythical status of the characters; (d) contrapuntal skill and the art of improvisation; (e) the abstract nature of the relationship between sex and role, as symbolized by the castrati and the travesti; (f ) the taste for rare, stylized voices and, in contrast, a sort of antipathy for voices regarded as commonplace and vulgar.8

It was into the last vestiges of that world of fantasy, along with the stirrings of desire for the portrayal of real human feelings on the stage, that Rossini was born. Even during this dawn of the Romantic period, there was still a sizeable audience, like Lord Richard Mount-Edgecombe, who yearned for the old days, so composers often resorted to the institution of the musico. The first use of the term was to distinguish the



The Swan of Pesaro and I Musici

trained musician from the amateur. Later on, in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, it came to mean a castrato, often with a derogatory connotation. As the castrati died out, primo musico (sometimes musichetto) was used to describe an alto (mezzo-soprano or contralto) who sings a so-called trouser role. These days this convention is pretty much limited to the roles of boys, like Cherubino and Octavian. Faced with the issue of believability in today’s visual atmosphere, many of the Baroque roles are sung by falsettists, called countertenors, who valiantly try to cope with the demands of this music, but, to me, a rich-voiced female alto like Marilyn Horne, Ewa Podleś, Cecilia Bartoli, or Joyce DiDonato is much more satisfying. Perhaps the operatic pendulum will swing back once again, as it did in seventeenth-century Venice, away from the emphasis on visual effects and distortions of the libretti to really listening to the beautiful singing and glorious music, which are the only reasons for the existence of opera in the first place. Rossini’s next opera La scala di seta (The Silken Ladder) (1812) is chiefly remembered today for its sparkling overture. It was produced in Venice and featured a soprano as prima donna. Six days after the premiere, Demetrio e Polibio, an opera Rossini had written for the Mombelli family while still a student four years earlier, received its first performance in Rome. It featured Ester Mombelli as Lisinga and her sister Mariana, a contralto en travesty, as Siveno, her lover. Demetrio was sung by tenor Domenico, their father. Later, in 1817, Demetrio was sung by the great contralto Benedetta Rosmunda Pisaroni (1793–1872). Rossini’s first opera for La Scala, La pietra del paragone (The Touchstone), was first performed on September 26, 1812, and ran for an astonishing fifty-three performances. Marietta Marcolini sang La Marchesa Clarice, and the cast included a great bass, Filippo Galli (1783–1853), for whom Rossini wrote several major parts. Stendhal says that La Marcolini had always had a yen to appear on stage in male attire, so Rossini persuaded his librettist to contrive an absurd scene where she appears with a male chorus in disguise as a captain of the Hussars, singing her big aria “Se l’itale contrade.” Of course, this is a different situation from that in which a musico sings a straight male heroic role, as with Rossini’s next great success—Tancredi (1813). La pietra del paragone put the twenty-year-old Rossini “on the map” as the leading young composer in Italy. Tancredi was premiered at another very important theater— La Fenice in Venice on February 6, 1813. The libretto was based on Torquato Tasso’s (1544–1595) and Voltaire’s9 (1694– 1778) tragedies and fashioned by Gaetano Rossi (1780–1855). The original version ended with a lieto fine (happy ending) with Tancredi and Amenaide in each other’s arms. In a second version, truer to Voltaire’s tragedy, the drama ends with the death of Tancredi. The second version played in Ferrara in March 1813, but the first version was restored because some of the audience complained that the tragic ending interfered with their digestion. To their everlasting credit, Philip Gossett (1941) and Marilyn Horne cooperated in presenting Tancredi, in its second form, in Houston in 1977 for the first time since

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the Ferrara performances.10 Deemed an unbridled success, it is the version most often performed today. The Tancredi at the premieres of both versions of the opera was sung by Adelaide Malanotte, a contralto whose voice was praised for its accuracy and refined taste but whose timbre was said to resemble that of an English horn, “an unpleasant singularity without which Malanotte would figure honorably among first-rank artists.”11 On the very eve of the premiere, the prima donna conveyed to Rossini her distaste for the entrance aria “Dolci d’amore parole” that the maestro had composed for her. There is a legend that Rossini then sat down and composed the famous aria “Di tanti palpiti” during the four minutes it took to cook a plate of rice, and, ever after, the Venetians have called a quickly composed air an aria dei risi or “rice aria.” Philip Gossett informs me that the legend is “demonstrably false.” Malanotte is practically unknown these days, but Tancredi became an enormous hit in Europe. The study of Tancredi affords us an opportunity for a further expansion in our understanding of the alto voice because of the variety of great artists who have sung this musico role. One of the very greatest was Giuditta Pasta, born Giuditta Angiola Maria Costanza Negri in Saronno, Italy. I have included Pasta because she was

Figure 10.1.  Giuditta Pasta as Tancredi. Collection of the author.

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a mezzo-soprano, most often described as a soprano because of the higher roles she sang. Other notable Tancredis were the castrato Fillipo Sassaroli in Dresden in 1817, Maria Malibran in 1822, Isabella Colbran in London in 1824, and Pauline Viardot in Paris in 1839. Tancredi lay dormant for 120 years due to popularity of Rossini’s comic operas and the lack of understanding of his importance to the development of Italian dramatic opera. In 1952 the Maggio Musicale Fiorentino revived Tancredi with the great Giuletta Simionato (1910–2010). The aforementioned Marilyn Horne, Teresa Berganza, Cecilia Bartoli, Vivica Genaux, Joyce DiDonato, and Ewa Podleś are all fine modern interpreters of Tancredi, so we are in the midst of a resurgence of the alto as prima donna. As successful as Tancredi was in the field of melodramma eroico, so was also Rossini’s next opera, L’italiana in Algeri, composed in only eighteen days, although he did not prepare the secco recitatives himself. Called a melodrama giocoso, L’italiana starred Marietta Marcolini as Isabella. L’italiana was the best comic opera composed by Rossini up until that point and, with its Neapolitan roots, it fed an appetite for comic opera among the Venetians. The alto voice was ideal for portraying an independent woman like Isabella. Who has not enjoyed the descent into the nether regions of the voice in the aria “Cruda Sorte,” as sung by such a powerful and attractive artist as Marilyn Horne? L’italiana, an enormous hit in Italy along with the later Il barbiere di Siviglia and La Cenerentola, produced a curious paradox. Rossini in later years became known as a composer of only comic operas. In his A Short History of Opera, Donald Jay Grout devotes a scant three pages to Rossini. It took the dedicated labors of Philip Gossett and others in the Centro Studi Rossiani in Pesaro to bring out his true importance to the development of serious Italian opera. During the 1816 to 1817 season, L’italiana in Algeri was premiered in Paris, Germany, and Vienna. Stendhal complained that because of the machinations of Ferdinando Paer and the anti-Rossini clique, the Paris premiere was a failure there. In 1819, London saw its first L’italiana with Teresa Giorgi-Belloc in the title role and the great tenor Manuel Garcia as Lindoro. The New York premiere was January 26, 1832. The Metropolitan Opera only got around to producing the opera in 1919. It is performed regularly in the twenty-first century, with forty-eight productions being presented in fortythree cities since January 2009.12 Aureliano in Palmira (1813), Rossini’s next opera, has an alto in a leading role, but it was written for the last great castrato, Giovanni Battista Velluti. Velluti outlived his contemporaries and became almost the last survivor of his tragic race. When he was in his prime, Velluti, who was quite handsome, had numerous amorous affairs with noblewomen. He made his debut in Forli in 1800 and appeared in Andreozzi’s Piramo e Tisbe in Naples in 1803. He was a great success in Rome from 1805 to 1808 in Giuseppe Nicolini’s (1762–1842) La selvaggio nel Messico and Trajano in Dacia, Giacomo Tritto’s (1733–1824) Andromaca e Pirro, and a revival of Cimarosa’s Gli Orazi ed I Curiazi, which was created by Crescentini in 1801. In Milan,

Velluti had a triumph in Coriolano, another opera by Niccolini, with Isabella Colbran. Niccolini and Francesco Morlacchi (1784–1841) became Velluti’s favorite composers because of the opportunities for lavish embellishment that they afforded him, and he traveled extensively appearing in their operas. Velluti had no peer in music featuring agility during this period, and he prepared three sets of embellishments for each opera, from which he never varied. Aureliano in Palmira was Rossini’s only experience of writing for a castrato, and it has given rise to the oft-repeated story about the young composer’s run-in with the vain but prodigiously gifted musico. As the story goes, as the singer sang his cavatina “Se tu m’ami, o mia regina” in three rehearsals, he embellished it each time with increasing flourishes of coloratura so that the original melody had almost completely disappeared. The premiere was a huge success for Velluti but the opera was a flop. Rossini was enraged and exclaimed, “Non conosco piú le mie arie!” (“I cannot even recognize my own music!”) He then purportedly vowed to regain control and write out all the embellishments for his operas. Stendhal was an unabashed admirer of Rossini, but he pointed out what was lost when the spontaneous improvised performance was forced to give way to the come scritto (literal interpretation) of the music. He wrote that Rossini actually respected Velluti but feared that subsequent mediocre artists, who did not have the advantage of his interpretative genius, might corrupt the public’s taste with mindless roulades and fioratura unconnected to the dramatic content of the music. He had already castigated Angelica Catalani for these same abuses. He also stated that what was written for a great singer was not necessarily comfortable for succeeding artists and spontaneity and freedom would be lost. He then claims that Rossini from this time on had embarked on a “second manner” in the Neapolitan operas written for the particular gifts (and weaknesses) of his mistress, then wife, Isabella Colbran, starting with Elisabetta, regina d’Inghilterra (1815). Rodolfo Celletti in his wonderful little book, A History of Bel Canto, refutes this notion, pointing out that Rossini was probably the most intelligent opera composer in history, not the most stupid, as might be implicitly deduced if we paid any attention to the positively ludicrous notion of his arranging all his writing to serve the purpose of punishing Velluti and giving a boost to Colbran. The vast number of passages, for solo voice or ensemble, which in Rossini’s operas appear in florid, ornate, and varied form, are so treated because the composer’s inspiration wanted it that way. And we are the beneficiaries.13

Celletti further points out that the Arbace character that Velluti portrayed in Aureliano already contains more elaborate coloratura than Rossini had provided in his earlier opera seria works. It is also certain that Velluti further embellished his part in the accepted style of the day. Celletti shows that Rossini expected and encouraged this practice by providing numerous arresti or arbitri that were fermatas, not written as holds in the melody, but opportunities for the insertion of vocalises, half cadences, and the like by the performer.



The Swan of Pesaro and I Musici Venice was now the scene of further triumphs for Velluti, and of further burlesque incidents—including the misunderstanding caused by the wife of the chief Governor of the Fenice. This lady, to whom her husband was absolutely subservient, left a note for her dressmaker, before leaving for the country, saying that on a certain outfit she “did not want velvet” (non voglio veluto). The husband, finding this and jumping to the wrong conclusion, immediately dismissed the singer on some pretext; then the wife returned. Being an ardent fan of Velluti’s, she made her long suffering husband rush off in person to catch the singer up, and bring him back on whatever conditions he might stipulate. So Velluti was persuaded to return, and to create the role of the Christian knight in Meyerbeer’s “Crociato in Egitto”—a role specially composed for him, and in which he achieved a notable success.14

Velluti died in 1861, at eighty years of age, and the newspapers of the day are full of paragraphs expressing amazement that he should have been alive so recently. He was thought of as a legend, dimly remembered from the distant past, and there he had been alive and active, among them all the time. His character, as will have been gathered, was erratic and unpredictable. An unusually intelligent man for a singer, he could be kind, witty, and perspicacious, but he also on occasion showed himself conceited and demanding, and even, apparently, downright dishonest. But it must have been nervewracking to feel oneself so much an object of curiosity.15 Il Turco in Italia was premiered at La Scala in 1814 and the Milanese considered it to be a mirror image of L’italiana in Algeri and therefore lacking in originality. Like many other operas, its initial lack of success was gradually reconsidered and it became quite popular. The opera was influenced by Mozart’s Cosi fan tutte and featured a soprano, Francesca Maffei Festa (1778–1835), as Fiorilla and the alto Adelaide Carpano as Zaida. Fiorilla has been sung by mezzo-sopranos—in 1826 Maria Malibran sang it in New York and Cecilia Bartoli in Zurich in 2002. Sigismondo (1814) was a decided failure and has seldom been repeated. The premiere was at the Fenice in Venice with Marietta Marcolini in the musico title role. Stendhal, who intensely admired Marcolini, said of her “tour de force” in singing the final aria in Sigismondo: “Where to find a prima donna with lungs sufficiently robust to sing a grand air à roulade at the end of so wearying a work?”16 We now come to a change in the trajectory of Rossini and his casting of the prima donna roles in his operas. He encountered Domenico Barbaja and ultimately Isabella Colbran, Barbaja’s mistress who would become Rossini’s mistress and then wife. Barbaja not only shrewdly managed La Scala, but also the gambling concession of the opera house, which was the true moneymaker. He eventually simultaneously managed most of the major opera houses in Europe. In 1806, Barbaja took over the management of the gambling concession above the Caffé della Meridionale in Naples for King Joseph Bonaparte (1768–1844). Three years later in 1809, Joachim Murat (1767–1815), Napoleon’s brother-in-law, ascended the throne. He provided Barbaja the unprecedented opportunity

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to manage both the royal gaming concessions and the greatest opera house in Italy, the Teatro San Carlo, as well as the smaller theaters, the Fondo, Nuovo, and Fiorentini. In 1815 Barbaja brought Rossini to Naples. It is not certain how Rossini and the impressario first met. Although the popular opera seria Tancredi was composed only two years earlier, the twenty-three-year-old Rossini had a reputation as Italy’s greatest composer of opera buffa. Perhaps Barbaja believed that if Rossini was not successful composing opere seria for the San Carlo, he could be kept busy writing farse for the smaller theaters. Rossini was contracted as the music director of the San Carlo and Fondo theaters and was to write two operas per year. Rossini later quipped, “If he had been able to, he would have put me in the charge of the kitchen too.”17 One thing is certain: by this time, Isabella Colbran was the prima donna assoluta of the San Carlo and had Barbaja in the palm of her hand. She would brook no competition from any other prima donna, be it soprano or alto. Rossini, who was very wise for a youngster, understood which side of his bread the olive oil was on. He set to work composing an opera seria for Colbran, Elisabetta, regina d’ Inghilterra. Elisabetta was premiered on October 4, 1815. It was a great success and Rossini went on to compose eight more operas for the great Spanish diva. I cover them in the next chapter, “The Maestro and the Prima Donna Assoluta.” Should Elisabetta fail, L’italiana in Algeri was booked for its Naples premiere at the Fondo. The Isabella was sung by Margherita Chabrand-Albani, a veteran of the buffo company and later a prima donna of the San Carlo and, according to Richard Osborne, an audience favorite. The Lindoro was the young Giovanni Battista Rubini who had debuted in L’inganno felice in the Fiorentini in early October. I do not know if Chabrand-Albani was an alto, but Isabella’s music lies too low for most sopranos. I imagine that she was a mezzo-soprano with a wide range. Chabrand-Albani (1780–18?) had a long career and created the part of Leonore in Mayr’s opera L’amor coniugale (1805), based on the same story as Beethoven’s Fidelio. Both operas premiered in 1805. She was also in the San Carlo’s premiere of Gli Orazi ed i Curiazi of Cimarosa (1807), Mayr’s Alonzo e Cora (1809), the alto part of the Gran Vestale in Gaspure Spontini’s (1774–1851) La vestale with Colbran as Giulia in 1811, the title part in Genevra di Scozia by Mayr in 1815, Sofia in L’allievo d’amore (1815) by Paer, Anna in Maometto (1817) by Peter von Winter, Rosa in Le cantatrice villane (1817) of Valentino Fioravanti, La rosa bianca e la rosa rossa (1819) of Mayr, and Telaria in Castore e Polluce (1819) by Federici, along with the great contralto Benedetta Rosmunda Pisaroni as Fedra.18 Most of this time Chabrand-Albani was overshadowed by Colbran, but she was a valuable member of the Neapolitan scene for many years and deserves to be remembered. Rossini had permission to travel and compose operas elsewhere, but his salary was docked for the time he was gone. Perhaps fulfilling a previous commitment to the Teatro Valle in Rome, Rossini arrived there in the late fall of 1815 to supervise a production of Il Turco in Italia. Capitalizing on an enthusiasm for Rossiniana in the eternal city, Rossini composed a

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dramma semiserio, Torvaldo e Dorliska for December 1815. The young alto Adelaida Sala (fl. 1810–1830), was the Dorliska and Domenico Donzelli (1790–1873), the great spinto tenor, the Torvaldo. Sala, who married a grandee of Spain, became countess of Fuentes. She was described in Michael Quin’s A Visit to Spain: She is of a short figure, an intelligent, though not very handsome countenance, and possesses a charming voice. It is not an extensive compass, being what is called a contr’alto; but there is fluidity and a precision of intonation in her notes which always please the hearer. Nor does she want that divine power of expression, the true magic of the human voice, which revealing, as it were, the inner recesses of the heart of the performer, exercises the same influence over that of the auditor, and binds them together for a moment in the invisible chains of sympathy.19

Despite a sterling cast, Torvaldo e Dorliska proved to be a fiasco, mostly because of a dismal libretto. The day after the premiere, Rossini signed a contract with Duca Francesco SforzaCesarini (c. 1772–1816), a noble impresario who owned the Teatro Argentina in Rome. Rossini was obligated to compose an opera based on any libretto given him in five weeks, adjust the music to the convenience and demands of the singers, preside at rehearsals, and serve as maestro al cembalo for the first three performances. The opera proved to be Almaviva, ossia L’inutile precauzione, a title probably chosen to distinguish it from Il barbiere di Siviglia of Paisiello, whose partisans (paisiellisti) Rossini had reason to fear. Sforza-Cesarini, who was in financial trouble, knew that he had to engage one star to fill the house and he did so—the great Spanish tenor Manuel Garcia was the original Almaviva. There is some evidence that the title Almaviva was used to publicize the presence of Garcia, but it was immediately known by its present title. For Rosina, Sforza-Cesarini’s original choice was Elisabetta Gafforini (c. 1772–?) who was famous for buffo roles. When Gafforini’s demands became excessive, Sforza-Cesarini, at Rossini’s urging, engaged a young contralto, Geltrude RighettiGiorgi (also Giorgi-Righetti) (1793–1862) who had only been singing in public for two years. Her voice was described by Louis Spohr (1784–1859) as “full, powerful, and of rare extension, rising from F below the staff to B flat above it.”20 Righetti-Giorgi had a short career, retiring in 1822 because of ill health, but she created the leading roles in two of the immortal masterpieces of the Italian lyric stage—Rosina and Angelina in La Cenerentola, which premiered on January 25, 1817. Righetti-Giorgi was a spirited advocate for Rossini, and in 1823 published a reply to an article written by Stendhal (under the pseudonym Alceste) in 1822. Her monograph was called Cenni di una donna gia cantante sopra il maestro Rossini. A rather snarky review of her book in the Harmonicon of 1824 quotes Righetti-Giorgi’s opinion that Mozart’s music did not stand comparison with that of Rossini:

Righetti-Giorgi’s memoir provides much insight into the fiasco of the first performance of Il barbiere. She modestly wrote that the audience, in an uproar, did not listen to Figaro’s “Largo al factotum” nor the Count-Figaro duet “All’idea di quel’ metallo,” but that she had received three outbursts of applause during “Una voce poco fa.” Rossini, for his part, feigned illness, refusing to greet a throng of well-wishers who came to congratulate him on the success of the second performance, even though they broke out two windows in his hotel in their enthusiasm. Until recently, the Count’s great last-act aria, “Cessa di piu resistere,” was usually omitted from performance, sometimes cited as superfluous and that Rossini composed it as a sop for Garcia’s ego.22 The real reason, of course, is that it is difficult and beyond most modern tenors who have been brought up on the technique of the voix sombrée.23 These days, Juan Diego Florez (b. 1973) and a few other tenors can handle this aria brilliantly, so it is regularly heard in performance and in recordings. In her book, Righetti-Giorgi also defended Rossini’s practice of borrowing from himself.

I have played the character of Zerlina in his Don Giovanni, where with the exception of the air, La ci darem la mano,

It is true that Rossini copies himself, but if a passage in one of his operas pleases, why should he not be permitted to transplant

Figure 10.2.  Geltrude Righetti-Giorgi

which however is so trivial, that neither the amateur nor the connoisseur feels any interest in remembering it, what is there besides that makes any deep impression upon the soul? This Don Giovanni of Mozart, which made such a noise in Milan and Florence, was very cooly received in other theaters of Italy.21



The Swan of Pesaro and I Musici it into another, and see his favorite flower blooming into a second nosegay?24

She stayed true to her convictions, for in subsequent productions in 1816: In Bologna, she appropriated for Rosina the Act II aria written for Almaviva, “Cessa di piu resistere.” She also made a change that quickly became a custom and continued into the twentieth century: she substituted an aria of her own choice (in this case, “La mia pace, la mia calma”) for “Contro un cor,” the aria of the lesson scene. . . . In Florence, Righetti Giorgi replaced the aria in the lesson scene with “Perché non puoi calmar,” probably by Stefano Pavesi (1779–1850), an aria more elaborate than the one she had inserted in Bologna and “Cessa di piú resistere” was omitted entirely.”25

Neither Rossini nor Garcia was present for these performances. In the premiere, Garcia interpolated his own composition for “Se il mio nome” while accompanying himself on his guitar to howls from the audience. Rossini insisted on his original composition for subsequent performances.26 In 1819 in Venice, Rossini adjusted Rosina’s music for soprano Josephine Fodor-Mainvielle (1789–1870), and the soprano voice was fairly dominant in the role until recently. But that’s another story. While in the final rehearsals for Il barbiere, Rossini learned that the Teatro San Carlo had burned to the ground. He returned to Naples to fulfill his obligations, with a contract in his pocket for another opera for December 1816 at the Teatro Valle. This turned out to be the drama giocoso La Cenerentola, which featured Geltrude Righetti-Giorgi as Angelina. Rossini’s next opera for Naples was La gazzetta, which premiered at the Fiorentini, a small buffo opera house in lieu of the San Carlo, which Barbaja was having rebuilt in splendor in record time. The story, based on Goldoni’s Il matrimonio per concorso (1743) was about a pair of fathers who were trying to make money by marrying off their daughters to wealthy husbands. One of them, a rogue named Don Pomposo, was played by Carlo Casaccia (Casacciello), an enormous comic genius who belonged to a family that had kept Neapolitans in stitches for the better part of a century. As a concession to the Fiorentini audience, Rossini consented to having Casaccia’s part written in Neapolitan dialect. He regretted the decision, however, and wrote to his mother: “I don’t really understand the form of the dialogue or the development of the action. Will heaven help me?”27 The Lisette in La gazzetta was the aforementioned Margherita Chabrand, a Neapolitan audience favorite. Unfortunately, the opera was not a success and folded after a few performances. Lately (2001), however, with the critical edition by Philip Gossett and direction by Dario Fo (1926) at Pesaro, the opera has gained new life. Rossini’s next opera, Otello (December 4, 1816), is covered in the next chapter. Rossini arrived back in Rome sometime in the middle of December 1816. Three days before he was to have his new

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opera ready (December 23), he still had not chosen a libretto. He may have notified the impresario that he would have to postpone the premiere. Italian composers of the period were accustomed to working quickly, but Rossini was the king of the procrastinators. His [Rossini’s] “Barber” was composed—and more than that, was mounted—in a month. Someone told Donizetti that he had written it in thirteen days. “Very possibly” was the reply; “he is so lazy!”28

Jacopo Ferretti (1784–1852), the librettist, famously wrote that he had suggested the story of Cinderella to Rossini and delivered the outline overnight. He stated that he had written the verses in twenty-two days and that Rossini had prepared the score in twenty-four. There is little doubt that RighettiGiorgi influenced Rossini to convert most of “Cessa di piu resistere” to “Non piu mesta.” The premiere of La Cenerentola on January 25, 1817, was a shipwreck. The tenor, Giacomo Guglielmi (1782–1820), whose once-beautiful voice was on the decline, was not able to learn the music correctly and, according to Feretti, sang “a whole shopful of wrong notes.” Giuseppe de Begnis (1793–1849) the Dandini “had the system, when singing, of shouting like a man possessed.”29 Righetti-Giorgi, who had sung “Cessa piu resistere” in a revised Il barbiere in Bologna the previous summer, headed a cast of tried and tested Rossinians. They needed to be. According to Feretti, the act 2 duet between Dandini (Giuseppe DeBegnis) and Don Magnifico (Andrea Verni) was still being rehearsed in the break between acts on opening night which was almost as noisy and accident-ridden as the first night of Il barbiere. By now, however, Rossini was impervious to the antics of the Roman mob. La Cenerentola quickly won international acclaim and for many years was more popular than Il barbiere di Siviglia. It is certainly the most humane of Rossini’s great comedies.30

Rossini used the warm velvety sound of Righetti-Giorgi’s alto voice to contrast sharply with the shrill quality of her two wicked soprano sisters. She continued to ride the subsequent popularity of La Cenerentola, which played at the Valle for at least twenty performances until the season ended on February 18. She had a triumph in Genoa and the opera ran for forty-four performances at La Scala with Francesca Maffei-Festa (1778–1835) in the title role. Rossini was only twenty-five, but he composed no more opere buffe for Italian opera houses. Le comte Ory (1828) and Il viaggio a Reims (1825) were comic operas composed for Paris, and Adina (1818) was premiered in Lisbon. Rodolfo Celletti further amplifies his point that the increasingly florid nature of Rossini’s vocal writing was an intrinsic part of his inspiration and not a rigid attempt to control the singers. Stendhal and others have written that this development was an attempt to hide Isabella Colbran’s vocal decline behind a flurry of notes. In this regard, Righetti-Giorgi was a willing participant in a watershed moment in vocal history and, far from being resentful, was a vigorous defender of Rossini.

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Actually, it was with Il barbiere, Cenerentola and La gazza ladra that Rossini reaches a type of exceedingly detailed coloratura and introduces another innovation—that of placing comic opera on a level with opera seria as an “anvil” for forging vocal virtuosity. But with Semiramide he was to go even further, corroborating the fact that, contrary to what is always maintained, the enrichment of the melismatic part is a gradual and ongoing process which was only to be abandoned when his move to Paris forced him to adjust his methods to French practice.31

Philip Gossett informs me that the particelle reveal that the singers of the Paris Opéra added back the ornaments that Rossini removed. Rossini next traveled to Milan, where he composed La gazza ladra (The Thieving Magpie), which premiered on May 31, 1817. Rossini stayed with Francesca Maffei-Festa and her husband, who were hospitable to him. However, the opera featured alto Teresa Giorgi-Belloc, who had created Isabella in L’inganno felice for Rossini, as Ninetta. La gazza ladra is a melodrama or opera semiseria and, besides Belloc, featured the veteran Rossini bass Filippo Galli (1783–1853) as Fernando Villabella. Others in the cast who would later create important roles for Rossini were Antonio Ambrosi (1886–?), bass, and Savino Monelli (1784–1836), a tenor who also created two roles for Donizetti. La gazza ladra seems to have been based upon a story of an actual event in France in which a peasant girl was hanged for the theft of a family’s silver. The culprit was, in fact, a magpie. The role of Ninetta, the wronged servant girl of the story, is a character like Cenerentola, who elicits our sympathies. Though not a “starry”-type role, it has attracted a number of great singers like Isabella Colbran, Giuditta Pasta, Laure CintiDamoreau (1801–1863), and especially Maria Malibran. Stendhal was present at the inaugural performance and wrote that “it was one of the most glittering, the most singleminded triumphs” that he had ever witnessed. Rossini became fatigued from the hundreds of times he had to bow during the performance. There was Madame Belloc, who sang the part of poor Ninetta with her pure and wonderful voice which seems to grow younger with every passing year (the role is not difficult, but she sang it with infinite grace and intelligence; and I remember that she seemed to add a touch of dignity to the basic conception of the character, so that in the end we had, not so much a common serving-wench, but something much closer to the daughter of a gallant veteran, driven out into the world to seek employment on account of her father’s misfortunes).32

We take our leave of Stendhal, Belloc, and La gazza ladra with the following anecdote that provides a window into an Italian opera house at the beginning of the nineteenth century: Spectators in the pit [in Milan] had clambered up on to their benches, and had called upon Madame Belloc to give them

an encore; and they were already calling for yet another encore of the same cavatina [“Ah! Gia dimentico i miei tormenti”], when Rossini intervened in person, addressing the front rows of the pit from his seat at the piano: “Gentlemen, the part of Ninetta is extremely heavy; and if you continue to treat Madame Belloc in this inconsiderate manner, she will be too exhausted to finish the opera.” This argument, which was repeated from mouth to mouth, and argued from one end of the pit to the other, did at last, after an interruption lasting some fifteen minutes, produce an effect. My neighbours on either hand were arguing away among themselves with as much heat and sincerity as though they were old acquaintances; and in all Italy I have never witnessed such fatal imprudence. Spontaneous discussion of this type gives the informer the very chance he is hoping for, to butt in, pick a side in the argument, and later denounce the contestants to the police—only too successfully!33

NOTES 1.  Leonella Grasso Caprioli, “Singing Rossini,” in The Cambridge Companion to Rossini, ed. Emanuele Senici (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 192. 2.  Herbert Weinstock, Rossini: A Biography (New York: Knopf, 1968), 9. 3. Edmond Michotte, Richard Wagner’s Visit to Rossini and an Evening at Rossini’s in Beau Sejour, trans. and ed. Herbert Weinstock (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1968), 109–10. 4.  Stendhal [Marie-Henri Beyle], Life of Rossini, trans. Richard N. Coe (1823; repr., London: Calder, 1956), 66. 5. Lucien Bonaparte (1775–1840), first prince of Canino and Musignano, was a younger brother of Napoleon Bonaparte. 6. Stendhal, Life of Rossini, 493. 7. Weinstock, Rossini, 28. 8.  Rodolfo Celletti, A History of Bel Canto (New York: Oxford University Press, 1991), 9. 9.  Voltaire’s pseudonym was François-Marie Arouet.. 10.  Philip Gossett, Divas and Scholars: Performing Italian Opera (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2006), 151. 11. Weinstock, Rossini, 405. 12.  Operabase, operabase.com (accessed 15 December 2013). 13. Celletti, A History of Bel Canto, 145–46. 14.  Angus Heriot, The Castrati in Opera (1927; repr., New York: Da Capo), 194. 15. Heriot, The Castrati in Opera, 199. 16. Weinstock, Rossini, 495. 17. Weinstock, Rossini, 48. 18. Amadeus, www.amadeusonline.net/almanacco.php?Start=0& Giorno=&Mese=&Anno=&Giornata=&Testo=Chabrand&Parola=St ringa (accessed 25 January 2014). 19.  Michael Joseph Quin, A Visit to Spain (London: Hurst Robinson, 1824), 99. 20. Weinstock, Rossini, 414. 21.  Anonymous, “Rossini,” The Harmonicon, ed. William Ayerton, vol. 2 ( London: Samuel Leigh, 1824), 83. 22. Gossett, Divas and Scholars, 256–59.



The Swan of Pesaro and I Musici

23. For explanations of the voix sombrée, please see Dan H. Marek, Singing: The First Art and Giovanni Battista Rubini and the Bel Canto Tenors: History and Technique, xiv, 85, 93, 170, 201, 252, 254, 271–72, 308. 24.  Anonymous, “Rossini,” 82. 25.  Patricia K. Brauner, Il barbiere di Siviglia (Kassel, Germany: Bärenreiter Verlag, 2010), v–vi. 26.  For insight into the common practice of interpolating other composer’s music into opera scores, see Hilary Poriss, Changing the Score (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009).

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27.  Richard Osborne, Rossini: His Life and Work (New York: Oxford University Press, 2007), 44. 28. James Mason, “Curiosities of Music,” The Leisure Hour 34, (1885): 124. 29. Weinstock, Rossini, 72–73. Quoted from a posthumous memoir by Jacopo Ferretti. 30. Osborne, Rossini, 48–49. 31. Celletti, A History of Bel Canto, 145. 32. Stendhal, Life of Rossini, 260. 33. Stendhal, Life of Rossini, 266.

11 The Maestro and the Prima Donna Assoluta

In Bologna in 1807, Rossini, who was only fifteen, first briefly encountered the beautiful, supremely talented, but imperious twenty-two-year-old Spanish mezzo-soprano Isabella Angela Colbran. Like Giuditta Pasta, Colbran could be called a mezzo-soprano with an upward extension to high E or even F on occasion, or a soprano with a downward range extending to a G below middle C, giving a useable range of almost three octaves. There is a thicket of terminology for this special kind of voice. In the early nineteenth century, such a voice was commonly called a soprano sfogato. The problem today is that some authorities (Grove) define this voice as “airy, evaporated,” a “light soprano voice,” “light and easy in style.” Such a voice should be more properly called soprano acuto sfogato, for a singer with a light, high voice who is comfortable singing a high F and above. However, the meaning also associated with this term sfogato is sfogarsi—(persona) “to give vent to one’s feelings.”1 This is certainly in line with the term as understood by the Italian composers and singers of the primo ottocento. The singers with the designation soprani sfogati were all great interpreters of dramatic tragic roles, not comedic parts. Another meaning of the term sfogato is “unrestrained.” Therefore I would say that since these singers had access to the lowest notes down to G and also the highest notes of the soprano range, they were dramatic mezzo-sopranos (altos) with exceptional top notes who sang with great passion and had dazzling coloratura ability. All were able to sing over the heavier orchestral accompaniments that were coming into fashion at the time. I would think that the term alto sfogato would be a more appropriate term for them, although they would probably have bristled at the term, which to them would denote secondary status. Geoffrey S. Riggs designates these voices assoluta,2 but to me, this is a social term rather than a vocal one meant to designate which prima donna or primo uomo is really first. The modern equivalent of the term is superstar, when being a star is not enough. One of the criticisms of the soprani sfogati, like Colbran and Giuditta Pasta, is that their voices lacked homogeneity, but this is based on a profound ignorance of the nature of the human

voice. In order to sing the extreme range of the soprano sfogato parts, the artist had to be a master of registration. Many modern teachers tell their students that they must sound the same from the top to the bottom of the voice. The bel canto masters stressed that the scale must be even, not the same. The human voice in its natural state is often unequal, tremulous, unsteady, heavy, and of small compass. Well-directed and persevering study can alone ensure correct intonation,—perfect the mellowness and intensity of the sounds,—level irregularities of the registers, and, by uniting these extend the compass; besides which, it is only by means of study that a singer can acquire flexibility and rapidity of execution.3

The reason that the bass voice sounds so different from the coloratura soprano is not the pitch, but that it contains more overtones. The same is true for the bass notes on the piano, which are produced by thick, long strings and the treble notes by thin, short ones. This does not mean that the bass voice is louder and projects better than the treble. A visit to any concert hall will prove this statement. We know that the great castrati, like Farinelli, Caffarelli, and Pacchierotti had essentially the same ranges as the soprani sfogati, and I am sure that Rossini was not the only one who remembered them. During the reign of the castrati, there were always women who challenged them for supremacy, like Mozart’s original Susanna, Nancy Storace (1766–1817) versus Luigi Marchesi.4 For this study, I treat the soprani sfogati as altos with extraordinarily high ranges. Also, we must keep in mind the concert pitch was considerably lower in the beginning of the nineteenth century. Most of these singers also sang male roles, so they are designated as musici as well. We must remember that the altos of the primo ottocento were forced to sing higher tessituras as the sopranos were increasingly favored by composers like Donizetti and Bellini. They feared that they would begin to be considered seconde donne. However, as Manuel Garcia II (1805–1906) once remarked, “transposition was invented for singers.”5 Although these alterations were not often documented, it is certain that they 69

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did take place. Sergio Ragni stated that Colbran was a soprano and has good evidence to back up his view. He writes that when Colbran sang repertoire originally written for Marcolini or Righetti-Giorgi, Rossini raised the pitches of the arias and, conversely, when someone like Marcolini sang the Colbran repertoire, the pitches were lowered.6 Then, as now, singers designated as soprani sfogati who insisted on singing everything, such as Pasta, Viardot (who was a true contralto), and, in our day, Maria Callas (1923–1977), suffered shocking decline of the top of their voices at the end of their careers. Maria Malibran, with her vivacious personality, would probably have suffered the same fate had she not died so young. The dramatic personality is not an ingredient for vocal longevity. Zinka Milanov (1906–1989) and Joan Sutherland (1926–2010) both sang to advanced ages. Milanov once famously told a young student, “Don’t act, darling. It’s bad for the voice!” Isabella Colbran, who was born Isabel Colbrandt in her native Madrid, was a protégée of Queen Maria Luisa of Spain and studied with Crescentini, among others, which may have given her the idea of singing such an extended range. Colbran was also the composer of four song collections, which gives us an idea of the thoroughness of the musical education of the time, which, in contrast to the present, was practically devoid of distractions. She made her stage debut in Spain in 1806.

Figure 11.1.  Isabella Colbran as Desdemona in Rossini’s Otello. Courtesy Clarissa Lablache Cheer.

The following year, she was made a member of the Accademia Filharmonica in Bologna before her first performance, an extraordinary honor. Stendhal, who had a love-hate attitude toward Colbran, describes her thus: She was a beauty of the most imposing sort: with large features that are superb on stage, magnificent stature, blazing eyes a la circassienne, a forest of the most beautiful jet-black hair, and finally, an instinct for tragedy. As soon as she appeared [on stage], wearing a diadem on her head, she commanded involuntary respect even from people who had just left her in the foyer.7

Between 1808 and 1809, Colbran, who was a dramatic singer, created roles at La Scala in Nicolini’s Coriolano, Vincenzo Federici’s Ifigenia, and Orcamo by Verdi’s composition teacher, Vincenzo Lavigna (1776–1836). In 1811, Barbaja brought Colbran to the San Carlo, where she achieved notable success in La vestale by Gaspare Spontini in 1811 and Gluck’s Iphigénie en Aulide in 1812. Colbran then created the title role in Mayr’s Medea in Corinto (1813). These operas were written in the French style, dispensing with the secco recitativo in favor of orchestral accompaniment throughout, and were especially suited to Colbran’s strengths as a dramatic actress as well as a great singer. Colbran was to remain in place as prima donna assoluta in the greatest opera house in the world for a decade. October 4, 1815, was the date of the premiere of Elisabetta, regina d’ Inghilterra. Naples was the center of a vigorous operatic life and was proud of its native composers. Zingarelli, Paisiello, Cimarosa, Paer, Giuseppe Mosca (1772–1839), Valentino Fioravanti, and the transplanted German Giovanni Simone Mayr (Johann Simon Mayr) were regularly produced at the three principal theaters, Teatro San Carlo, Teatro del Fondo, and Teatro Nuovo. The smaller Teatro dei Fiorentini was the home of the venerable Neapolitan buffo tradition. Rossini had his work cut out for him. The Neapolitans were suspicious of “foreigners,” and conservative Neapolitan musicians and connoisseurs had been warning about the threat to their beloved institutions “from Italy.” Rossini’s fame had definitely preceded him. This prejudice went so far as Zingarelli forbidding the students of San Sabastiano (the Royal School of Music) from even reading Rossini’s opera scores. We can imagine the result of such a proscription—I’m sure the students couldn’t wait to pore over Rossini’s latest masterpiece. Elisabetta, besides being written for the prodigious talents of Colbran, was different from Rossini’s previous works in two important respects: he accommodated the French style that Barbaja had instituted at the San Carlo by dispensing with the secco recitativos entirely, and he composed the fioratura that he expected the singers to sing with very little room for improvisation. Colbran, who specialized in queenly figures, had already played Elizabeth in Stefano Pavesi’s Elisabetta, regina d’ Inghilterra in 1812.8 She had no reason for complaint about Elisabetta. Her first-act cavatina with chorus “Quante grato all’ alma mia” and the cabaletta “Questo cor ben lo comprende”—borrowed from Aureliano in Palmira—was de-

The Maestro and the Prima Donna Assoluta

signed to introduce Elisabetta in a big way. The aria is full of trills and extravagant coloratura runs with a wide range. The cabaletta later became the second section of “Una voce poco fa.” Joyce DiDonato recorded a wonderful album of Colbran’s repertoire called Colbran: The Muse (Erato-Parlophone Catalog, 5099969457852). Stendhal, writing in 1823, was a rabid fan of Giuditta Pasta. He seemed intent on destroying the reputation of Isabella Colbran, stating that her voice was in decline during Rossini’s tenure in Naples, but other authorities reported that she sang with great success until 1821. Sergio Ragni points out that Stendhal was not even in Naples after 1816 and only heard her in Otello and Elisabetta, regina d’Inghilterra. His book, Life of Rossini, was published in 1823. It is unlikely that Rossini would have written nine operas for her if she was unequal to the task of singing their formidable difficulties, regardless of his personal feelings for her. He stated to Edmond Michotte that Colbran was the greatest among the lady singers with whom he had worked.9 Isabella Colbran was the favorite of the king of Naples, and Stendhal wrote that it was only the fear of him that compelled the Neapolitan public to refrain from voicing its displeasure. This seems far-fetched to me. The major cause for complaint from Colbran’s critics is that she had difficulties staying on pitch in cantilena passages. Celletti attributes this to “fatigue or incorrect use of the muscles of the breathing apparatus.”10 However, he also states that Colbran was known for her “broad and noble phrasing,” which, to me, implies a mastery of the breath. Colbran was a student of Crescentini, and I doubt that she forgot how to breathe. Also, she was only thirty years old at the premiere of Elisabetta, regina d’Inghilterra in 1815. The conventional wisdom is that Rossini wrote florid music for her to cover up her deficiencies. However, we have seen that Rossini viewed fioratura as an intrinsic element of his expressive style, not as a grafted-on component adopted for extramusical reasons. It is true that florid music helps alleviate vocal fatigue by varying the tension in the muscles of the throat. Besides the fact that the repertoire was basically florid, the bel canto masters stressed agility as the best means of training the voice. They felt that high notes were best reached by way of runs, and modern declamatory screaming would be abhorrent to them. I think that the reason for Colbran’s vocal problems was to be found in her own temperament and probably were not Rossini’s fault. I am sure she was fatigued, but it was the effort of holding a high soprano tessitura in a voice that was essentially an alto. Muscles that are required to contract too much for a long period of time ultimately win the battle to relax. There was no such thing as a mezzo-soprano category in the early nineteenth century. Since there was a universal style of opera composition (most composers were imitators of Rossini), you were either a soprano or a contralto. Colbran was already celebrated for her mastery of the florid style before Rossini began to write for her. She probably sensed the shift away from the alto toward the high notes of the soprano during the movement from bel canto to the melodramma of the

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early nineteenth century and demanded that Rossini write music to compete with the high sopranos. I’m not even sure that the soprano sfogato is a sustainable category. This refusal to admit limits sometimes costs such singers dearly. Pauline Viardot (Garcia), one of the truly great contraltos of all time who sang everything from Norma to Fidès, retired from the international stages at the age of only forty-two. The rest of the cast of Elisabetta was exemplary. The great tenor Manuel Garcia was Norfolk, the equally celebrated barytenor Andrea Nozzari was Leicester, and Girolama Dardanelli (176?–183?) was Matilde. The relations between Colbran and Garcia probably went all the way back to Madrid in 1805. In Naples in June 1813, they appeared together as a team in I riti d’Efeso by Giuseppe Farinelli (1769–1836), who assumed the patronym of his protector during his studies. Garcia was an accomplished composer, as well, and his most popular buffo opera, Il califfo di Bagdad, premiered at the Teatro del Fondo in September. Garcia sang the role of the Caliph, and Colbran was Zultrube, a rare comic opera role for her. Colbran also appeared in two other Garcia works—the cantata Diana ed Endimione in February 1813 and Jella e Dallaton ossia La donzella di Raab in November 1814. While Isabella Colbran was the reigning prima donna of the Neapolitan opera at the time it is interesting that, like Garcia, she was criticized for over-ornamenting: “Which has given occasion to some critics to say that the Signora Colbran used too much showmanship, and at times abused the liberty given to her by the composer, giving to her voice an unusual and unexpected development, and embellishing every note with more or less pleasant foreign ornaments.”11 The mention of the ornaments as being “foreign” possibly suggests that her ornamented style was recognized as being specifically Spanish. In spite of the critics, both Colbran and Garcia adhered to their florid style—which was soon to have its impact on Rossini. The criticism of the florid style really must be regarded with an open mind. Critics and scholars have perhaps too readily clamoured for “purity” of the composer’s intentions. Even modern attempts to interpolate historically “correct”’ embellishments do not come close to conveying the excitement of Colbran’s and Garcia’s performances—which were always unique. On the spur of the moment, a fiery roulade would be tossed before the astonished crowd—not because it was correct, but because artistic inspiration moved the singer to do so. Perhaps modern bel canto singers need not so much to study the original scores of Rossini, as to capture the “free spirit” of the performers. This was an art in which the singers—not the conductor—ruled supreme. The fact that both Colbran and Garcia maintained a highly embellished style in spite of official criticism indicates that it was well received by the public. While it is true that a public can have bad taste, so too can critics be overly cerebral. The ultimate aim of music or drama is that the audience be moved. In this Colbran and Garcia were eminently successful.12

With this in mind, one wonders what a performance of Le nozze di Figaro, starring the two fiery Spaniards at the Fondo

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on March 15, 1814, sounded like. (Garcia sang the baritone role of the Count.) It seems logical to me that Rossini utilized the experience and advice of these two experienced virtuosos when he prepared the ornaments that were an intrinsic part of the scores he composed for them. In spite of the unquestioned triumph of Elisabetta, as always, there were critics who disparaged the young composer’s accomplishment. The witty Rossini had a ready answer. Said they: “Now, why not admit frankly, that throughout the work, you have consistently sacrificed both dramatic emphasis and expression to la Colbran’s passion for embroidery?” “I have sacrificed to one idol, and to one only,” retorted Rossini, with that streak of pride which becomes him so admirably. “I have sacrificed to success!”13

Rossini was obligated to compose two operas a year for Barbaja. After the failure of La gazzetta in September 1816, the next opera in the Colbran series was Otello, which successfully opened at the Fondo on December 4, 1816. The smaller royal theater was used because the great San Carlo was still being rebuilt after the fire. The cast included Nozzari as the Moor, Colbran was Desdemona, Giovanni David the Rodrigo (a part much more important in the Rossini work than in Verdi’s opera), and Jago was sung by Giuseppe Ciccimarra (1790–1836). On January 12, 1817, the theater reopened with a commissioned work by the leading composer of the day, Johann Simon Mayr. It was a melodramma allegorico called Il sogno di Partenope and featured Giovan Battista Rubini as Apollo, in his first appearance at the San Carlo. The rest of the cast included the established stars Colbran, Giovanni David, Nozzari, and Raffaele De Bernardis. The occasion was very glamorous and all of Europe was dazzled by the splendor of the event. Five days later, Otello was mounted at the San Carlo and was judged a triumph despite the absurdity of its libretto. On this occasion, Jago was sung by Manuel Garcia. Stendhal says that the title role was originally composed for the great Spanish tenor. Nozzari, with his baritonal timbre was immediately identified as a great Otello, and Rossini no doubt chose to leave well enough alone. When Verdi composed his Otello, Victor Maurel (1848–1923), the baritone, pestered the composer to call the opera Iago. Rossini could very well have called his effort Desdemona, because the part written for Isabella Colbran is really the central character in the opera. The writing for both the leading characters is extreme in range with important phrases relegated to the lower parts of the voice. We are therefore justified in calling Desdemona an alto part. The Giornale del Regno delle Due Sicilie wrote: Signora Colbran, grand in the so-called bravura pieces, and extremely happy in passages in the form of arpeggios and rapid runs, has no rivals in tragic and declamatory music, and in the difficult talent of expression.14

Incidently, the institution of the musico comes into play here, because Pasta and Malibran, who were great Desdemonas, both took up the title role with varying degrees of success. Modern audiences accustomed to the Shakespearean verisimilitude of

Arrigo Boito’s (1842–1918) and Verdi’s masterpiece, should not compare the two operas on dramatic grounds. The opera seria is, above all, about the singing and the music. In the context of the taste of the Neapolitan public of the primo ottocento, the tragic ending was rather daring. Rossini was even forced to supply a lieto fine (happy ending) for a production in Rome, whose audience might be offended by the murderous original ending. The literati of the time were scandalized. When Lord George Byron (1788–1824) saw Otello in Venice in 1818 he wrote: They have been crucifying Othello into an opera (Otello by Rossini)—Music good but lugubrious—but as for the words!— all the real scenes with Iago cut out—and the greatest nonsense instead—the handkerchief turned into a billet doux, and the first singer would not black his face—for some exquisite reason assigned in the preface.15

Stendhal suggested that in this version of Otello, rather than desperate love, it was vanity that compelled the Moor to kill Desdemona. Rossini was obligated to accept any libretto submitted to him in Naples. He therefore set aside his natural aversion to magical and supernatural subjects to compose Armida, a threeact opera seria, which premiered on November 11, 1817, at the rebuilt San Carlo. Armida was something of a throwback to the “machine” operas of the Venetian Baroque. The libretto was based on Torquato Tasso’s (1544–1595) Gerusalemme liberata, a story that was was set by many composers—like Handel’s Rinaldo. Sumptuously staged, it displayed, as Radiciotti put it: “Armida’s palace and enchanted garden, appearances and disappearances of demons, furies, specters, chariots pulled by dragons, dances of nymphs and amorini, characters swept up into the sky and descending from artificial clouds.”16

Armida requires a volcanic personality and a sfogato voice to pull off this role. The orchestration was deemed “too German”—a charge leveled at Donizetti and Verdi later on. Besides the difficulty of casting the title role, the score calls for six tenors, three of them being virtuoso parts. With the subject obviously chosen to glorify Isabel Colbran, it is curious that she doesn’t have an introductory cavatina. However, in one of the longest roles in the Rossini canon, there is plenty of opportunity for her to shine. Osborne points out the erotic intensity of much of Armida’s music and speculates that Colbran and Rossini had already become lovers as early as 1817. The aria from act 2 “D’amore, al dolce imperio,” with its extreme range and terrifying triplet coloratura and chromatic scales, is difficult for sopranos on the low end and altos on the high end. For me, the exemplary Reneé Fleming (b. 1959) is out of her depth in this role and even Maria Callas had trouble projecting the lower part of this aria, although she certainly had plenty of temperament. I would call Joyce DiDonato a true sfogato and her recording of Colbran’s repertoire is outstanding. Rossini’s twenty-third opera, Adelaide di Borgogna ossia Ottone, re d’Italia premiered at the Teatro Argentina in Rome on



The Maestro and the Prima Donna Assoluta

December 27, 1817. Written in haste, Adelaide reverted to secco recitativi and minor arias written by Rossini’s friend Michele Carafa (1787–1872). It was judged a failure by all concerned, but there have been several recent recordings and performances. Of interest to us is the fact that the part of Ottone was sung by the musico Elisabetta Pinotti (fl. 1806–1822), a contralto en travesti. Albert Cametti, in a book about Ferriti, the librettist of La Cenerentola, wrote about Elisabetta Pinotti: The role of Ottone, by one of those strange customs of the times, was sustained by a woman; it was the contralto, also called that of the primo musico, a denomination that explains itself when one thinks that the contralto donna had taken the place of the elephant songbirds [castrati] of the seventeen hundreds. The part was interpreted by one of the two Pinotti sisters, Elisabetta, of a robust wide-ranged voice, who was a little unsteady. The part that Rossini wrote for her rises from a deep B to the high F, and a few times pushes from a deep G to the high B-flat.17

Next in the Colbran canon was Mosè in Egitto (1818, revised in 1819), which was called an azione tragico-sacra so that it could be staged during Lent. Weinstock calls it a “proto-grand opera” in three acts. The eponymous role of Moses was written for Michele Benedetti (1778–1828), a sturdy Rossini bass who had a long career at the San Carlo. Benedetti created seven roles for Rossini and went on to sing in premieres of Bellini and Donizetti. In Mosè, Rossini elevated the bass voice to a central position in the opera, a novel idea at the time. The queenly Colbran was cast as a young Jewish girl, Elcia, in love with Osiride, the pharaoh’s son, sung by Andrea Nozzari. I am sure she didn’t mind the demotion in status because she got to sing a “mad” scene after her lover is smitten by a stroke of lightning in the second act. Mosè was revised and greatly expanded in Paris in 1827 and renamed Moïse et Pharaon, but Colbran was out of the picture by that time. Ricciardo e Zoraide was first heard at the San Carlo on December 3, 1818. It starred not one, but two great altos—Isabella Colbran as Zoraide and Benedetta Rosmunda Pisaroni as Zomira. Giovanni David and Andrea Nozzari, tenors, were also both in the cast. Pisaroni had a wonderful contralto voice but started as a soprano. A case of smallpox forced her to descend to the contralto range and left her horribly disfigured. She used to send pictures of herself to impressarios who were interested in engaging her to lessen the shock of her first appearance. After she sang for a while, the audiences concentrated on her wonderful singing and forgot about her appearance. Stendhal stated that “in the first act, the greatest applause was reserved for a duet between Le Signorine Colbran and Pisaroni: Invan tu fingi, ingrata!”18 Ermione, based on Racine’s Andromaque, with a libretto by Andrea Leone Tottola (d. 1831) was premiered on March 27, 1819. It is the most mysterious of all the Rossini serious operas that the composer wrote for Naples. It had a cast of stellar performers (the same as Ricciardo e Zoraide) but the public didn’t “get” it, and Rossini withdrew it after only seven performances. It was never produced again during his lifetime.

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Perhaps there was an aversion to the classical subject in the midst of the heady Romantic period or perhaps its tightly organized intertwined plot and musical ensemble writing was a step too far into the future. Withdrawing the score from the Neapolitan impresario Domenico Barbaja, Rossini is alleged to have said, “You’ll see it again sooner or later, and perhaps then the Neapolitan public will recognize its mistake.” Although he tried to resurrect individual numbers in other operatic contexts, he basically put Ermione away. Asked whether he would allow a French translation, he responded, “No. It is my little Italian Guillaume Tell, and will not see the light of day until after my death.”19

At any rate, Isabella Colbran as Ermione (Hermione) could still sing very well in 1819, regardless of Stendhal’s critical comments. However, there are moments in duets with Orestes (Giovanni David), where Rossini took advantage of the tenor’s extraordinary high voice to allow Colbran to take the lower line. Philip Gossett has written a fascinating account of the fiasco in the revival of Ermione at the Pesaro Festival in 1987. The conductor, Gustav Kuhn, did not know the score and Monserrat Caballé (b. 1933), in Colbran’s role of Ermione, could not sing it. Marilyn Horne, Chris Merritt (b. 1952), and Rockwell Blake (b. 1951) were all excellent, however. In the Chicago Opera Theater’s regie theater production, stage director Jonathan Miller (b. 1934) reset the opera in the time of the American civil war. In 2013, the Met recast Rigoletto in ratpack Las Vegas. When are we going to realize that this stage director nonsense does not make it more interesting to young people? They are not jaded on period dress and manners; for them, brought up on cop dramas on TV, the original version is novel. It just has to be done really well and truthfully. The action of creativity is not exhausted with the writing of the opera by the composer; it is crystalized and made manifest in the course of its execution. If the vocal performance is inadequate, the so-called musical values remain either unexpressed or misunderstood. This applies in a general way to all music theater. But whereas in the performance of late Verdi or Puccini and the verismo writers any vocal defects are impediments which to some extent actually “impede” (and even so can be partially made up by good orchestral conducting), as we go back to early Verdi, Donizetti, Bellini, and Rossini, the impediment becomes more and more “nullifying.” Rossini, and especially Rossini in his opera seria works, is rendered virtually unintelligible by poor vocal execution.20

This point of view is dependent on the recognition of the importance of arts education. The media-manipulated public must first recognize what is good and what is not. Isabella Colbran was not involved in Rossini’s next effort, Eduardo e Cristina, which took place in the Teatro San Benedetto in Venice on April 24, 1819. Realizing that he didn’t have time to compose an entirely new opera, Rossini cobbled up a pasticcio stitched together from elements of his operas Adelaide di Borgogna, Ricciardo e Zoraide, and Ermione, which were unfamiliar to Venetian audiences. He also fell back on the

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convention of the recitativo secco and the musico en travesti for the romantic leads. Amazingly, the patchwork affair was a huge hit! Byron, who attended the opera, wrote: There has been a splendid opera lately at the San Benedetto, by Rossini, who came in person to play the harpsichord. There people followed him about, cut off his hair “for memory”; then he was shouted, and sonnetted, and feasted and immortalized much more than either of the Emperors.21

The opera’s success was due in no small part to the cast. Rosa Morandi, the mezzo-soprano who, we remember, was a fine Rossini alto, created the part of Cristina. The Eduardo was the musico Carolina Cortesi, who was a contralto. Apparently Morandi and Cortesi were an established pair, for they also appeared in Meyerbeer’s Emma di Resburgo directly after the run of Eduardo e Cristina.22 On February 19, 1819, Rossini provided a cantata for three voices in honor of the recovery from illness of Francis I of Austria. On May 9, although Rossini was not in Naples, some of the music from it was used for the state visit of the emperor and featured Isabella Colbran and two great tenors, Giovanni David and Giovanni Battista Rubini. Upon his return in June, Rossini was required to oversee a lavish new production of La gazza ladra, which, besides Colbran, starred Nozzari, David, and Pisaroni. Then the news came that Spontini, blocked by the Berlin authorities, had to be released from his obligation for the fall season at the San Carlo. Barbaja turned to Rossini to fill the void in the schedule, despite the young composer’s contract for a Carnival season production at La Scala. Walter Scott’s The Lady of the Lake became the subject of Rossini’s next “Colbran” opera, which premiered on September 24, 1819. La donna del lago continued Rossini’s foray into “musico” opera. It was not well received at first, but after slight adjustments (less brass on stage), it became one of Rossini’s most popular operas. Besides the extraordinary alto parts, Giovanni David as Uberto and Andrea Nozzari as Rodrigo di Dhu are also accorded brilliant roles in a “blockbuster” opera. It is well known that Isabella Colbran (Elena) would brook no competition from other prima donnas but apparently she felt no animosity against musici. Rosmunda Benedetta Pisaroni was cast in the male role of Malcom Groeme, whose music is for a contralto. Stendhal says that because of the ultimate success of La donna, the twenty-six-year-old Pisaroni was elevated to front rank of singers. He further states that La donna del lago should not be produced in Paris because of the lack of a contralto with sufficient technique to execute music written for her. Malcom’s act 1 scena “Mura felice” and Elena’s final rondo “Tanti affetti” are some of the most brilliant music ever written for the alto voice. Marilyn Horne’s recorded rendition of the former and Joyce DiDonato’s version of the latter are highly recommended. With La donna del lago safely underway, Rossini set out for Milan to fulfill his obligation to La Scala. The result was Bianca e Falliero with a libretto by Felice Romani (1788–1865), who later became a librettist for Bellini and Donizetti. Bianca

opened on December 26, 1819. Being rushed for time, Rossini fell back on the recitativo secco format, borrowed music from Edoardo e Cristina and La donna del lago, and continued in the use of a musico as the male romantic lead. He did not have Colbran and the rest of the outstanding ensemble of Naples, but the singers of La Scala were adequate and the opera ran for thirty-nine performances. Soprano Violante Camporési (1785–c. 1833) was Bianca, and Falliero was sung by contralto Carolina Bassi Manna (1781–1862), called “La Napoletana.” Bassi Manna was born into a family of musicians in Naples. Her brother Nicola was a celebrated basso-buffo and her other brother, Adolfo, was a composer and director of the Teatro Nuovo in Trieste. She had a large repertoire and premiered several operas by followers of Rossini—Semiramide riconosciuta (1819), Margherita d’Anjou (1820), and L’esule di Granata (1822) of Meyerbeer—and many operas of Pacini and Mercadante. Stendhal states that she is “the only singer whose genius approaches that of Madame Pasta.”23 Rossini returned to Naples on January 12, 1820, and, as director of the Royal opera, began to prepare a performance of Spontini’s opera Fernando Cortez. Despite his best efforts and those of Isabella Colbran and Nozzari, it was received with indifference by the Neapolitan public, which deemed it too “Teutonic.” The music of Spontini was undoubtedly fatiguing to the voice, and Colbran may have felt its effects when she took on La vestale in 1811. The famous lyric soprano Henriette Sontag (1806–1854), who was very careful to preserve her voice, had a stipulation in her Berlin Opera contract that she would not ever be required to sing anything by Spontini. Be that as it may, Rossini’s experience in mounting Spontini’s work may well have planted the seeds in him toward the concept of grand opera, which would ultimately flower in Paris in Le siège de Corinthe in 1826. Maometto II, which opened at the San Carlo on December 3, 1820, had an outstanding cast. Isabella Colbran (Anna), Andrea Nozzari (Paolo Erisso), and Filippo Galli (Maometto II) were all veteran Rossini singers. The travesti part of Calbo was sung by newcomer alto Adelaide Comelli (Chaumel), who had just married Giovanni Battista Rubini. Colbran had an extremely dramatic part that required her to stay on stage for forty minutes and then commit suicide to end the opera. Rossini wrote an exquisite cantilena aria “Giusto ciel, in tal periglio” for her as part of the great third movement called the terzettone (fat terzetto) by Rossini. If she was not able to sustain a cantilena line, I am sure that Rossini would not have kept the aria in. The Neapolitans were not thrilled with the tragic ending. In 1823, Rossini revised Maometto II for Venice. He had to alter the ending to a lieto fine for the Venetians, which was adapted from the rondo from La donna del lago. In mid-December 1820, Rossini was in Rome where he was preparing Matilde di Shabran, an opera semi-seria. As usual, he was pressed for time and enlisted the help of Giovanni Pacini (1796–1867) to share the compositional chores. The opera once again utilized the musico convention in the character



The Maestro and the Prima Donna Assoluta

of Edoardo, sung by Annetta Parlamagni ( fl. 1820–1830). However, Edoardo is not the love interest in Matilde. Osborn says that he is modeled on the Tancredi character but “sentimentalized into comedy.”24 (Throughout the opera, Edoardo has a propensity for crying.) The opera was conducted by Nicolo Paganini (1782–1840), the demonic violin virtuoso. It is often customary for us in the twenty-first century to think of our great composers as Apollonian demigods, whose thoughts were always deeply serious. The following anecdote helps us to appreciate the twenty-nine-year-old Rossini’s wonderful sense of fun. Paganini and Rossini were in Rome, Lipparini was singing at the Tordinona, and in the evening I often found myself with them and their mad contemporaries. Carnival was approaching, and one evening we said, “Let’s arrange a masquerade.” “What to do?” What not to do! Finally we decided to mask as blind people and sing requests for charity as they do. We put together four lines of verse which said: We are blind. We were born To earn our living from kindness. On a happy day, Do not refuse charity. Rossini quickly set them to music. They were rehearsed and rehearsed, and finally we decided to go on stage on the last Thursday before Lent. We decided that we should wear very elegant clothes beneath a top covering of poor, patched rags. In short, an apparent but clean misery. Rossini and Paganini had to act as the orchestra, strumming two guitars, and they decided to dress as women. Rossini filled out his already abundant form with bundles of straw, looking absolutely non-human! Paganini, as thin as a door, and with a face that seemed to be the handle of his violin, appeared twice as thin and loose-limbed when dressed as a woman. I ought not to say so, but we created a furor, first at two or three homes where we went to sing, then in the Corso, then on the festal night.25

Barbaja agreed to assume management of the Vienna Kärnthnertor Theater on December 1, 1821. Rossini’s and Colbran’s last Neapolitan opera, Zelmira, opened on February 16, 1822, at the San Carlo. It was composed as a farewell to Naples and to introduce Rossini and Colbran to the Viennese public. The premiere included Colbran in the title role and the familiar Nozzari, Giovanni David, and Benedetti. On March 7, 1822, the day after the close of the run of Zelmira, Rossini and Colbran, along with Nozzari, David, and Ambrosi, left for Vienna. On March 16, at Castenaso, a few miles east of Bologna, Rossini and Isabella Colbran were married. Colbran, as a star prima donna, was very wealthy and brought a substantial dowry to the marriage. She had a villa at Castenaso inherited from her father. There was immediate gossip that Rossini had married her for her money. Stendhal wrote that Barbaja had presented Rossini “gratis, a carriage, food, lodgings, and his mistress. The divine Colbran . . . had been the delight

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of Prince Wablonowski, of the millionaire Barbaglia [sic], and the maestro.”26

In 1816, Rossini’s L’Inganno Felice was introduced to Vienna, which started a craze for the Rossini operas that lasted for years to come. By the time Domenico Barbaja assumed control of the court opera there in 1821, seven of Rossini’s works. including Il barbiere and Tancredi, were already in repertoire. From April to July 1822, Barbaja’s company mounted a Rossini festival at the Kärntnertor Theater, which opened with Zelmira. Isabella Colbran was not in good voice and was having trouble adjusting to the unfamiliar acoustics. La Cenerentola (Aschenbrödel) followed, sung in German with a German cast and conductor. Rossini oversaw the production. His tempi were considered too fast by the German-speaking cast, but he advised them to concentrate on the music and not to worry about missing a few words. The Angelina was sung by Amalie Schütz-Oldosi (1804–1852), who developed into a good Rossini singer. She subsequently appeared in La donna del lago, L’italiana in Algeri, and Tancredi at La Scala and the San Carlo.27 She also sang Elena in La donna del lago in 1825 at the Théâtre Italien in Paris with Rubini, who had just made his sensational debut in La Cenerentola. The next opera in the series, Matilde di Shabran, was judged a success by the Rossini-intoxicated Viennese. Mathilde was sung by Rossini’s old friend from 1811, the veteran Ester Mombelli. Mombelli was judged to be unsteady in tone and wavering in pitch but a very entertaining comedienne.28 The minor part of Contessa D’Arco was sung by a nineteen-year-old Austrian contralto, Carolina Unger (1803–1877), who would develop into a great star. Elisabetta, regina d’Inghilterra followed in May, and the Musikalische Allgemeine Zeitung reported that “Signora Colbran performed the protagonist’s role superbly and she was truly the queen of the evening.”29 La gazza ladra played in June with Mombelli as Ninetta and Carolina Unger as Lucia. In July, Ricciardo e Zoraide, with Colbran in the title role, ended the festival. The celebratory crowd followed the artists to their hotel and was treated to an impromptu concert. Colbran sang her aria from Elisabetta “stupendously” and then the duet from Armida, “Cara, per te quest anima,” with David. Rossini himself sang “Largo al factotum.” The fans were only dispersed by a contingent of police. It should not be lost on the reader that Isabella Colbran was able to pull off such a feat of endurance as late as 1822 after a career of the most demanding repertoire that had lasted for sixteen years. After a visit to Castenaso and Verona, the Rossinis traveled to Venice and La Fenice, where they presented a revised Maometto II and a pasticcio of the first act of Maometto II and a one-act version of Ricciardo and Zoraide. Colbran was not well and not in good voice. She was even whistled at in one performance and a mock obituary for her career was circulated outside the opera house. There were some sympathetic reviews, but this was the beginning of the end of Isabella Colbran’s career. Rossini soldiered on. He had accepted a commission for the revised Maometto II and a new opera

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starring his wife. That opera, Semiramide, based on Voltaire’s Sémiramis (1748), which premiered on February 3, 1823, was the apex of the Rossini “Colbran” operas and marked the last time that Isabella Colbran sang on Italian soil. Rosa Mariani, who was well known for travesti roles, was the Arsace, the dependable Filippo Galli was Assur, and John Sinclair, a Scottish tenor who had sung for Rossini at the San Carlo in 1821, was Idreno. Semiramide ran for twenty-eight performances at La Fenice by March 10. The Rossinis left for Paris on October 20, 1823, on the way to London, where they arrived on December 13. Giovanni Battista Benelli (fl. 1820s), the impresario in London, had assembled a great company of singers, which included Colbran, Giuseppina Ronzi de Begnis (1800–1853), Manuel Garcia, and Giuditta Pasta. Rossini was called upon to supervise the production of his operas and, along with appearances at concerts in wealthy homes, was feted, lionized, and made an enormous amount of money. Colbran, on the other hand, faced the disastrous end of her career. Zelmira, on January 24, 1824, due to her alarming vocal decline, was a failure. The reviewer for the Harmonicon made every effort to treat her with respect but had a disaster to report. Madame Colbran Rossini, who now made her first appearance in England, has long been known in Italy, chiefly at Naples, as a great singer; her style is pure, and her ornaments are graceful without being redundant. The delivery of her voice is in the manner of the best schools; what remains of it is sweet, but we fear that devouring Time has not left much of the original substance to judge by, and that her power will be found quite inadequate to the parts which she will have to sustain, and to the capacity of the theater that she ought to be able to fill.30

The Times, however, was damning: “She may have possessed the voice and style suited to a prima donna, but the period has passed, and we can only recommend that Signor Benelli place her on his retiring pension-list as speedily as possible.”31 Manuel Patricio Garcia II (1805–1906), the son of the first Almaviva, who became the most influential voice teacher of all time, sang Ilo. He abandoned the stage in 1829. Even Il barbiere was not a success, as Benelli himself ventured to sing Figaro (badly). After Isabella Colbran was judged to be unable to sing, Garcia and Pasta saved the day, appearing in Otello and Semiramide, which must have been quite a blow to Colbran’s ego. The rest of the Colbran-Rossini saga is very sad. Rossini was appointed to the directorship of the Paris Théâtre Italien in November 1825. He and Isabella stayed together in Paris and elsewhere until they moved in 1829, along with Rossini’s father, into the spacious palazzo in Bologna that Rossini had owned for seven years. In September 1830, Rossini set out for Paris without Isabella. He believed that he would be back in Bologna in a month, but he did not see her again for four years. Their relationship had deteriorated into a standoff of professional respect. He was thirty-eight and Isabella fortyfive. As a prima donna for more than fifteen years with the

world at her feet, Colbran had great difficulty adjusting to country life. They say a prima donna dies three times. The first is when she loses her looks, the second when she loses her voice, and the third time, she dies just like the rest of us. Giuseppe Rossini (1758–1839), Gioachino’s father, was entrusted to take care of his son’s affairs and to look after Isabella, including distributing the monthly income that Gioachino provided for her. Giuseppe’s letters to his son disclose how difficult these tasks were for him. Isabella was an inveterate spendthrift and a compulsive gambler, a habit probably picked up during her years with Barbaja. In a letter to Lorenzo Bartolini (1770–1850), Napoleon’s favorite sculptor, she begs him to sell a miniature portrait of herself to pay off a gambling debt. When Fortune frowns everything conspires against one. I have need of a friend and my mind turns to you. You know that my health is always poor, that my affairs go from bad to worse. To distract myself I turned to gambling, with such misfortune that I cannot pick up a card that is not beaten. The idea that my luck would change has caused me to go too far and get into difficulties.32

Furthermore, Isabella was in poor health. Rossini had suffered from gonorrhea from his early years and Isabella had also contracted the disease. There is reason to suspect that the illness was a factor in her vocal decline. There is a common variety of gonorrhea called “gonorrhea throat.” Venereal disease was very common in the promiscuous atmosphere of the Romantic age. As examples, Franz Schubert (1797–1828) died at age thirtyone and Robert Schumann (1810–1856) and Donizetti were all infected with syphilis. The latter two died insane. Stendhal also died of syphilis. The treatments for these diseases were sometimes worse than the illnesses. For example, Schumann was treated with arsenic, and Rossini had daily catheter insertions, along with warm baths, leeches for hemorrhoids, castor oil, and flower of sulphur, along with other nostrums. It has always been a mystery to me that people wonder why Rossini ceased to compose operas after 1829. He was the most successful operatic composer in the world, had plenty of money, and was in agony much of the time with his illnesses. In 1832, he met Olympe Pélissier (1797– 1878), an established courtesan, who became more caregiver than mistress and who was adept at managing Rossini’s frequent bouts of depression as well as his physical health. Rossini returned to Bologna in November 1836 and wrote to a friend that Isabella was “well and very reasonable,” implying that he had discussed a formal separation from her. In January 1837, Olympe moved to Bologna and was installed in her own house. She was the luncheon guest of Isabella Colbran-Rossini, who treated her very well. The Rossinis were legally separated in September 1837. Isabella was given the entire use of the villa in Castenaso, an amount to cover the rent for an apartment in Bologna during the winter, and a monthly stipend. In August 1845, Rossini received the disturbing news that Isabella was gravely ill in Castenaso. He and Olympe traveled



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there on September 7 after being notified that Isabella was dying.

stayed in the adjoining dining room and enjoyed providing the guests his famous bon mots.

Rossini talked with Isabella alone for about a half hour and emerged from her bedroom with his cheeks bathed in tears. He instructed her servants to take the most assiduous care of her. For the succeeding month, he received daily reports on her condition—and on October 7 was told that she had died after having spoken his name several times. Almost exactly thirty years had elapsed since the dazzling Colbran had created the role of Elisabetta at the San Carlo in Naples. Rossini’s thoughts well may have roved back to the era that had ended for her, as for him, when she had sung the title role of Semiramide in Venice in 1823, thus closing his career as a composer of operas for Italy.33

One evening a diva sang badly and then went into the dining room to receive Rossini’s opinion of her performance. “Oh my dear friend!” he said. “What do you want me to tell you? No, No, I cannot say anything to you!” The lady told the other guests that the Maestro had been unable to find words to express his admiration. When a society lady had succeeded in all but destroying an aria, she excused herself to Rossini by saying: Pardon me, cher maître, I am a little frightened. Rossini’s reply was: “And so am I.”34

Ten months later he married Olympe Péllisier. When Rossini moved to Paris in 1826, he began to study the French language, French prosody for singing, and the taste of the French public. His predilection for casting the alto voice as prima donna gave way to the French preference for the soprano voice in leading roles. Rossini even accommodated this change by arranging Il barbiere for the soprano voices of Giulia Grisi and Adelina Patti (1843–1919). He adapted Maometto II to the French style with the title Le siège de Corinthe. He reduced the florid lines and streamlined the large musical structures of the original. The original horrific ending was replaced by an even more terrible one in which the whole city of Corinth was sacrificed. The alto musico part of Calbo was replaced by the great tenor Adolf Nourrit (1802–1839) as Néoclès. Colbran’s part of Anna was replaced by Pamyre, sung by Laure Cinti-Damoreau (1801–1863), a soprano. Besides Le siege, Cinti-Damoreau, who became the most important female singer for Rossini in Paris, created leading roles in Moïse et Pharaon (1827), Le comte Ory (1827), and Guillaume Tell (1829). She was also Elvire in La muette de Portici (1828) by Auber, and Isabelle in Meyerbeer’s Robert le Diable (1831), which established the model for grand opera for years to come. In a strange reversal, Le siege was translated into Italian and as L’assedio di Corinto became quite popular with the Italian public. With Guillaume Tell (1829), Rossini laid down his operatic pen. He was still artistic consultant to the Thèâtre Italien and attracted the greatest composers and singers of the period. Rossini liked singers; Giuditta Pasta, Giulia Grisi, Maria Malibran, Luigi Lablache, Giovanni Battista Rubini, Marco Bordogni (1789–1856), and Antonio Tamburini (1800–1876), among many less famous artists, were frequent guests in his small apartment. The year 1836 began a long period of fecund retirement for Rossini in Bologna and Florence, then back in Paris, until his death in 1868. He remained interested in all things musical and cultural, and his advice and encouragement was avidly sought by young composers such as Bellini, Donizetti, Mercadante, and Verdi. Rossini’s weekly soirees, which he presided over from 1858 to 1868, called samedi soirs, were attended by most of the great musical, artistic, and political figures of the time. Invitations were highly prized and sometimes fought over. Rossini mostly

Rossini was always interested in teaching young singers who had the wisdom and character to listen to his advice. He always followed the progress of his protégé, the young Russian tenor, Nicola Ivanoff (1810–1880) and, especially, the great contralto Marietta Alboni (1826–1894), who was a frequent performer at Rossini’s soirees. Alboni was a student at the Liceo Musicale in Bologna, where Rossini was named a perpetual consultant. There he

Figure 11.2.  Marietta Alboni. Collection of the author.

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coached her in the principal contralto roles in his operas. She made her debut in Bologna at the age of sixteen, not unheard of in those days, and was still singing very well at seventy. Henry F. Chorley (1808–1872) stated that her voice was a “rich, deep, real contralto, of two octaves from G to G, as sweet as honey, but not intensely expressive; and with a tremulous quality which reminds fanciful speculators of the quiver in the air of the calm, blazing summer’s noon. I recollect no Italian voice so luscious.”35 He related that as Pippo to Grisi’s Ninetta in La gazza ladra, Alboni had to sing the entire first solo in the duet “Ebben per mia memoria” three times over, to the intense displeasure of the Ninetta. Alboni became a renowned musico. Her male roles included Maffeo Orsini in Lucrezia Borgia, Pierotto in Linda di Chamonix, Armondo di Gondi in Maria di Rohan, and Smeton in Anna Bolena, all by Donizetti; Néocles in Le siege de Corinthe, Arsace in Semiramide, Tancredi, and Malcolm in La donna del lago by Rossini; Cherubino in Le nozze di Figaro, Don Carlo (the baritone role) in Ernani of Verdi, Romeo in Giuletta e Romeo by Nicolo Vaccai (1790–1848), and Urbain in Meyerbeer’s Les Huguenots. Alboni’s normal alto roles were numerous and included Rossini’s Rosina in Il barbiere, La Cenerentola, Ninetta in La gazza ladra, and Isabella in L’italiana in Algeri. Rossini also wrote a cantata dedicated to Olympe, Giovanna D’Arco in 1832, which Alboni sang as one of the samedi soirs in 1859. Like other altos of the period, Alboni also sang soprano roles such as Anna Bolena, Norina in Don Pasquale, Marie in La fille du regiment, all by Donizetti, and Norma and Amina in La sonnambula by Bellini. All of these were probably transposed, but Chorley remarked that the strain was noticeable. Alboni was also able to cope with the modern trends toward melodrama in true contralto roles such as Ulrica in Il ballo in maschera and Azucena in Il trovatore by Verdi. Alboni traveled incessantly, joining Rubini’s company in St. Petersburg in 1844 and was a frequent visitor to London where she outshone such luminaries as Giulia Grisi and Jenny Lind (1820–1887). From 1852 to 1853, Alboni mounted a successful tour of the United States—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807–1882) and Walt Whitman (1819–1892) were great fans. Rossini was like a “second father” to Alboni and she and Adelina Patti sang at his funeral in the Église de la Sainte-Trinité. Alboni grew to be quite corpulent as she grew older. Rossini, who was capable of indelicacy even toward his favorites, called her “the elephant that swallowed a nightingale.”36 Théophile Gautier when he heard Marietta Alboni, one of the greatest Rossini contraltos in musical history, exclaimed: “Une voix si féminine et même temps si mâle. Juliette et Roméo dans le meme gosier!” (A voice at once so feminine and yet so male! Juliet and Romeo in the same throat!) Thus, it is in the contralto voice that Rossini’s bel canto style finds its mainstay. Basically, Rossini makes use of the contralto in two ways: as a buffo prima donna and as a musico.37

NOTES 1. Catherine E. Love, ed., Giunti Marzocco Collins Dizionario Italiano Inglese (Firenze, Italy: Giunti, 1985), 911. 2. Geoffrey S. Riggs, The Assoluta Voice in Opera, 1797–1847 (Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2003). 3.  Manuel Garcia II, A Complete Treatise on the Art of Singing, Part I (Boston: Ditson, ca. 1855), 8. 4.  Marchesi had an embellishment that consisted in running up a scale of semitones culminating in a high note of astonishing power. He called this his “bomba.” When Storace had the temerity of matching the musico’s feat with her own “bomba,” Marchesi demanded that she be fired. She was summarily dismissed. 5. Manuel Garcia II, Hints on Singing (London: Ascherberg, Hopwood, and Crew, 1894), 19. 6. E-mail from Sergio Ragni to Dan H. Marek, 21 January 2014. 7. Weinstock, Rossini: A Biography (New York: Knopf, 1968), 16. 8.  Richard Osborne, Rossini: His Life and Work (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 223. 9. Michotte, Richard Wagner’s Visit to Rossini and an Evening at Rossini’s at Beau Sejour, trans. and ed. Herbert Weinstock (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1968), 121. 10.  Rodolfo Celletti, A History of Bel Canto (New York: Oxford University Press, 1991), 86. 11. James Radomski, Manuel Garcia (1775–1832): Chronicle of the Life of a Bel Canto Tenor at the Dawn of Romanticism (New York: Oxford University Press, 2000), 108. Quote is from Monitore delle due Sicilie, 19 October 1811. 12. Radomski, Manuel Garcia, 108. 13.  Stendhal [Marie-Henri Beyle], Life of Rossini, trans. Richard N. Coe (1823; repr., London: Calder, 1956), 163. 14. Osborne, Rossini, 46–47. 15. Osborne, Rossini, 46. The singer that Byron saw in Venice was Nicola Tacchinardi (1772–1859). 16. Weinstock, Rossini, 80. Giuseppe Radiciotti (1858–1931) was an important biographer of Rossini. 17. Weinstock, Rossini, 423. 18. Stendhal, Life of Rossini, 383. 19.  Philip Gossett, Divas and Scholars: Performing Italian Opera (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2007), 5. 20. Celletti, A History of Bel Canto, 178–79. 21. Weinstock, Rossini, 93. 22.  Naomi André, “Women’s Roles in Meyerbeer’s Operas: How Italian Heroines Are Reflected in French Grand Opera,” in Opera and Society in England and France from Monteverdi to Bourdieu, ed. Victoria Johnson, Jane E. Fulcher, and Thomas Entman (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 99. 23. Stendhal, Life of Rossini, 413. 24. Osborne, Rossini, 296. 25. Weinstock, Rossini, 108. The quote is from the politician and writer Massimo d’Azeglio (1798–1866) who was an Italian statesman, novelist, and painter. Ludovico Lipparini (1802–1856) was not a singer, but a painter who painted a portrait of Rossini, among many others. 26. Weinstock, Rossini, 113. 27.  Michael Jahn, “La Cenerentola in Vienna,” Program for Vienna State Opera’s La Cenerentola, 2012–2013, 54. 28. Anonymous, “Rossini Festival Review,” Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung 28 (July 1822): 458.



The Maestro and the Prima Donna Assoluta

29. Weinstock, Rossini, 116. 30.  Anonymous, “The King’s Theater,” The Harmonicon, ed. William Ayerton, vol. 2 ( London: Samuel Leigh, 1824), 32. 31. Osborne, Rossini, 88. 32. Osborne, Rossini, 120. 33. Weinstock, Rossini, 234–35.

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34. Weinstock, Rossini, 273. 35. Henry F. Chorley, Thirty Years’ Musical Recollections (New York: Knopf, 1926), 206. 36.  Henry Pleasants, The Great Singers: From the Dawn of Opera to Our Own Time (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1966), 224. 37. Celletti, A History of Bel Canto, 158.

12 Giuditta Pasta

in this volume about altos. Pasta had the same amazing range as Colbran and was a very dramatic actress. Two years after Pasta’s triumphant return to Paris, Stendhal published the following description of Pasta’s voice:

If chance were to present Rossini with an actress who is young and beautiful; who is both intelligent and sensitive; whose gestures never deteriorate from the plainest and most natural modes of simplicity, and yet manage to keep faith with the purest ideals of formal beauty; if, allied to such an extraordinary wealth of dramatic talent, Rossini were to discover a voice that never fails to thrill our very souls with the passionate exaltation which we used, long ago, to capture from the masters of the Golden Age; a voice which can weave a spell about the plainest word in the plainest recitative; a voice whose compelling inflexions can subdue the most recalcitrant and obdurate of hearts, and oblige them to share in the emotions that radiate from some great aria . . . if Rossini were to discover such a world of wonder, who doubts that the miraculous would happen, that he would shed his laziness like a garment, settle down reservedly to a study of Madame Pasta’s voice, and soon start composing within the special range of her abilities? Inspired by the sublime gifts of such a prima donna, Rossini would recover the ardour which burned like a bright flame in his soul at the outset of his career, and win back the secret of those delicious and simple melodies which laid the foundations of his reputation.1

Madame Pasta’s voice has a considerable range. She can achieve perfect resonance on a note as low as bottom A, and can rise as high as C#, or a slightly sharpened D; and she possesses the rare ability to sing contralto as easily as she can sing soprano [italics mine]. I would suggest, in spite of my atrocious lack of technical knowledge, that the true designation of her voice is mezzo-soprano, and any composer who writes for her should use

Stendhal was writing in Paris in 1823 when Isabella Colbran’s career was over and Giuditta Pasta was twenty-five years old. As it turned out, Rossini finally did compose a role for Pasta, that of Corinna in Il viaggio a Reims, which premiered on June 19, 1825. I think it is safe to say that this role was not what Stendhal dreamed of. Pasta had to wait until the ascension of Bellini and Donizetti before her true glory unfolded. Of all the names in the history of singing, none is more lustrous than hers. Pasta was the prima donna assoluta for whom Bellini wrote Norma (1831), La sonnambula (1831), and Beatrice di Tenda (1833). For Donizetti, she created Anna Bolena (1830) and Bianca in Ugo, conte di Parigi (1832). She also premiered Niobe by Pacini for the San Carlo in 1826. Her voice is described variously as a mezzo-soprano or a soprano sfogato, and her career could be said to parallel that of Isabella Colbran. This is the reason that I have included both singers

Figure 12.1.  Giuditta Pasta as Desdemona in Rossini’s Otello. Collection of the author.

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the mezzo-soprano range for the thematic material of his music, while still exploiting, as it were incidentally and from time to time, notes which lie within the more peripheral areas of this remarkably rich voice. Many notes of this last category are not only extremely fine in themselves, but have the ability to produce a kind of resonant and magnetic vibration, which, through some still unexplained combination of physical phenomena exercises an instantaneous and hypnotic effect upon the soul of the spectator.2

Not everyone was as enthusiastic. Rossini remarked that Pasta “always sang false,” but in later years he became a very staunch friend and advocate. Giuditta Angiola Maria Costanza Pasta was born into a family named Negri in Saronno, near Milan. The patronymic Pasta came from her husband, Giuseppe, an unsuccessful tenor who handled her business affairs and contracts. Giuditta entered the Milan conservatory at fifteen and after three years of study with Giuseppe Scappa made her debut in an amateur production of Scappa’s Lope de Vega in 1816. In 1817, through the influence of Paer, she appeared in Paris at the Théâtre Italien as one of Catalani’s “puppets” (the young Manuel Garcia I was another). Pasta appeared in three Paer operas and her only performance as Giulietta in Zingarelli’s Giulietta e Romeo. After that, she sang numerous (108) musico Romeos. An unsuccessful Elvira in Don Giovanni ended the Paris engagement, but she did sing three other major Mozart roles in London after that. After a stint in London’s King’s Theater in 1817, competing with Josephine Fodor-Mainvielle to little effect, she withdrew to have a baby (her only child, Maria Clelia Luigia Teresa Pasta) and a period of further study with Davide Banderali (1789–1849). Some writers have stated that she did not appear in public for two years, but Stern asserts that she sang an almost unbroken series of performances during that time. In 1818, Pasta had a successful engagement in Venice as Adelaide in Pacini’s Adelaide e Comingio and went on to gain experience in a variety of operas in Padua (she sang Angelina in La Cenerentola), Trieste, and Rome. In Rome she created the travesti role of Linceo in Mayr’s Danao, the first opera written especially for her. It was not a success. Then came another premiere—Clodimiro in Giuseppe Nicolini’s Giulio Cesare nelle Gallie. A Rossini rarity, Aureliano in Palmira featuring Pasta in Velluti’s old role of Arsace then received a single performance. Even at the tender age of twenty-one, Giuditta Pasta had a sense of her worth and lost an engagement in Munich due to her excessive salary demands and insistence on the title prima donna assoluta. Her next engagement was in Brescia in the trouser role of Marc Antonio in La morte di Cleopatra by Sebastiano Nasolini written in 1791. The most important thing about this engagement was that Pasta met the “star of the show” Giuseppina Grassini, the great contralto, who took the young singer under her wing. Grassini became the most significant female influence on Giuditta Pasta’s artistic growth. The two developed a close relation-

ship. Pasta could not help but notice Grassini’s breathing and phrasing, her respect for the text and elegant stage deportment, and the subsequent results on the audience.3

The next opera at Brescia was Gli Orazi e i’Curiazi, which had been a vehicle for Grassini for many years. Pasta again took on a musico role of Curiazio, which had been created by Crescentini. She received warm applause and was signed to repeat performances in other Italian cities. From 1819 to 1821, Giuditta Pasta led the nomadic life of the itinerant singer. She missed her husband and child but was steadily gaining the experience onstage for which there is no substitute. She accepted an engagement at the Teatro Nuovo in Trieste in December 1819 and appeared in six roles there. Most were quite forgettable. They included Il barone di Dolsheim (1818) by Pacini, I virtuosi a teatro by Mayr (1801), a cantata premiere, La festa patria by Farinelli (1820), Paer’s L’Agnese (1809), and Pavesi’s Il trionfo della belle o sia Corradino (1820). Only Angelina in La Cenerentola, which Pasta sang twenty-six times in Trieste, have survived to this day, and she dropped all of them as she steadily moved away from the buffa repertoire. Next, in Padua, she created yet another musico role, Ippolito to Grassini’s eponymous Fedra by Ferdinando Orlandi (1774– 1848). The pair then reprised Gli Orazi e i’Curiazi. Giovanni Pacini, who was to become an important composer in Pasta’s career, revised his La sposa fedele (1819) for Giuditta, who was next engaged as prima donna assoluta in Turin. Paer’s Sargino, ossia L’allievo dell’amore, curiously called an opera eroicomio, was the second item on the calendar. La schiava in Bagdad by Pacini received its premiere on October 28, 1820, with Pasta in the role of Zora. It should be noted that Pasta was becoming noted for travesti roles. She accepted an engagement at the Fenice in Venice, beginning in December 1820, for two musico parts—Gonsalvo in Nicolini’s La conquista di Granata and the title role of Arminio by Pavesi. Nicolini’s opera was a fiasco, but Giuditta received most of the applause. Arminio was a great success and went on to at least nineteen performances. Pasta, in keeping with the time, honored Italian custom, embellished her music freely, and often interpolated music of Rossini and others in arias di baule (suitcase arias) in all her roles. In 1821, Paris and London were the centers of wealth, culture, and squalor. Napoleon’s death on May 5, 1821, brought to an end the period of the French Revolution and the Napoleonic Empire. The Bourbon King Louis XVIII reigned during the second restoration from 1815 to 1824, and a period of relative peace ensued, which lasted for half a century. Emerging in 1815 from a generation of warfare, the European world continued to roll along the broad avenue of the nineteenth century, which, seen in retrospect, stands as the most remarkable period of material progress in the history of the human race.4

Many young Americans flocked to the City of Light in search of culture and instruction unavailable in their native land.



Giuditta Pasta 83 “The evening need never hang heavy on the stranger’s hands,” wrote Ralph Waldo Emerson, having dispensed altogether with his misgivings about Paris. The very air seemed to be charged with excitement. “More than twenty theaters are blazing with light and echoing with fine music . . . not to mention concerts . . . shows innumerable,” he wrote. “The theater is the passion of the French and the taste and splendor of their dramatic exhibitions can hardly be exceeded.” There were two opera houses, both exuberantly ornate and spacious: the Théâtre Italien on the Place des Italiens where Italian opera was performed, and the Salle Le Peletier, home to the company now known as the Paris Opera, at the time sometimes called the Grand Opéra, and known too, for its corps de ballet.5

Giuditta Pasta’s return to the Paris stage was on June 5, 1821, at the Théâtre Italien, which was directed by her old friend and mentor Ferdinando Paer. It was the turning point of her career. She chose what would become one of her signature roles, that of Desdemona in Rossini’s Otello. The Paris premiere included Manuel Garcia in the title role and Marco Bordogni as Rodrigo. The result was instant success and elevated Pasta to the ranks of the outstanding vocal artists of the age, or any other age for that matter. Giuditta Pasta was a great singer without question, but it was in the realm of expression that she possessed the mystical ability to move her audiences to ecstatic expressions of approbation. The term “acting with the voice” is a rare attribute of the very greatest artists who share with instrumental musicians the ability to phrase imaginatively with minute variations of rhythm, dynamics, accent, and virtuosic delivery of speed and power. Pasta was renowned for the taste and restraint of her embellishments that, once fixed, were never changed during her career. She shared this characteristic with modern singers who very rarely embellish in the spontaneous manner of virtuosos of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. In addition, however, the singer has the advantage of the human voice’s capacity for infinite variation of timbre called forth by the text and dramatic situation, facial expression, and body language. Even the vowels have the capacity to arouse emotion without words. For example, “aah” expresses satisfaction, “ooh” wonder, and so forth. This expressive power of the human voice was what prompted Vladimir Horowitz (1903–1989) to remark that he never listened to recordings of pianists but preferred to listen to great singers. Giuditta Pasta was the prototype of the dramatic singer in an age just emerging from a period in which an opera performance resembled a tableau rather than a dramatic performance. Of course, all trends progress to the point where they are overdone, such as the present emphasis on visual spectacle at the expense of the musical and vocal elements. In a Pasta performance of Paisiello’s Nina only three years later, a Paris critic of the Allgemeine Musicalische Zeitung reported: Not only did this enchantress hold her listeners spellbound; she herself was so seized and carried away that she collapsed before

the end. She was recalled, and duly appeared, but what a sight! Too weak to walk alone, supported by helping hands, more carried than walking, tears streaming down her pale cheeks, every muscle in the expressive face in movement, and reflecting as touchingly as her singing, the depth of her emotions! The applause rose to the highest conceivable pitch—and she fainted!6

Otello ran for fifteen performances. Pasta’s London nemesis, Josephine Fodor-Mainvielle, was in Paris and her supporting claque tried to disrupt one of Pasta’s performances, but they were vanquished by increased applause. The rivalry was, in some respects, trumped up because the two artists were very different, much like the Callas-Tebaldi rivalry closer to our time. Pasta was then persuaded to sing Donna Anna in Don Giovanni. She never felt comfortable in Mozart and abandoned the role after five performances. Her reputation in musico roles was enhanced by her subsequent appearance as Romeo in eight performances of a much-altered version of Zingarelli’s venerable Giulietta e Romeo. Paer then arranged a new version of his Camilla, ossia il sotterraneo, a tearjerker about a mother’s despair that provided Pasta, with her intrinsic vocal quality of morbidezza, an opportunity to bring her audience to tears. The Teatro Regio in Turin was Pasta’s next stop, where she appeared in two more trouser roles as Eduardo in what was described as Rossini’s Eduardo e Cristina and Clearco in Farinelli’s I riti d’Efeso, which was sung by Garcia and Colbran in 1813. Eduardo e Cristina is an example of the difficulty of getting an accurate picture of a performance during this time. Not only was Eduardo e Cristina a pasticcio to start with, Rossini borrowing liberally from himself, but the Turin version had interpolations from six other composers as well as other Rossini operas. The Pasta Turin season is an object lesson in the power that the prima donnas had during this period and the musical excesses that were bound to happen when their ambitions were unchecked. However, it was probably preferable to the present climate where the administration and stage directors hold all the cards! Giuditta Pasta returned to Paris on March 11, 1822, secure in the title of prima donna assoluta. She had wished to sing Tancredi in her previous French visit but was prevented from doing so by the unavailability of the score. After a delay caused by Garcia’s supposed illness (the part of Argirio lies very high and Garcia was a low tenor), Pasta finally presented the Paris premiere of one of her signature parts. Marco Bordogni sang the tenor part easily but was castigated for his poor acting. Pasta had often sung the great aria “Di tanti palpiti” in concerts transposed up a minor third. The French, who cared much more about the literary quality of the libretto than the Italians, were reluctantly won over. The critic for La Quotidienne wrote: One expected the role of Tancrède would be sung by Madame Pasta in a superior manner; but nobody had thought that a young and pretty woman could represent, with such commanding nobility, so touching and so realistic, the young Syracusan knight; his, countenance, his bearing, his inflections breathed

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the motto that Voltaire gave his hero: Love and Honor! She sang the Italian opera but acted the French play.7

Unfortunately, as we have seen, the original tragic ending was replaced by the vapid lieto fine in this production as well as all productions in the nineteenth century. The tragic ending would have suited Pasta’s unique gifts very well. Pasta next assumed two of Rossini’s “Colbran” roles—the title role in Elisabetta, regina d’Inghliterra and Elcia in Mosé in Egitto. After the Fourth Estate’s usual complaints about the librettos of these operas, Pasta won individual plaudits for her characterizations. To illustrate the shallow preoccupations of the French critics, her turban in the role of Elcia became an object of fascination. In January 1823, Pasta assumed the eponymous role in Medea in Corinto by Mayr, a subject irresistible to tragediennes from Colbran to Callas (who sang the Cherubini version, not Mayr’s). The role of Giasone was sung by Garcia, who had created the original part. Capitalizing on the success of Medea, Pasta was featured in another of Mayr’s finest works, La rosa bianca e la rosa rossa. Written originally for a tenor, the role of Enrico was arranged for Pasta as a musico part. The wonderful aria “Dolci d’amor parole,” which was cast out of the original version of Tancredi at Malanotte’s insistence, was inserted into La Rosa along with copious additions and substitutions by Paer. Despite eleven repetitions, La Rosa failed to catch on. After a period of illness and a miscarriage, Giuditta returned in a series of musico performances as Enrico, Tancredi, and Romeo. Then she appeared as Elisa in Elisa e Claudio by Mercadante, an unjustly neglected composer. Paisiello’s Nina, ossia La pazza per amore, which we have already described, came next. Nina became one of her most popular roles. Rossini and Isabella Colbran arrived in Paris in November 1823 on their way to London. Otello was staged on November 29 with Garcia and Pasta. Rossini himself coached the singers and may have written some embellishments for Pasta. After a few performances of Paer’s L’Agnese on April 11, 1824, Pasta set her sights on London to claim her rightful title of prima donna assoluta of King’s Theater. Like critics in Paris, London was amazed at the progress Giuditta Pasta had made in the six years since she had been there. I described the scene in London when the Rossinis arrived in December 1823. Isabella Colbran’s unfortunate failure in Zelmira and the vocal decline of Garcia put a damper on the season. The impresario Benelli desperately brought in the aging Angelica Catalani, whose voracious appetite for money ensured the failure of the season. The English prejudice against all things French worked against Giuditta, whose praise in the French press preceded her. Garcia, although not in top form, was still a formidible Moor in Otello, which opened on April 24, 1824, under Rossini’s musical direction. Pasta’s voice was, like Callas’s, an unruly instrument that, no doubt, was exacerbated by her dramatic intensity. This was duly noted by the critics who, mesmerized by her acting and musical imagination, overlooked her deficiencies.

It is not what is generally called a veiled voice, though it would appear so; it seems to pass through an obstructed organ, and it evidently demands from her immense exertion. There is therefore little of that musical sweetness in her tones which linger on the memory after it is heard. A woman with only Madame Pasta’s voice, and without her other qualifications, would have little chance of arriving at any eminence; but this lady inspires it with such eloquence of the mind, and, by mere management, distributes it into a such a variety of light and shade, that she renders it the medium of extraordinary dramatic effect. At the moment that her voice is at its ultimate stretch of loudness, and sometimes it is loud even to harshness, she suddenly suspends her flight, makes a transition to a gentle strain, and rests upon it until she appears to be captivated with her own conceptions. . . . It is in these contrasts of voice that Madame Pasta excels—They are striking, and always executed in such a masterly style as to produce an electric effect on the audience.8

This use of sudden dynamic contrasts called “light and shade” was also a characteristic of Giovanni Battista Rubini’s style often mentioned by English critics, especially Henry Chorley. Rossini was not impressed with the training of the singers of his era. In a conversation with Ferdinand Hiller, he said: “Most of the important singers of the present owe their talent more to fortunate natural endowment than to their training. This is true of Rubini, of Pasta, and of many others.”9 This statement is all the more true for our era, but true artistry is not about technical perfection. It is about the communication of emotion. This is the element in Pasta’s singing that Stendhal described as “the mystical power of the human voice.” An audience feels all the emotion but is unable to express it as fluently as an artist can. The catch is that artists must pursue technical perfection as an ever-ascending platform to reach a higher level of communication. Maurice Ravel (1875–1937) put it this way: Conscience compels us to turn ourselves into good craftsmen. My objective, therefore, is technical perfection. I can strive unceasingly to this end, since I am certain of never being able to attain it. The important thing is to get nearer it all the time. Art, no doubt, has other effects, but the artist, in my opinion, should have no other aim.10

Benelli had originally engaged Giuditta for Otello, Medea in Corinto, and Romeo. Apparently unable to put Medea on the stage, he settled on a cobbled-together production of Tancredi, presumably prepared by Rossini, which had ten performances. Pasta’s version of “Di tanti palpiti” was much slower than the usual tempo but apparently had Rossini’s blessing. The critic for the Harmonicon felt that she “adds a few such chaste, graceful, and original ornaments to it and gives it so much genuine feeling, that it pleases all tastes.”11 The greatest challenge to Pasta during the London season was Semiramide, which Colbran had premiered the previous year. She and Garcia had a brilliant success and Semiramide became one of her most often performed roles. One wonders how Colbran felt, witnessing a rising star singing roles written



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for her and being directed by her husband. We have seen how she treated Olympe Péllisier with respect when they met in Bologna. Did she perhaps give the young Pasta the benefit of her advice? London, during the first part of the nineteenth century, was a fertile source of income for the Italian artists who flocked there for the rich fees that were paid by the wealthy nobility and nouveau riche industrialists for their private concerts. Rossini and Pasta made a lot of money there, but not at King’s Theater, because Benelli went bankrupt and fled, leaving the artists’ salaries largely unpaid. Giuditta and her family returned to Paris in August 1824 to a changed landscape. Pasta was now the chief attraction at the Théâtre Italien, where Rossini now was codirector with Paer. Her return to Paris was in one of her warhorses—as Romeo in Zingarelli’s venerable opera. Pasta continued her lucrative concert engagements with Paer’s help, but she was never as comfortable in concert as she was on the lyric stage. During the 1824–1825 season, Pasta alternated her tried-andtrue roles—Tancredi, Nina, Romeo, and Desdemona. Rossini wanted to tie her down for five years at the Italien, but she was determined to return to London, where the money was. The administration required Giuditta to post a bond of 15,000 francs to ensure her timely return. On May 10, 1825, Giuditta Pasta marked her return to the King’s Theater with a performance of Otello with Garcia. The London Morning Post remarked on the numerous curtain calls of the recently deceased Desdemona, complete with a bloody nightgown. Semiramide followed with the general opinion that Pasta was even greater than the year before. The season’s concerts were marked by two noteworthy events. In a concert on May 13, 1825, Pasta appeared with Manuel Garcia and his daughter Maria along with Franz Liszt (1811–1886). She also sang a duet with the last great castrato, Giovanni Battista Velluti. On June 2 at Marlborough House, Giuditta sang the great duet from Semiramide “Ebben, a te ferischi” with the seventeen-year-old Maria Garcia (later to become the great Malibran), who had always idolized her. Upon her return to Paris in June 1825, Pasta began learning three new roles: Armando in Il crociato in Egitto of Giacomo Meyerbeer, Corinna in Il viaggio a Reims, the new cantata scenica by Rossini, and Colbran’s last Rossini role, Zelmira. Her rentrée to Paris was Otello with Domenico Donzelli on June 14. Rossini had taken on the directorship of the Théâtre Italien along with Ferdinando Paer in November 1824. He then composed Il viaggio a Reims starring Pasta and other luminaries in honor of the coronation of Charles X. Corinne was the only role that Rossini wrote especially for Pasta, although she sang most of the roles in his catalog. Il viaggio premiered on June 19 and was withdrawn after only four performances. Rossini salvaged some of the music to use in Le comte Ory and the rest lay undisturbed until 1977, when Philip Gossett discovered the missing parts and reconstructed the score. The first performance in 150 years took place in Pesaro in 1984.

Giuditta entered into a contract with Barbaja for the 1826–1827 season in Naples and finished the 1825 season with the same familiar repertoire. On September 25, 1825, the long delayed Il crociato in Egitto opened in Paris with Pasta in the musico role of Armando. Meyerbeer reworked the role, originally created by Giovanni Battista Velluti for Pasta. She received good notices but did not find the role congenial and removed it from her active repertoire in 1828 after only nine performances in total. Later, in Berlin, she found Meyerbeer’s Les Huguenots “brilliant, extravagant, bizarre.”12 In November, Giuditta Pasta and Giovanni Battista Rubini, the great tenor, began an association that would prove of mutual benefit for many years. Both were devoted family people and there was, refreshingly, never a hint of scandal from either during their long careers. Their initial offering was a revival of Mayr’s La rosa bianca e la rosa rossa. Rubini’s first assumption of the eponymous role of Otello took place on December 15, 1825, with Pasta as Desdemona. Knowing that he could not compete with the dramatic voices of Nozzari, Donzelli, and even Garcia, he played the part as a soldier consumed with thoughts of sadness and gloom. Pasta changed her interpretation to harmonize with the inspiration of her partner and both received accolades from critics and public alike. Giuditta was next involved in an imbroglio with FodorMainvielle over who would have the right to the title role in the Paris premiere of Semiramide. The entire administration, Rossini included, became involved. Pasta refused to sing Arbace, which would probably have been a coup de théâtre for her, but she was promised the premiere of Rossini’s next opera. This never came to pass because she did not sing in French, the language of Rossini’s final output. Fodor-Mainvielle eventually won out but it was a Pyrrhic victory. When the brilliant, very popular Fodor-Mainvielle appeared on the stage as Semiramide, she was greeted with noisy enthusiasm. For a time, all went as had been foreseen. Then her tones began to emerge hoarse and strangled and she could be seen to struggle. The orchestra fell silent; the curtain was closed. A functionary announced that the performance had had to be interrupted because Fodor-Mainvielle was suffering a temporary indisposition. The wait lengthened. The scene in the star’s dressing room was of consternation, as she alternately wrung her hands and struck them against her face. Rossini wept, fearing the worst. The nightmare fear of singers had become a reality for Fodor-Mainvielle: her voice had somehow been damaged irreparably.13

Fodor-Mainvielle attempted a few comebacks in vain. Her career was over. This tragedy cleared the way for Giuditta Pasta, but her performance of Semiramide was not without controversy. Fodor-Mainvielle was a pure soprano who tended to shriek some top notes, a charge often leveled by Italians at French singers. Pasta’s voice was more of an alto quality, although she had the soprano top notes. It was agreed that Pasta’s acting ability and vocal color were superior and Semiramide became one of the mainstays of her repertoire.

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Zelmira, Pasta’s next new role, proved to be quite congenial for her, and Rossini composed a beautiful new aria, “Da te spero” for her. The alto quality of Pasta’s voice is demonstrated in this piece, which was the answer to Stendhal’s 1823 prayer. Marilyn Horne’s recording of it is wonderful. Pasta shared the Zelmira stage with Rubini, Bordogni, Carlo Zucchelli (1793–1879), and Amalia Schütz-Odolsi as Emma, and she would eventually take the opera to London and Naples. Kenneth Stern states that Pasta took part in fifty-two concerts during the ten months that she was in Paris from 1825 to 1826. From April until August 1826, Giuditta Pasta tended her garden in London. The principal crop was money. London and Paris were opera-mad, and the Italian singers of the era were only too glad to relieve them of the burden of their heavy purses. Pasta signed a contract with John Ebers of King’s Theater, guaranteeing her the titles of prima donna assoluta and musico assuloto. The contract reads a lot like that of Angelica Catalani twenty years earlier. She had control of repertoire, casting, staging, and was paid a hefty salary in advance for the operas in which she was cast. She was allowed to sing wherever she wished, as long as the engagement did not conflict with her schedule at the theater. She certainly took advantage of that codicil, for she did sixty-three concerts in the ninety-nine days she was in London.14 Her roles for London were Desdemona and Medea in Corinto, both partnered with Alberico Curioni (1785–1875), a journeyman tenor best known as the handsomest Italian tenor until Mario15 came along. Medea was the London premiere of the Mayr masterpiece, and it created a sensation. Her acting was continually compared to Sarah Siddons (1775–1831), the greatest British actress of her age, as in Paris, François-Joseph Talma (1763–1826), the great French tragedian, was one of her most enthusiastic fans. Mayr’s opera must have been a good basis for her portrayal of Norma, which came along in 1831. Tancredi, Romeo, Nina, and Zelmira rounded out Pasta’s London repertoire, and she left the city for Paris on August 1, 1826. Her neurotic husband, Giuseppe, who had accompanied the Garcia troupe in their famous visit to New York, rejoined her. The highlight of Giuditta’s season in Paris was her benefit on October 18, 1826, as Medea. The house was overflowing and it was a brilliant evening. Giuditta Pasta had not been “home” in four years. Barbaja had arranged for her debut at the great Teatro San Carlo in Naples. Great care had to be exercised in her selection of a debut role for Naples, because the chauvinistic Neapolitans could not believe an important operatic career could be established outside of their historic city. Despite contrary advice, she chose Medea for her debut on November 8. 1826. The critic for the Giornale del Regno delle Due Sicilie remarked on her contralto-like lower voice with its veiled quality and lack of “extraneous ornaments,” a quality prized by the Neapolitans. He did, however, notice that “everyone, however, recognized in her a marvelous acting ability, a depiction of tragic dignity above all praise. She approached the sublime in the depiction of the grand passions.”16

Giovanni Pacini’s Niobe premiered on November 19, 1826, as a celebration of the birthday of the queen of Naples. The cast was sterling; besides Giuditta Pasta in the title role, Giovanni Battista Rubini was Licido, Luigi Lablache was Anfione, and Carolina Ungher (Unger), whom we last met in Vienna in 1824, was cast as Asteria. I have written extensively about Niobe as the opera that, according to Pacini, elevated Rubini to the title of “king of tenors.” Pasta, in yet another opera about infanticide, had a notable success. Then came a chorus of maidens of Niobe, then an example of a famous cavatina of Pasta, which finally ended in a duet with Ungher. Il primo tempo: “Invan tuoi preghi ostenti,” was sung with the excellence of the famous prima donna artist and received many bravas! from the Court and from the public. The largo of the duettino increased the approbation: and finally in the stretta of the cabaletta, (somewhat new in thought and form) the King gave a sign for applause, and the whole room repeated the cheering, so the performers repeated the selection—this had never happened in an evening gala!17

Weinstock writes that it was probable that it was during the run of Niobe that Bellini had first heard Pasta, who became the creator of his most important roles, Norma and Amina. However, it was Rubini who stole the show with the aria “Il soave e bel contento,” which became hugely popular and was inserted into many operas, concert programs, and figured in many instrumental compositions as well. Hilary Poriss has written an important book about the practice of aria insertion, Changing the Score,18 in which she cites the many artists who appropriated the aria, including Giuditta Pasta and Carolina Ungher, from the original cast, who knew a good thing when they saw it. Indeed, Pasta credited “Il soave e bel contento” as being one of the three arias that paved her road to stardom.19 Rubini himself interpolated the aria into Pacini’s L’ultimo giorno di Pompei, Rossini’s La donna del lago and Mosè in Egitto, and Bellini’s La straniera and Il pirate,20 and sang it in countless recital programs. The aria was also used as a basis for many instrumental transcriptions for such artists as Ignaz Moscheles (1794–1870) and Franz Liszt (1811–1886), whose concerts in the 1830s and 1840s featured his Divertissement sur la cavatine “I frequenti palpiti” (1835–1836).21 Both artists collaborated on the piece while Rubini and Liszt were touring together in 1842. Pasta’s next opera, Otello, was a direct challenge to the Neapolitan memories of Isabella Colbran, for it was produced at the Teatro del Fondo, where it received its premiere in 1816. She received ovations with the royal family in attendance. Since Rossini had neglected to compose a cavatina (entrance aria) for Desdemona, most prima donnas of the time “corrected” his oversight by inserting arias that they fancied. Pasta added “Ah! Come rapida” from L’esule di Granata (1822) of Meyerbeer (surely a conflict of compositional styles) as her choice. There was hysterical acclaim. Further incursions into Colbran territory were Zelmira and Gabriella di Vergi by Michele Carafa and Giuditta by Pietro



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Raimondi (1786–1853), two Gothic horror operas that gave Pasta plenty of opportunity to stretch her histrionic wings. The addition of Medea in Corinto made a total of sixtyfour performances for Naples. There were some anti-Pasta murmurings from the Fodoristi, but they were soon silenced by the enthusiastic approbation of both Crescentini and Zingarelli. Giuditta Pasta, possibly feeling unappreciated, left Naples in April 1827, never to return. Almost eighty years later, stung by members of the notorious “claque,” the young Enrico Caruso (1873–1921) vowed never to return to Naples either, except “to eat a plate of spaghetti.” He did come back in 1921, only to die in the city of his birth. The 1827–1828 season was comprised of a long visit to the British Empire. In the midst of a hectic schedule, Giuditta arrived in London from Naples on May 1, 1727. The season opened with a mixed bill of acts from Tancredi and Giulietta e Romeo. On May 10, Semiramide was heard with Pasta and a young contralto making her debut, Marietta Brambilla (1807– 1875) as Arsace. Brambilla and Pasta became fast friends. Brambilla sang two musico roles during the season—Romeo in Zingarelli’s Romeo e Giulietta and Adriano in Il crociato in Egitto. She became famous for the trouser roles; she created Paolo in Generali’s Francesca di Rimini (1828), Maffio Orsini in Lucrezia Borgia of Donizetti (1833), and Pierotto in Linda di Chamounix (1842). She also sang Smeton in Anna Bolena and Pippo in La gazza ladra in 1848. Pasta prepared two new operas during the 1827–1828 season at King’s Theater, the title roles of Maria Stuarda, regina di Scozia by Carlo Coccia (1782–1873) and Mercadante’s Didone abbandonata, derived from Metastasio’s well-worn text. Both operas were deemed unsuccessful although Pasta had a personal success. The season ended on August 4. Giuditta also sang an astounding sixty-two concerts during the brief season, sometimes as many as three a day! She toured Ireland, offering concerts and operatic performances during August. Then she appeared in concert in England and Scotland. She often offered “Di tanti palpiti” and “Il soave e bel contento,” reveling in trills, chromatic runs, leaps con slancio, and other embellishments, always in perfect taste. One of her secrets was that she decorated her arias just enough without overdoing it. Audiences responded with thunderous applause. A frequently mentioned problem was that Pasta sometimes sang under pitch, a trait that she shared with Isabella Colbran. I have already addressed this in my discussion of the career of the great Spanish soprano sfogato. In my opinion, these singers were great musicians, and I believe that they were altos who were holding high tessituras and simply got tired occasionally. However, Stern published a fascinating account from Adelaide Kemble (1814–1879), an English soprano who studied with Pasta on Lake Como in 1839. Even at her best, she [Pasta] had always sung false upon three notes in the middle of her voice—the C of the third space, with D and E which follow, were always considerably too flat. One day that she was teaching me to sing “Casta Diva” . . . when

I came to the words “spargi in terra,” which fall upon these particular notes, she suddenly stopped me. “Crescete, mia cara, (You are singing sharp, my dear),” said she. I began again and was stopped at the same place. Anxious to ascertain the fact, about which I had doubts, I repeated the passage for the third time, very gently touching the piano at the concluding note, and finding myself in perfect unison with it. “Ma non sentite che crescete sempre? (But don’t you hear that you still sing sharp?)”—she exclaimed, and then herself sang the notes a full quarter of a tone too flat, after which she looked at me with an air of complacent triumph, and remarked, “Sentite che differenza, cara mia? (You hear the difference, my dear?)”—a very curious proof that her false intonation was an imperfection of the ear, and not of the voice, for these three notes of the scale, a most remarkable peculiarity, which I have never since met with in anyone.22

Is it possible that Pasta simply learned the diatonic scale incorrectly as a child, and her genius kept her locked into a false concept from the beginning? Back in London, Pasta’s season began on January 16, 1827, with Tancredi, Otello, Mayr’s La rosa bianca e la rosa rossa, and Il crociato in Egitto of Meyerbeer. After these performances, she eliminated the last two operas from her repertoire. Semiramide followed. The Morning Post extolled Pasta as “the greatest singer and one of the greatest tragic actresses that ever lived,”23 high praise indeed from an English critic. The twenty-two-year-old Henriette Sontag, who was the soprano soloist at the premiere of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony in 1824, was a member of the London company in 1827. The dilettanti attempted to institute a rivalry between the two very dissimilar artists but they became good friends. The novelty of the season was Pasta’s assumption of the title role of Otello while Sontag sang Desdemona. The interpretation of Otello by a woman was a controversial subject to many, although Pasta’s other numerous musico roles were no problem at all. Another unusual performance was a Semiramide with Giovanni Velluti in the role of Arbace. Stern writes that Pasta sang seventyseven concerts in London during the 1827–1828 season. She returned to Paris in August to reunite with her husband and daughter and begin a well-deserved vacation in her native land. She purchased a villa on Lake Como, which she named Villa Roda. She also acquired a residence in Milan. On December 7, 1827, she sang in a concert there and was engaged by Barbaja for a short season at the Kärntnertortheater in Vienna. She sang her familiar roles during the season and was named Kammersängerin to the court. She was unhappy because the German singers did not understand Italian and the dramatic context of Otello and Semiramide was lost. Giuditta returned to Milan to the Teatro Carcano in April where she was contracted for fiftytwo performances of her familiar repertoire. The Semiramide included Brambilla and a young French tenor, Gilbert-Louis Duprez (1806–1896), who later became famous as the originator of the do di petto or so-called chest high C. Pasta’s Milan season was a great success. She interpolated Rubini’s aria from

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Niobe “Il soave e bel contento” as her entrance aria in Otello and caused the critics to forget all about previous Desdemonas. She closed the season with Romeo on July 31. For a grand finale of admiration, flowers, sonnets, and crowns cascaded down from the boxes, and from the uppermost part of the theater doves were unleashed. Dozens of spectators accompanied the diva to her residence and the critic for I teatri reported: At four o’clock in the morning one could still hear the cries Viva da Pasta! Viva la Grande Attrice Cantante! Giuditta, indeed moved by this heart-felt display of affection, noted in her journal: “I never in my life saw such enthusiasm.”24

What the rigors of a busy schedule of singing demanding repertoire cost Giuditta Pasta (and other similar artists) is revealed by her yearning for rest and relaxation. She planned to take the late summer and autumn of 1829 off at her villa La Roda, even refusing offers from La Scala. However, in November she succumbed to entreaties from Rossini on behalf of the Teatro Communale in Bologna. He called her “Semiramide” and invited her to stay with him and Isabella at their villa. It is interesting that Rossini and Pasta were brought together at that particular juncture in history. On August 3, 1829, Rossini had premiered Guillaume Tell, one of the operas that set the musical world firmly on the path to grand opera. With Tell, Rossini sensed that his operatic world was coming to an end and he composed no more operas. Verdi wrote: Certainly no one would deny genius to Rossini! Well then: despite all his genius, in Guglielmo Tell one detects the fatal atmosphere of the Opéra, and at times, though less often than with other composers, one feels that there is something bigger and something smaller and the musical working-out is not so sincere and secure as in Il barbiere.25

On the way to Bologna, on August 26, Rossini stopped in Milan to hear Rubini in Bellini’s Il pirata and met the young composer for the first time. Giuditta Pasta had become the prototype of the dramatic lead of the grand opera. One would have liked to have been a fly on the wall during discussions among Rossini, Colbran, and Pasta. Rossini stated that he would be at Giuditta’s disposal during her stay, and one would suppose that she would take advantage of his coaching of his operas. On November 5, Giuditta debuted in Bologna as Desdemona in Otello. Tancredi and Semiramide soon followed. After a short stay in Milan where she sang with Giovanni David and Antonio Tamburini for the first time, Pasta traveled to Verona, where she sang Romeo to Brambilla’s Giulietta in a further pasticcio of Zingarelli’s work in the city of the drama’s origin. In February 1830, Giuditta sang another travesti role, the eponymous Malek Adel by Nicolini, which was given five performances in Verona. In April 1830, Giuditta Pasta returned to Vienna’s Kärntnertortheater for a two-month season under much-improved circumstances compared to her previous visit. She was reunited with her old friend and colleague Giovanni Battista Rubini. They shared the stage and vociferous acclaim from audiences and critics alike. The operas were Nina, Otello,

Giulietta e Romeo, Tancredi, and Semiramide. Then Giuditta assumed a Bellini role for the first time—six performances as Imogene in Il pirata, which had been premiered two years earlier by Rubini and his wife Adelaide Comelli-Rubini (1796–1874) at the San Carlo. This version was replete with aria insertions by the artists that would have infuriated Bellini had he known about them. After the Viennese season, Giuditta spent the summer and fall of 1830 in repose at her villa on Lake Como. Ahead was the most meaningful engagement for Giuditta Pasta and her colleague Rubini—the 1830–1831 season at the Teatro Carcano in Milan. It is useful to sum up Pasta’s career to this momentous turning point. Roles that established Giuditta Pasta’s primacy were Tancredi, Elisabetta, and Semiramide by Rossini, Zingarelli’s Romeo e Giulietta (she sang both parts), Mayr’s Medea in Corinto, and Nina by Paisiello. For at least ten years, Pasta was the undisputed queen of opera during a period that included Maria Malibran, Benedetta Pisaroni, Wilhelmine Schröder-Devrient (1804–1860), Giulia Grisi, Isabel Colbran, and Henriette Sontag—great singers all. However, none of the roles she was famous for were written expressly for her. In 1824 Pasta’s greatest admirer, Stendhal (Marie-Henri Beyle), noticed this omission and wrote a famous essay about Pasta in which he laments the fact that she was forced to adapt the truly original and inspired aspects of her art to roles written for others. What was there about Pasta’s performances that inspired such adulation in all the great opera houses of Europe? Rossini is reported to have said “she always sang false” (off pitch), but he continued to feature her at the Théâtre Italien and coached her for her London performance of Semiramide, one of her greatest triumphs. Henry Chorley felt that her figure was short and clumsy (she had one shortened leg), but her demeanor had “a grace and majesty which put many a born Royalty and Ambassadress to shame,” and further—“one recollects Madame Pasta by her Medea, her Romeo, her Norma, her Anna Bolena. When she could be dramatic, the defects of intonation to which she was liable either disappeared, or were forgotten in the consummate union of vocal art with human emotion.”26

The answer is complicated. First of all, Pasta’s career came at a unique time in vocal history, when the art of the castrati was giving way to the new taste for realistic drama. Mezzosopranos and contraltos often replaced castrati in heroic male roles, even appropriating the title primo musico or simply musico. Pasta’s dedication to dramatic truth was unmatched by any other singer except Callas, with whom she has often been compared. Her gestures and facial expressions were always rooted in the music but were so simple and tasteful that her audience was at a loss to explain their power. It seems clear that, as a singing actress, Pasta was ahead of her time and had to wait for Bellini and Donizetti to come upon the scene in the latter part of her career to fulfill her true promise. At the height of her power when Stendhal was writing about her, she was forced to adapt the faded works of



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such as Mayr, Paer, Paisiello, and Zingarelli to her own vision, much as Jon Vickers (1926–2015) transformed Peter Grimes in our time. Most of the time she had complete control of all aspects of the performance, including insertions of arias from other works, if it suited her purpose. Pasta was also, in Berton Coffin’s words, an acting singer, who, like Callas, had to tame an unruly and obdurate voice. Pasta’s embellishments were not spontaneous but carefully crafted to express the emotional weight of the text. Stendhal writes: I think that I should despair of ever succeeding, were I obliged to describe one single embellishment normally used by Madame Pasta which is not a monument of classical grace and style, or which is unfit to stand as a model of unrivalled perfection. Extremely restrained in her use of fioriture, she resorts to them only when they have a direct contribution to make to the dramatic expressiveness of the music; and it is worth noting that none of her fioriture are retained for a single instant after they have ceased to be useful.27

Giuditta Pasta’s voice was a powerful mezzo-soprano with an extended range from low A to high D. She sang a wide range of parts from Despina to her great role, Norma. Less noticed is the fact that, like Malibran and other contemporaries, she also sang many male roles formerly reserved for castrati and tenors, such as Tancredi, Romeo, and the title role of Rossini’s Otello, which Chorley described as “something fierce, masterful, oriental, the like of which had hardly, till she came, been expressed in music.”28 Pasta also had a masterful command of registration and timbre at the service of her “deep and passionate sincerity.” Stendahl was unstinting in his praise of this great singer and prototype singing actress. He lamented the fact that Rossini had never composed a role for her by the time he wrote his Life of Rossini in 1823. At that time Pasta was very well known for the part of Romeo in Zingarelli’s Romeo e Giulietta, which, we may remember, was written for the alto castrato Crescentini in 1796. She was also famous for Paisiello’s Nina, an alto part, and both Otello and Desdemona in Rossini’s opera. Stendhal’s comments illuminate the often-ambiguous status of the alto voice. What is often overlooked is the fact that the Italian composers wrote parts for each individual singer and couldn’t have cared less about assigning specific categories, unlike their German counterparts who invented the fach system. Mozart (an Italian-style composer) famously stated that he composed for singers “like a good tailor makes a fine suit of clothes.” This point is vividly illustrated by the story of the composition of Anna Bolena. A consortium of Milanese at the Teatro Carcano were intent on challenging La Scala during Carnival by commissioning two new operas from outstanding young composers of the day. They chose Bellini and wanted Meyerbeer, who was unavailable, so they substituted Donizetti. Felice Romani agreed to be the librettist for both operas. They also intended to engage the greatest singers and selected Pasta and Rubini. Giuditta Pasta did not know Donizetti personally

but her talents were described to him by Romani, Mayr, and her friend Alexandre Micheroux (1792–1846). Donizetti was Pasta’s guest at Villa Roda for a month and deferred to her every wish in the preparation of the score. Her sense of taste and practical experience were invaluable to Donizetti, and in him she finally had a composer who could realize Stendhal’s dream. Rossini has often been excoriated for borrowing from himself, but Kenneth Stern has written a fascinating account of how Donizetti borrowed from twelve previous operas in preparing Anna Bolena. This self-plagiarism was not a problem for Rossini, and it was not for Donizetti, either. Anna Bolena received a sumptuous mounting at the small Carcano Theater on December 26, 1830, and was an immediate success. Pasta and Rubini were singled out for their extraordinary singing. Donizetti wrote: “Success, triumph, delirium, it seemed that the public had gone insane, everyone says they cannot remember ever being at such a triumph. I was so happy that I started to cry, imagine! . . . Even though I had faith in a favorable outcome because everyone spoke well of the opera, singers and orchestra and even the impressarios, during the first quarter hour I was suspended between heaven and hell . . . now I am in paradise!” It is significant that only after Anna Bolena did Mayr refer to his former pupil as Maestro.29

Anna Bolena received twenty performances at the Carcano and soon went out all over Italy and the rest of Europe, affirming Donizetti’s reputation as one of the exciting young composers on the international scene. It was high time—he had already written thirty-four operas. During the run of Anna, Pasta also alternated Romeo, Semiramide, and Malek-Adel (Niccolini), garnering more critical praise. While Milan celebrated Anna Bolena, Bellini was no doubt characteristically burning with jealousy and working furiously on La sonnambula, which had its premiere two-and-a-half months later on March 6, 1831. The subject matter of the two operas couldn’t have been more different, and Pasta and Rubini had to shift gears from a royal dramatic tragedy to the bucolic landscape of a Swiss village. Bellini knew Pasta’s voice very well, since he had attended her performances in Naples during her 1826–1827 season. It is possible that they had met during that time, but they certainly had met in 1828, when the young composer sought her financial advice. Of course, he knew Rubini’s talent thoroughly, since the great tenor had created Gualtiero in Il pirata in 1828 and had sung three other Bellini roles before 1831. Always excitable, Bellini became very difficult during rehearsals, especially with the poet Romani. He substituted some of his own verses and rewrote “Ah! Non giunge” six times. It took the veteran Giuditta Pasta to calm him down and assure him of the effect of the text written into the score. Pasta no doubt called upon her extensive experience with Paisiello’s Nina, ossia La pazza per amore in her portrayal of Amina, the simple country girl. La sonnambula was an instant hit. Bellini wrote that “Rubini and Pasta are two angels who enraptured the whole audience to

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the verge of madness;” Mikhail Ivanovitch Glinka (1804–1857), the “father of Russian opera,” “shed tears of emotion and ecstasy.”30 The critic of L’Eco tried to remain calm but was swept away by the general enthusiasm: The Maestro and the singers were called out twelve, fifteen, or twenty times,—we really do not know—onto the stage. Bellini has sustained his reputation, Rubini sang like an angel, and it was reserved for Madame Pasta to transform the majesty of Semiramide and the profound sensibility of Anna Bolena so admirably into the simple and ingenuous graces of a young country girl. After her duet with Rubini, it could truly be said “That is the way to sing.”31

Pasta alternated the two very different roles during March of what was perhaps her most successful season. On March 27, 1831, she made her belated debut at La Scala but not in an operatic role. She appeared in a benefit concert with Filippo Galli, the great bass, singing all her old warhorse solos. She then headed for her retreat on Lake Como for a well-earned rest. Giuditta Pasta had not appeared at King’s Theater in London for three years. She arrived with her two new roles in tow and opened the season on May 12, 1831, with Medea in Corinto along with Rubini and Luigi Lablache. The house was filled to overflowing with an enthusiastic audience. Tancredi, Semiramide, curiously Zerlina in Don Giovanni, and a rare comic turn as Corilla in Francesco Gnecco’s (c. 1769–1810 or 1811) La prova d’un opera seria followed. Gnecco’s work, a spoof on the foibles of vain opera singers, was irresistible to many of the great singers of the time, who enjoyed poking fun at themselves and each other. After two singings of Otello, Anna Bolena finally took the stage on July 8 with Pasta, Rubini, and Lablache in his first assumption of the role of Enrico. Anna Bolena, brought hither under the protection of Madame Pasta’s royal robes, was permitted rather than admitted, though in this historical English opera might be discerned something of Donizetti’s own; and though three of the characters—those of the Queen (Pasta), Percy (Rubini), and Henry (Lablache) were played and sung to perfection.32

Everything considered, some voices to protest the lack of historical veracity in Romani’s libretto were to be expected. Chorley was right on target when he pointed out the essence of opera, which makes it different from plain drama and other spectacles. This should be read by all who believe that regietheater is the salvation of opera. It is curious to recollect how Bellini’s second opera, introduced here (also by Madame Pasta), La sonnambula, was treated on its introduction with contempt; the want of science on the part of its composer dwelt on, and that which is true in expression, and which has kept the opera alive, utterly overlooked. It may have been that possibly truth in expression was not then cared for by those who frequented our Italian opera.33

Pasta did not sing Amina often. The tessitura was high for a voice such as hers, so these days Amina is more often sung

by high lyric sopranos. In addition, the London pitch was very high—Sir Michael Costa’s (1808–1884) tuning fork was A—453.4; other opera pitches averaged 449. By contrast, the Théâtre Italien in Paris was A—424 in 1823.34 After thirtysix opera performances and fifty-six concerts in London, Giuditta headed for Paris, where she was reunited with her daughter Clelia. On September 1, 1831, Anna Bolena, the first Donizetti opera to be heard in Paris, was premiered to mixed reviews, although the singers were accorded rave notices. The French critics were much more interested in historical verisimilitude and the literary quality of the libretto than the Italians, for whom voice and music were paramount. Pasta’s appearance as Tancredi elicited this comment from a French critic: “Why adorn Madame Pasta, who played a valorous Tancrède returning from a perilous journey, with a brilliant feather, a golden lance, an azure shield, a purple shoulder-belt, and a tunic trimmed in silver?”35 Henry Chorley’s comment that Giuditta’s ornaments, once decided upon, were fixed forever, did not hold true for Pasta’s Paris Tancredi. Apparently, conscious of the competition from the vivacious and spontaneous Maria Malibran, Pasta added fiorature to her interpretation with the most exquisite taste. Desdemona in Otello followed with Rubini taking on the title role. She seemed tired in these performances but her acting ability carried the day. La sonnambula, the first Bellini work heard in Paris, with its pallid book, was not to every French taste. However, Pasta’s ability to submerge her queenly persona into the part of the simple peasant girl elicited admiration. Pitch problems, which plagued Giuditta for most of her career, seemed to be more pronounced in La sonnambula, which, as noted, has a high tessitura, even though the Paris pitch was lower. As Elvino, Rubini was in his element. Gnecco’s La prova d’un opera seria provided comic relief for La Pasta, Rubini, and Lablache, and La sonnambula closed the season on October 30. Giuditta never sang Amina again. Norma, which immortalized her, lay ahead at La Scala, as yet unconquered territory for the diva. Giuditta Pasta and La Scala had been in a financial and artistic standoff for many years before 1831. To illustrate how the prima donna had replaced the castrato as the most important person on the operatic scene—for a concert in Bath, England, the impressarios were “under the necessity of giving Madame Pasta 200 guineas for one night. . . . Signor Rubini could not be had for less than 100 guineas.”36 No doubt La Scala’s hand had been forced by the previous season’s resounding success at the Carcano. A financial agreement was reached with Pasta at the end of 1831, and Donizetti and Bellini were commissioned to write new operas for her to libretti by Felice Romani. Bellini chose the subject of Norma, ossia L’infanticidio based on a play that was being performed in Paris. Was his choice influenced by his having previously seen Pasta in Medea in Corinto and Niobe in Naples? Both operas dealt with the heartrending subject of a mother’s decision to murder her children and called forth Pasta’s highest levels of dramatic intensity. Unlike the original play, however, the children are spared and Norma is immolated in a supreme act of self-sacrifice.



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Rehearsals for Norma began on Monday, December 5, 1831. There is a story that, incredibly, Giuditta did not like her cavatina, “Casta diva,” one of the greatest arias ever written. Because of her absolute power over the content of the opera, Bellini was terrified that she would insert an entrance aria from some lesser composer’s opera. He persuaded her to keep the aria for a week and agreed to change it after that time if she still did not care for it. She changed her mind, even sending him a gift as an apology. Stern refutes this tale, promulgated by Bellini’s first biographer, Fillipo Cicconetti, stating that there is absolutely no evidence that this is true. There were numerous revisions and adjustments in the original score, however. The original key of “Casta Diva” was G major, but Pasta found F major to be more congenial, as have many subsequent Normas. Rubini was in Paris during the season of 1831, so the choice of Pollione fell to Domenico Donzelli, who was one of the finest Otellos of his era. Donzelli was what we would call today a spinto tenor and Bellini wrote for him accordingly. A notable modern Pollione was Franco Corelli (1921–2003), partner to Maria Callas’s Norma. The first Adalgisa was soprano Giulia Grisi, who, encouraged by her success at La Scala, broke her contract and moved to Paris where she became a great star and a member of the famous “Puritani Quartet.” She later became a noted Norma in her own right, although Bellini did not care for her in the title role. As so often happens in the world of classical music, the premiere of Norma was an abject failure. Bellini exclaimed: “Fiasco! fiasco! solemn fiasco!”37 The cast was exhausted. There was a rehearsal of the second act the morning of the first performance. Apparently Donzelli did not know his role well, and Bellini described Grisi as “cold.” Nevertheless, after a few performances, the theater was packed and Pasta went on to sing twenty-eight performances. Norma became one of the most performed operas of the nineteenth century, but there have been precious few great Normas from its inception until today. Giuditta Pasta went on to sing 115 performances of Norma in her illustrious career. La Pasta presented her Desdemona and Anna Bolena to La Scala audiences in January and February 1832. Notable in the casts were Donzelli as Otello and Giulia Grisi as Jane Seymour. Donizetti’s offering of a new opera for La Scala was Ugo, conte di Parigi, which premiered on March 13, 1832. There were only three performances. Romani withdrew his name from the libretto because it was so disfigured by the Italo-Austrian censors. The cast was the same as Norma and complained to Donizetti incessantly. Pasta, pro forma, demanded an introductory cavatina and made several cuts and additions to her florid passages. The La Scala season was strenuous for Giuditta, and she showed signs of extreme fatigue, especially lapses in pitch. She had sung fifty-three performances of the most demanding repertoire spanning the period from December until April. She then retreated to her villa on Lake Como for a well-deserved rest until the middle of August. She then, accompanied by Bellini, journeyed to Bergamo, Donizetti’s hometown, where she sang eleven performances of Norma.

The first performance took place on August 22. Bellini’s opera was staged after imposing preparation unexampled earlier on our stages. The orchestra, chorus, and stage-band were augmented. Nothing was skimped. Giuditta Pasta aroused the spectators’ enthusiasm by the smooth modulations with which she knew how to adorn her singing, by her noble presence, by her reasoned emotion.38

This generosity of the bergemaschi in the city of Mayr and Donizetti toward the mean-spirited Bellini was amazing. He never reciprocated toward his perceived rival. On December 8, 1832, Pasta, again accompanied by Bellini, arrived in Venice for the Carnival season at the La Fenice. On the day after Christmas, she embarked on a season of twenty-three performances of Norma. She was lauded for her descending scales (by then her trademark) and long beautiful trills. Otello and Tancredi were also performed during the season. Unfortunately Alberico Curioni was cast in the title role of Otello and was detested by the La Fenice public. “When Otello killed himself,” the public cried, “may he not rise again!!!”39 Bellini’s contribution to the La Fenice season was Beatrice di Tenda. Bellini’s intent was an opera designed to further glorify Giuditta Pasta, but choosing a suitable subject proved daunting. Romani delayed so long in Milan that the police had to be summoned to force him to come to Venice. Bellini worked under intense pressure, had to delete several numbers, and the opera opened on March 16, 1833, almost a month after the announced date for the premiere. The reception of Beatrice was decidedly mixed. Audience members shouted “Norma! Norma!” when they thought that they perceived Bellini’s selfborrowing, and Bellini and Romani had a public falling-out in the press, ending a most productive relationship. Beatrice received only two more complete performances and Pasta never sang the role again. Beatrice has had recent revivals—and Joan Sutherland and Marilyn Horne, in her New York debut, presented a memorable concert performance in 1961. The year 1833 was an example of the difficulty of making any sense of the conflicting views of critics and various onlookers in operatic performances, especially in London. Since many reviews were written anonymously, it is impossible to know the credentials of the critic. I suspect that some, especially in nonspecialized papers and magazines, were written by someone who just happened to be in the city room at the time. For example, “Pasta was magnificent . . . her voice was in full power and splendor. . . . Nothing could be finer;40 But Henry Chorley, writing much later (1862), recalled that The glory of Madame Pasta already showed signs of waning; she steadily began her evening’s task half a tone too flat. Her acting was more powerful and striking than ever, if that could be. This, however, was her last season of being the presiding divinity of the opera.41

It becomes clear that Giuditta Pasta was surpassed in sheer beauty of voice by Giulia Grisi and in musical imagination by Maria Malibran. Nevertheless, she was able to hold her place on the pinnacle of operatic fame by excelling in those virtues

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and adding the force of a magnetic and hypnotic personality. This is the reason she is often compared to Maria Callas. In April 1833, Pasta arrived in London accompanied by Bellini and probably other Italian singers who were engaged for the season at King’s Theater. A curiosity of the season was a bastardized version of La sonnambula at Drury Lane, sung in English by Maria Malibran. Medea in Corinto starring Pasta in one of her surefire vehicles opened the season at King’s Theater in late April, followed by Anna Bolena with Joséphine de Méric (1801–1877), Rubini, and Tamburini. For a benefit for Rubini, Giuditta relearned Il pirata in a truncated version reluctantly agreed to by Bellini. Lack of preparation and frantic rehearsals, even on the day of performance, produced a less than sterling performance. Norma, coached and conducted by Bellini, took the stage on June 20. Giuditta’s colleagues included Donzelli, Filippo Galli, and De Méric. Bellini’s opera was not appreciated by many of the critics and Pasta’s intonation problems were pointed out by several. By the fifth performance, everything seems to have gotten back on track. Bellini chose his I Capuleti e i Montecchi for his London benefit on July 20, 1833. It is not clear why he chose not to present Beatrice di Tenda; perhaps he still smarted from its poor reception in Venice. Pasta did not know the role of Romeo and only learned it because of her respect for Bellini. It was not a success and one anonymous writer opined that “at least it was better than Norma!” There were only two performances and Pasta never sang it again. After the London season, the Pastas retreated to Lake Como for three months before arriving in Venice on December 9, 1833, where Giuditta would create the last two new roles in her repertoire. Fausta by Donizetti was written for Giuseppina Ronzi de Begnis at the San Carlo in January 1833. The plot concerns the adulterous love of Fausta, wife of the Roman Emperor Constantine, for her stepson, somewhat along the lines of Phaedra of Greek mythology. Pasta was praised for her performance, which was repeated eight times. Anna Bolena was offered nine times, and then excerpts of acts from both operas were given six repetitions. The final opera composed especially for Giuditta Pasta was Emma d’Antiochia by Mercadante. The librettist Romani delayed, as usual, and at the premiere on March 8, 1834, Pasta was not well but carried on anyway. The public sympathized with the great singer who had to cut the grand finale of the work. By the third singing of Emma, Pasta had recovered and was applauded generously, but the work did not have a lasting success after seven repetitions. Pasta was weary and having no more operatic worlds to conquer, retired from the stage from 1835 to 1837. She was a devoted mother but had been away from her daughter’s formative years for too long (Clelia was now eighteen). Incredibly, Bellini, whose character was never as elevated as his music, wanted to marry Clelia for reasons of financial security. Mama Giuditta was too wise to allow that to happen, and Clelia was married to a cousin, an engineer named Eugenio Ferranti. Pasta supported her daughter and her husband in the first years of their marriage and for finan-

cial reasons agreed to return to the London stage in 1837. By this time Giulia Grisi was the prima donna assoluta of King’s Theater and Pasta was more like a guest star. She presented her old warhorses—Tancredi, Medea in Corinto, and Zingarelli’s Romeo—and participated in fifty-five concerts, which were the real moneymakers. Giuditta Pasta’s immense charisma is difficult to overestimate. Both Stendhal and Chorley, separated by many years, devoted whole chapters of their books to her art. Writing in 1861, Chorley vividly remembered her London trip of 1837: When she returned to England in 1837, and occupied a box in the center of the dress circle of the King’s Theater,—the pit, with one accord turned towards her with an immediate gaze of interest and welcome as befits a royal personage. I was afraid to see and hear her again, aware of the illusions which eager persons are apt to cherish in regard to objects of early admiration. During this last visit referred to her voice was steadily out of tune, with some exceptional moments. Painful as this was to the ear, she was none the less the “Queen And wonder of the enchanted world of sound,” in right of all those attributes which age cannot wither, neither custom stale. The grandeur of her style had undergone no decay, her wonderful musical perception was unimpaired; so were incomparable taste, courage, and yet moderation in ornament.42

After her London visit Pasta returned to Lake Como in October, where she entertained Olympe Pélissier, as Isabella Colbran had in January of the same year. The kindness shown to Olympe by the two divas was much appreciated by Rossini, who, with Olympe, also sent an ardent letter of condolence to Giuditta, who suffered the death of her granddaughter Giuditta in 1838. Pasta rarely sang in public but did venture a concert with Rossini for Prince Metternich in 1838, although she was an Italian patriot and resented Austrian domination of her country. From 1840 to 1841, Giuditta Pasta embarked on a trip to imperial Russia, a pioneer in a trend that inspired Giovanni Battista Rubini, Pauline Viardot, Alboni, and Tamburini to brave the northern climes in an Italian gold rush. She arrived in Vienna, where she gave two concerts in costume, then on to Warsaw for several concerts, including the last act of Otello, and she was received with enthusiasm. It is difficult for us in the twenty-first century to understand the adulation of the operatic stars of the nineteenth century and the willingness of the public to forgive the inevitable decline of well-remembered artists. A Russian production of Semiramide in January 1836 was an artistic and financial success and rekindled the public’s interest in Italian opera. The tide began to turn away from French opera due to domestic productions and not those imported from Italy. During the 1840–1841 season, three out of four productions were Italian, and in the following season, the Russians were enamored by the works of Donizetti and all operas were by him or local Russian composers. During the 1841–1842 season, Giuditta Pasta, then forty-four years old,



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appeared in the title role of Norma, which she had created ten years earlier in 1831, and in Semiramide, Tancredi, and Anna Bolena. The German and Russian members of the company learned their roles in Italian in her honor. According to one account, “she astounded everyone with her style, but her singing turned out to be highly unsatisfactory. The greatly renowned prima donna’s voice was already jolly well shot.”43 However, most of the critics, unwilling to brave the wrath of the tsar and the nobility, were extravagant in their praises. Giuditta sang several private concerts for the royal family and was rewarded with jewelry worth a fortune. Pasta gave two concerts in costume in Moscow on January 23 and 30, 1841, with the same program as those in Vienna and offered nine performances of opera at the Bol’shoy in Moscow. She returned to St. Petersburg in February and occupied herself with singing concerts until May 24, when she departed for Berlin for a two-month stay. In the twilight of her career, Giuditta’s pitch problems were evident, but the German critics, though noting them, paid homage to the beau restes of a great artist. Her final performances of Norma and her last full performance of an opera (Tancredi) took place in Berlin. In September 1841, Giuditta Pasta embarked on the career of retired lady and sometime teacher to those in whom she was interested. The most significant was Maurice Strakosch (1885–1887), who was the teacher and manager of Adelina Patti. In 1846, Pasta lost both her adored mother and husband within a few months of each other. During the 1840s and 1850s, she sponsored the patriotic cause of Italian independence from Austria. In 1850 she traveled to London and renewed acquaintances with old friends and colleagues. Giuseppe Mazzini (1805–1872), a friend and great Italian patriot, persuaded her to appear in a concert for the benefit of Italian emigrants. A shadow of her former self, she agreed to sing on July 8, 1850. She was greeted with deafening applause by those eager to recall past glories. Like Patti, she found ways to compensate for deficiencies when her powers were waning. She was incapable of giving less than all of her strength and vitality in a performance. Pauline Viardot attended a performance with Henry F. Chorley of scenes from Anna Bolena in 1850 when Pasta was fifty-two. Her voice was in ruins and she was not presented to her best advantage in costume or hair dressing. Chorley reported that a more painful or disastrous spectacle could hardly be looked on. The first scene was Ann Boleyn’s duet with Jane Seymour. The old spirit was heard and seen in Madame Pasta’s “Sorgi!” and the gesture with which she signed to her penitent rival to rise. Later she attempted the final mad scene of the opera. By that time, tired, unprepared, in ruin as she was, she had rallied a little. When, on Ann Boleyn’s hearing the coronation music for her rival, the heroine searches for her own crown on her brow, Madame Pasta wildly turned in the direction of the festive sounds, the old irresistible charm broke out; nay, even in the final song, with its roulades and its scales of shakes ascending by semitones, the consummate vocalist and tragedienne, able

to combine form with meaning—the moment of the situation with such personal and musical display as form an integral part of operatic art—was indicated; at least in the apprehension of the younger artist. “You are right!” was Madame Viardot’s quick and heartfelt response (her eyes full of tears) to a friend beside her; “You are right! It is like the Last Supper of Da Vinci at Milan—a wreck of a picture, but the picture is the greatest in the world!”44

The foregoing should not be construed as the desire of an older artist to remain on the stage. Giuditta Pasta was not like Giulia Grisi, who made such a series of farewells that it prompted a critic to remark: “Does the word last bear an esoteric idiom in operatic parlance other than that ordinarily accepted?”45 Giuditta was really a homebody who had expressed a desire to retire as early as 1828. For the next fifteen years, she moved among her various properties in Lake Como and Milan, tending her gardens and receiving occasional visitors. Her eyesight gradually deteriorated and she had trouble walking. She passed away at the age of sixtyeight on April 1, 1865.

NOTES 1.  Stendhal [Marie-Henri Beyle], Life of Rossini, trans. Richard N. Coe (1823; repr., London: Calder, 1956), 361–62. 2. Stendhal, Life of Rossini, 364. 3.  Kenneth Stern, Giuditta Pasta: A Life on the Lyric Stage (Palm Springs, CA: Operaphile Press, 2013), 58. 4.  P. R. Palmer, A History of the Modern World (New York: Knopf, 1963), 421. 5.  David McCullough, The Greater Journey (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2011), 48. Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803–1882) visited Paris in 1833 and wrote that it was “a loud modern New York of a place.” 6. Anonymous, Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung 16 (April 1824), 361. 7. Stern, Giuditta Pasta, 109. 8. Stern, Giuditta Pasta, 139. From the Morning Herald, April 1824. 9.  Herbert Weinstock, Rossini: A Biography (New York: Knopf, 1968), 264. 10.  Scheherazade introductory notes (Paris: Durand, reissue n.d., ca. 1950). 11.  Anonymous, “The King’s Theater,” The Harmonicon, ed. William Ayerton, vol. 2 ( London: Samuel Leigh, 1824), 124. 12. Stern, Giuditta Pasta, 419. 13. Weinstock, Rossini, 146. 14. Stern, Giuditta Pasta, 212. 15.  Giovanni Matteo Mario, Cavaliere de Candia (1810–1883), generally considered to be the inheritor of Rubini’s mantle. 16. Stern, Giuditta Pasta, 229. 17.  Giovanni Pacini, Le mie memorie artistiche (Florence: Tipi dei Successori le Monnier, 1875) 45–47. 18.  Hilary Poriss, Changing the Score (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009). 19. Poriss, Changing the Score, 95. 20. Poriss, Changing the Score, 86–87. 21. Poriss, Changing the Score, 84.

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22. Stern, Giuditta Pasta, 437. 23. Stern, Giuditta Pasta, 260. 24. Stern, Giuditta Pasta, 285. 25. Weinstock, Rossini, n.167. 26. Henry F. Chorley, Thirty Years’ Musical Recollections (New York: Knopf, 1926), 27, 87. 27. Stendhal, Life of Rossini, 368. 28. Chorley, Thirty Years’ Musical Recollections, 27. 29. Stern, Giuditta Pasta, 303–4. 30.  Herbert Weinstock, Vincenzo Bellini: His Life and His Operas (New York: Pantheon Books, 1971), 97. 31. Weinstock, Vincenzo Bellini, 97–98. 32. Chorley, Thirty Years’ Musical Recollections, 17. 33. Chorley, Thirty Years’ Musical Recollections, 17–18. 34.  John Ellis and Arthur Mendel, Studies in the History of Musical Pitch (1880; repr., Amsterdam: Fritz Knuf, 1968), 52.

35.  Patrick Barbier, Opera in Paris, 1800–1850: A Lively History (New York: Hal Leonard, 1995), 188. 36. Stern, Giuditta Pasta, 324–25. 37. Stern, Giuditta Pasta, 340–41. 38. Weinstock, Vincenzo Bellini, 121. 39. Stern, Giuditta Pasta, 360. 40. Stern, Giuditta Pasta, 373. 41. Chorley, Thirty Years’ Musical Recollections, 45. 42. Chorley, Thirty Years’ Musical Recollections, 90. 43.  Richard Taruskin, Defining Russia Musically (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2001), 196. Taruskin is quoting Alexander Ivanovich Vol’f, Kronika peterburgskikh teatrov s krontsa 1826 do nachala 1855, part 1 (St. Petersburg: tip. R. Golike, 1877), 98. 44. Chorley, Thirty Years’ Musical Recollections, 93. 45.  Henry Pleasants, The Great Singers: From the Dawn of Opera to Our Own Time (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1966), 180.

13 Carolina Unger (Ungher) The Forgotten Prima Donna

She has southern fire, northern earnestness, lungs of bronze, a voice of silver, and a talent of gold.1

If you give the concert, I will guarantee that the house will be full. You have too little confidence in yourself. Has not the homage of the whole world given you a little more pride? Who speaks of opposition? Will you not learn to believe that everybody is longing to worship you again in new works? O obstinacy!4

Thus Gioachino Rossini described the contralto Carolina Unger who was born in Vienna (not Székesfehérvár, Hungary) in 1803 as Karoline. Unger was connected to many of the most important musicians and literary figures of the early nineteenth century. Her father, Johann Karl (1771–c. 1836), was a teacher, writer, and amateur singer. He was a friend of Schubert and provided texts for two of Schubert’s songs, “Die Geselligkeit” (D. 609) and “Die Nachtigall” (D. 724). Carolina was a student of Johann Michael Vogl (1768–1840), who was Schubert’s friend and earliest champion, and Aloysia Weber (c. 1760–1831), Mozart’s sister-in-law and his first love. She also studied piano with Franz Xaver Wolfgang Mozart (1791–1844), Wolfgang Amadeus’s youngest son. In 1821, Carolina Unger was already a member of the Vienna Court Opera and, as a terrified eighteen year old, made her debut at the Kärtnertortheater as Dorabella in a performance of Cosi fan tutte in which Franz Schubert served as a répétiteur. In August 1822, she had her first major success as Tancredi. On December 1, 1822, Franz Liszt made his Viennese debut and on the program with him was the nineteen-year-old contralto, Carolina Unger, who sang an aria from Rossini’s Demetrio e Polibio.2 In September, she and the eighteen-year-old Henriette Sontag visited Beethoven at his summer home in Baden near Vienna. Beethoven wrote to Johann Andreas Stumpff: “Two women singers called on us today and as they absolutely insisted on being allowed to kiss my hands and as they were decidedly pretty I preferred to offer them my mouth to kiss.”3 Because Vienna had gone Rossini-mad, Beethoven began to believe that the premieres of his Missa Solemnis and Ninth Symphony should not take place there. Vienna, he said, “preferred whipped cream” (schlag). The young girls tried to persuade him that his dark mood was wrong. At dinner with Beethoven (probably on January 25, 1824), Carolina Unger wrote in his conversation book.

This is an astonishing bit of self-confidence from a twenty-one year old, but apparently she and Sontag were a little tipsy from

Figure 13.1.  Carolina Unger (Ungher)

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too much wine at dinner. Finally Beethoven decided to do the concert and to use the two charming girls as soloists, although he had to take the word of others as to their abilities. Unger called Beethoven a “tyrant over the vocal organs.” And both girls tried good-naturedly to charm him into making changes. He would not. “Well then,” Unger said to Sontag, “we must go on torturing ourselves in the name of God.”5

The rest is well known. Beethoven was unable to hear the tumultuous applause after the first performance of the Ninth on May 7, 1824. It was Carolina Unger who plucked Beethoven’s sleeve and gently turned him around toward the delirious audience. Beethoven was quite taken by the young singer who, among others, urged him to compose an Italian opera for the singers of Barbaja’s company. He considered the idea for some time, but the project came to naught. In 1825 Unger was brought to Naples as a prima donna by Barbaja. Her name was spelled “Ungher” in Italy so as not to be pronounced “Undscher,” so I will spell it that way hereafter. This was an unusual elevation to stardom, but there is no evidence that she and Barbaja had anything but a professional relationship. Ungher was the only German-speaking artist who gained popularity in Italy as a great exponent of the art of bel canto, but her pedigree was Austrian, leading all the way back to Mozart. Therefore, she combined bel canto vocalism with exceptional musicianship. Ungher, like many other natural altos in the primo ottocento, was not so conscious of vocal categories. With a range of low A to D3, which was the same as Colbran and Pasta, she often sang soprano roles. Ungher remained at the San Carlo for two years. We have already mentioned her participation in the glittering premiere of Niobe by Pacini, but while in Naples, she also created the roles of Matilde in Sapienti pauca (1825) and Celestina in Un di fiori cestellino (1827) by Pietro Raimondi, the title role in Tazia (1826) by Giuseppe Balducci (1796–1845), and Giacinda in Giacinda ed Ernesto (1827) by Sir Julius Benedict (1804–1885), an important composer and conductor. In 1827, Donizetti signed a contract with Barbaja for twelve operas for Naples, and he chose Ungher to create Marietta in Il borgomastro di Saardam. Ungher became one of Donizetti’s favorite singers and he composed three other roles for her: the title role in Parisina (1833), which was Donizetti’s (and Ungher’s) favorite opera for a number of years, Antonina in Belisario (1836) in Venice, and Maria in Maria di Rudenz (1838) in Venice. Carolina had successful engagements in Turin, Bologna, Genoa, Milan, and Rome. She arrived at La Scala in 1828, where she created Ramiro d’Elva in Pacini’s I cavalieri di Valencia and Alessio in L’ orfano della selva (melodramma comico) by Carlo Coccia. The greatest triumph of the La Scala season was the premiere of Bellini’s La straniera on February 14, 1929. Ungher sang the alto part of Isoletta. In the cast were Henriette Méric-Lalande (1798–1807), Antonio Tamburini, and Domenico Reina (1797–1843). In 1830 she had great successes as Fiorilla in Rossini’s Il turco in Italia and as Teodora in Pacini’s La sposa fedele. After the La Scala engagement, Ungher was in great de-

mand and refused any long-term contracts. She subsequently appeared in all the most important Italian theaters, an unusual feat for a German-speaking artist. Ungher was Elisabetta in Otto mesi in due ore, ossia Gli esiliati in Siberia (opera romantica) by Donizetti (1827), which was an overwhelming (and the only) success during the Carnival season in Rome’s Teatro Valle in 1832. Ungher was sought after by all the Italian composers and premiered operas by Giuseppe Lillo (1814–1863), Saverio Mercadante, Nicola Vaccai, Otto Nicolai (1810–1849), the aforementioned Pacini, Feliciano Strepponi (1797–1832), Luigi Rieschi (1805–1859), Giuseppe Persiani (c. 1799–1869), Luigi Ricci (1805–1859), and Antonio Granara (1809–?). Many other composers sought in vain to have Ungher premiere their works. In 1834, while working on Les Huguenots, Giacomo Meyerbeer wrote to his wife that he wanted Carolina Ungher for the great role of Valentine: The Ungher is a very great artist with the highest dramatic intentions, and if her voice were not so big and sharp edged like a castrato, I would prefer to compose for her more than the extravagant Malibran. But, as it is, since I wanted infinitely more, I had to have a Valentine in Paris.6

Marie Cornélie Falcon (1814–1897), a French soprano, created the role on February 29, 1836, before her unfortunate loss of her voice in March 1837. Perhaps the atmosphere in Paris, where the Italians complained of the screaming of the French singers, contributed to the early demise of the voices of Falcon, Nourrit, Duprez, and Fodor-Mainvielle. Donizetti’s Gianni di Calais (1828) in Paris in 1834 featured Carolina Ungher as Mathilde and Rubini (the original Gianni). She returned to the San Carlo, after being away for nine years, and she became the first German-speaking singer to sing Norma there in 1835. Another Donizetti opera, Marin(o) Faliero, was first sung in Paris in 1835 with Giulia Grisi as Elena, but it was Carolina Ungher who first introduced the opera to Italy in Florence in 1836. She subsequently took it to Vienna and other major European cities with great success. Donizetti neglected to compose an entrance aria (cavatina) for Elena in Marin Falliero, which was expected by the public during this time. Hilary Poriss devotes an entire chapter in her book to Carolina Ungher’s choices for inserting suitcase arias (arias di baule) to make up for this deficiency. Poriss points out that Ungher made these alterations with great taste and musicianship. She quotes Franz Liszt’s description of the prima donna: Extremely intelligent, [Carolina Ungher] understands and plays her roles not in the way they have been laid out for her, but as they ought to be played. . . . She is noble, sincere, captivating, and impassioned, and although exaltation and ardor win us over, it is primarily her great skill, wise heart, and ultimately her art, in the best meaning of the word, that conquer us. From the moment she makes her entrance, the nobility of her bearing and dignity of her actions command attention.7

Carolina Ungher sang Anna Bolena in Reggio Emilia in Calabria in 1837, where they struck a gold medal in her honor.



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Her carriage was drawn to her home by the local inhabitants. Her garden was illuminated with torches and banners and she was reduced to tears by bands and choirs who serenaded her at her window. By this time she had a repertory of more than one hundred roles, which ranged from contralto to soprano. Henriette-Cleméntine Méric-Lalande premiered the eponymous role of Lucrezia Borgia in 1833, but Carolina Ungher swiftly became the outstanding Lucrezia in Europe and caused a sensation in Vienna on May 9, 1839. Other Donizetti roles that Ungher undertook were Lucia di Lammermoor and Maria Stuarda, which was premiered by Maria Malibran on December 30, 1835, at La Scala. In the fall of 1837, Carolina bought a permanent home in Florence and was appointed “chapel and chamber singer” by the grand duke of Tuscany. She also acquired the villa “La Concezione” in Trespiano, a village near Florence. Liszt met with Carolina in Trieste in October 1839. He appeared with her in a concert where she sang a Mozart song and three Schubert lieder: Erkönig, Trockene Blumen, and Der Einsame. The two spent two weeks together in what he assured his mistress, Countess Marie D’Agoult, was a platonic relationship.8 In 1839 Liszt was quoted as saying: “Without exaggeration or partiality, it seems to me that she is the greatest stage artist—in the noble and broad sense of the word—striding across the stage in Europe.”9 Despite her great success on the stage, Carolina Ungher found a stable love relationship quite late in life. Her tumultuous affair with Alexandre Dumas (1802–1870) is chronicled in desperate letters she wrote to him. Dumas was an inveterate womanizer who is known to have had forty mistresses and fathered four illegitimate children. Carolina wrote a last letter to him shortly after the premiere of Belisario while still being serenaded by aficionados outside her balcony. She makes allusions about Dumas’s wife, the actress Ida Ferrier:

childish and playful, which, when revealed, the soul sheds the big shocks and beneficent nature seeks to bring life back into balance. Then suddenly, the serious voice of her soul breaks out and what she says about tragedy and her view of the same also shows me her thoughts on the highest plane.11

Dumas never answered her and there was no reunion. Nikolaus Lenau (1802–1850) was an Austrian poet who had a disposition for sentimental melancholy. He was restless and determined to travel to America to seek peace and freedom. Lenau settled in a utopian colony called the Harmony Society, but, disillusioned by his perception of American money-grubbing, he soon returned to Vienna. In June 1839, he met Carolina Ungher during her sensational run as Lucrezia Borgia at the Kärntnertortheater. She sang Schubert’s “Der Wanderer” and “Gretchen am Spinnerade” for him, and Lenau proclaimed her a genius. In July he accompanied her to a guest appearance in Dresden, where he described her as

On July 11, 1839, Lenau received a passionate letter from Carolina in which she declared a boundless love for the poet and that they were both miserable alone. He went for a vacation to Bad Ischl on July 24, where he was joined by Carolina in the middle of August. She showed him two wreaths that had been give to her on the last evening in Dresden. One was bestowed by the poet Ludwig Tieck (1773–1853), who was one of the founders of the Romantic movement of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. The other was presented by Wilhemine Schröder-Devrient on her knees. Schröder-Devrient was the soprano idolized by Richard Wagner and for whom he composed Adriano in Rienzi, Venus in Tannhäuser, and Senta in Der Fliegende Holländer. Schröder-Devrient was a formidable competitor for Ungher, but Carolina’s expressive power was far more powerful and allowed her to triumph over her rival. During a trip the couple made to Linz and then to Salzkammergut in August, they discussed the possibility of marriage. Carolina was ready to make the commitment, but Lenau demurred, saying that as long as she belonged to her public and his financial affairs were not such that he could contribute to their household, he could not contemplate such a union. Besides, he said, Carolina was contractually obligated for nineteen months and would have to pay severe penalties for breach of contract. He said that Carolina accepted this with “beautiful female docility,” however, Ungher was not one to cry over spilled milk. The relationship soon cooled and Carolina, who lived in Venice, ceased to correspond with Lenau. He saw her again in May 1840 when she performed in Vienna. He wrote that there were barriers, but she seemed happy to see him. In the same year, during an engagement in Rome, Carolina met with the German-French painter Henri Lehmann (1814–1882). Lehmann told the ever-curious singer that he knew a young Frenchman who possessed a sensational apparatus, invented the previous year, called a daguerreotype that could produce portraits that were as though painted with light. Carolina then met the young François Sabatier (1818–1891), a wealthy French scholar, patron of the arts, and translator of Goethe’s Faust. Although François was fifteen years younger than Carolina, they fell in love and were married on March 18, 1841, in Florence in the church of Santa Lucia dei Magnoli. In July 1841, with her husband and the tenor Napoleone Moriani (1808–1878), Carolina Ungher went to Dresden for a second time. There, at the age of thirty-eight, she fulfilled her last contract and retired from the operatic stage. Her repertoire was quite varied—Donizetti’s Parisina, Lucia di Lammermoor, and Belisario and Rossini’s Otello and Il barbiere di Siviglia. Hermann von Friessen wrote:

a wonderful woman having the highest nature that we worship here on earth. During conversation she is lively and funny, often

I believe that I have never heard a more perfect artist. No distracting externals, not even a special beauty that nature conferred to

Good-bye, do not forget me, imagine that I am as Hero, who watched the waves bring me my lover, provided that a moral storm does not kill me. You’ve told her anything about me? Even more so, I’m afraid of your silence because I know that I love you to distraction and would never tell anyone.10

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the instrument stood by her side. Who would want to compare her in this respect with the highly acclaimed Schröder-Devrient? But you learn about her security and fine skill in her mastery of the tone, a wealth of fine shades from the soft and touching, from the heroic imposing, from the glowing passion, in a word, a depth and variety of sensation in the areas of dramatic song that was, at least to my amateur ear, completely new.12

Von Friessen and Tieck, both admirers of Ungher’s interpretation of the tragic roles, did not want to see her as Rosina. They were pleasantly surprised. Von Friessen wrote: Following her portrayal of tragic roles, Parisina, Desdemona, Anna Bolena, I had no faith in her ability to portray this lighter role, which I myself, from frequent viewing, knew almost by heart. But I saw and heard something new. Best of all, this delicacy of lovely coquetry, soon passing to graceful longing, quickly switching to jubilant joy, here mischievous, there a loveable languishing, I had never imagined. What Tieck pronounced somewhere that the actor himself would have to be a poet at times by making discoveries in his role and unveil subtleties which are often missed even by an astute eye before— that happened here completely.13

In describing Ungher’s Desdemona, von Friessen also stated that Rossini himself, if he had witnessed Carolina’s interpretation, would finally understand what he had wrought. So ended Carolina Ungher’s operatic career. From Dresden she and Sabatier made a side trip to Leipzig, where they, along with Franz Liszt, were guests of Robert and Clara Schumann. Carolina sang lieder for the assemblage, and Schumann wrote that although she was hoarse, he was moved to tears by an artist he could only compare with Pauline Viardot. Ungher remained in Dresden, where she hosted a small but chosen society of music lovers, until the spring of 1842. She sang Mozart and Schubert lieder for them and received a complete collection of Schubert lieder from Franz Xavier Mozart. In February 1842, Carolina was invited to the Prussian court, where she sang a concert performance of Valentine in Meyerbeer’s Les Huguenots with Liszt providing the accompaniment. Meyerbeer, who had attended her performances in Dresden and who had wanted to compose Valentine for her in 1834, expressed satisfaction in finally hearing her in the great part. While in Berlin, she collaborated with Liszt on several other occasions and presented the premiere of his “Die Lorelei” at the home of Amalie Beer, Meyerbeer’s mother. She also sang some of Fanny Mendelssohn’s (1805–1847) songs and was “very taken by Fanny’s compositions.”14 The Sabatiers then settled in Florence, where Carolina already had a summer villa and the wealthy Sabatier built a palace for the winter months. Guests included Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806–1861) and the novelist Fanny Lewald (1811–1889), who described the couple as ideally suited because Carolina looked much younger than she was and Sabatier, who was always focused on serious subjects, looked older. During this time Carolina was noted for her interpretations

of Mozart and Schubert lieder. She also showed considerable talent as a composer of songs, which François published after her death. In 1850 the Sabatiers moved temporarily to Paris, where they were friendly with many of the painters on the scene, especially Gustave Courbet (1819–1877). In Courbet’s famous painting, “The Artist’s Studio” (1855), the Sabatiers can be seen on the right side of the picture, next to Charles Baudelaire (1821–1867). One of their painter friends, Auguste Bouquet (1810–1846), suddenly died, and Carolina, who had no children of her own, took in his daughter, Louise, to raise. In Carolina Ungher’s final years, she frequently sang in informal situations. Désirée Artôt de Padilla (1835–1907), a great singer in her own right, related the following anecdote to Edward Hanslick (1825–1904): La Artôt enthusiastically told me how the expressive old woman with the portly paunch and the black horn-rimmed glasses on her nose sang the recitatives of Norma. Since you saw the incarnate Norma, you forgot the wrinkles, the obesity, and the horn-rimmed glasses.15

Despite her Austro-Hungarian ancestry, Carolina Ungher was one of the most important interpreters of the music of Bellini, Donizetti, and Rossini from her adopted country in the early part of the century. It is said, however, that her pronunciation of the Italian language had an accent. Carolina Ungher passed away on March 23, 1877, in Florence and was buried in the San Miniato al Monte cemetery. François Sabatier remarried after her death and died December 1, 1891.

NOTES 1.  Henry Pleasants, The Great Singers: From the Dawn of Opera to Our Own Time (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1966), 213. 2. Alan Walker, Franz Liszt: The Virtuoso Years, 1811–1847 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1987), 77–78. 3.  George Marek, Beethoven: Biography of a Genius (New York: Funk & Wagnalls, 1969), 587. 4. Marek, Beethoven, 587. 5. Marek, Beethoven, 592. 6.  Klaus Martin Kopitz, “Caroline Unger,” Musik und Gender im Internet, http://mugi.hfmt- hamburg.de/A_lexartikel/lexartikel .php?id=unge1803 (17 October 2012): 10. My translation. 7.  Hilary Poriss, Changing the Score (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009), 37. 8. Walker, Franz Liszt, 280. 9.  Allgemeine Theaterzeitung: Originalblatt für Kunst, Literatur, Musik, Mode, und geselliges Leben 32, no. 76 (April 16, 1839): 382. 10.  Kopitz, “Caroline Unger,” 12. My translation. 11.  Kopitz, “Caroline Unger,” 13. My translation. 12.  Kopitz, “Caroline Unger,” 17. My translation. 13.  Kopitz, “Caroline Unger,” 18. My translation. 14.  Kopitz, “Caroline Unger,” 21. My translation. 15.  Kopitz, “Caroline Unger,” 25. My translation.

14 Maria (Garcia) Malibran

Maria Felicia Garcia was born in Paris on March 24, 1808. The birth certificate read Félicité, but Maria always used Felicia.3 As Malibran, her brief career blazed across the European landscape like a supernova in the desert sky. Her life was the epitome of the heroine of the Romantic era, and its very brevity, like that of Marilyn Monroe, contributed heavily to her legend. Manuel Garcia moved to Naples, where he made his debut at the San Carlo in 1812. He brought along the four-year-old

No founders of a school of singers can expect that two people, during a century, shall enter it, so indomitable, so fervid, so full of resource, as the Garcia sisters; but for its scholars to emulate them might prove a fatal ambition— and it has done so.1

In the annals of vocal history, no name is more revered than that of Garcia. Manuel del Pópulo Vicente Garcia, the first Almaviva in Rossini’s Il barbiere di Siviglia, was the progenitor of a distinguished family that included his daughters, the famous altos Maria and Pauline, and his son, Manuel Patricio, perhaps the greatest voice teacher of all time. However, Garcia I (Père) was not really named Garcia but was born Manuel del Pópulo Vicente Rodríguez, and his daughters, Maria Malibran and Pauline Viardot, won fame with the names of their husbands. In addition, his famous children were all born to his second wife, Joacquina Stiches (Briones), without the convenience of a divorce from his first wife, Manuela Morales. Garcia also had two daughters by Morales, one of whom, Josefa Ruiz-Garcia (c. 1803), a soprano sfogato who studied with him in Paris, had a successful career, often singing with Malibran. Garcia always referred to her as his “niece.” So much has been written about Maria Malibran (née Garcia) that it is difficult to separate fact from fiction. Some, like the Countess Maria de Merlin (1789–1852) and George Ferris, portray her as an angel who briefly descended from heaven. Merlin, who knew Malibran as a fellow student of Garcia, offers a description that would, perhaps, describe her erratic behavior as bipolar in modern terms. The disposition of Maria Malibran presented the strangest incongruities. She united in herself strength of mind and credulity, resolution and weakness. When elated to the highest pitch, the following instant would reduce her to the deepest despondency. She was generous to excess, mean in trifles, bold yet timid, alternately sublime and childish.2

However, both Maria and her sister Pauline were also often described as geniuses.

Figure 14.1.  Maria Malibran as Desdemona in Rossini’s Otello by Henri Decaisne (1799–1852)

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Maria, born to the stage, who made her unscheduled debut in 1813. According to Mackinlay: It was during this stay at Naples that little Maria made her first public appearance when she was barely five years old. The anecdote was one which Manuel Garcia was very fond of relating. The opera in which the diminutive vocalist made her début was Paër’s “Agnese,” in which there was a child’s part. In the second act there is a scene where the husband and wife have quarreled and are united through the intervention of their daughter. The tiny Malibran attended the rehearsals and knew the whole opera by heart. On the night of the performance the prima donna either forgot her part or hesitated a moment. Lo! The little girl instantly took up the melody, and sang with such vigor and resonance that the entire house heard her. The prima donna was about to interrupt when the audience shouted, “Bravo! Don’t stop her. Let her go on.” It was a period when the public loved infant prodigies, both musical and dramatic, and Marietta was actually permitted to sing the part of Agnese throughout the rest of the scene—a piece of audacity which delighted the hearers and called forth an exhibition of true Italian enthusiasm.4

Garcia began studying voice with Giovanni Ansani (1744– 1826) in Naples for the first time in his life and one wonders whether he was accompanied there by his precocious daughter. As usual, Rossini had a cogent comment about the young mezzo-soprano star when he was asked who the greatest female singer with whom he had worked was. The greatest was Colbran, who became my first wife, but the unique was Malibran. Ah! That marvelous creature! She surpassed all her imitators by her truly disconcerting musical genius, and all the women I have ever known by the superiority of her intelligence, the variety of her knowledge, and her flashing temperament, of which it is impossible to give any idea. Knowing the most diverse languages, she sang in Spanish (her native tongue), Italian, French, German, and after eight days of study, she sang Fidelio in English in London. She sketched, painted, embroidered, sometimes made her own costumes, above all, she wrote. Her letters are masterpieces of subtle intelligence, of verve, of good humor, and they display unparalleled originality of expression.5

Rossini goes on to relate how Maria responded after the fiasco of the premiere of Il barbiere: “I was touched by the visit of Garcia, my incomparable Almaviva, accompanied by his eight-year-old daughter, the future Malibran! As soon as she came in, she bounded toward me and dissolved in tears, clung to my neck, crying: ‘Ah! If mama only had sent me to the theater last night!’” “And what would you have done?” “Oh, while they were hissing your beautiful music, I should have shouted with all my strength: ‘you are all snakes; go back to the wild places and understand the music of the bears, the only sort you deserve!”’ “She really would have been capable of doing just that,” Rossini added, “for she was a little demon. Then she said to me:

‘Don’t be sad: listen: when I am grown up, I’ll sing Il barbiere everywhere, but (tapping her foot) never in Rome, even if the Pope on both knees begs me to.’ “When the visit was over, she was still throwing me from the door a quantity of kisses from her little hands, and she went away singing ‘Una voce poco fa.’ Would you believe that that gamine, after attending only a few rehearsals of Il barbiere, had remembered nearly all the pieces?”6

Maria began studying at approximately the age of six. Garcia believed in two things: excellent musicianship and hard, exacting work. In addition to his vocal work with Maria, since he was a busy singer, Garcia sent her to Ferdinand Hérold (1791–1833) for her first study on the piano and Auguste Panseron (1795–1859) for study in solfège. Both men were colleagues of Rossini in Naples and Rome. The clash of the two strong egos of Garcia and his precocious daughter still reverberates, but I would think that some of the stories suffer from exaggeration. Many of these tales center on Garcia’s alleged cruelty toward his daughters and, indeed, toward his other students as well. The Escudier brothers (Marie-Pierre Pascal 1809–1880 and Léon 1815–1881) published an article in 1840 refuting the idea that Garcia’s strict teaching methods implied cruelty. This precocious instruction, which Manuel Garcia gave to his children, has been the pretext and occasion of a calumny that the gratuitous malevolence of some and the hateful jealousy of others have unfortunately laid upon the father of Maria and Pauline. They say that he forced their physical and mental development against nature. The fruit of his intelligent perseverance has been denounced by an indignant public as the result of a daily and continuous tyranny—of a barbarous violence forced with maniacal stubbornness upon young constitutions. This is an abominable lie against which we protest in the name of her who is no longer but a glorious and sad memory.7

In the Romantic age, such exaggerations made great press and helped to dramatize the tragic nature of Malibran’s life. Pauline also strongly denied such allegations: Madame Viardot resents vigorously the calumny that gained ground, she does not know how, as to her father’s cruelty and brutality.8

There is no question as to Maria’s stubbornness, willfullness, and recklessness. She obviously resented authority and was sometimes impertinent. Later, the Countess Merlin asked Garcia about his treatment of Maria. The success or failure of an actor or singer often depends on the mere caprice of an audience, whose wayward humour makes or mars the fate of talent. The feelings of a debutante should therefore be well schooled, ere she appears before the public. One day I made this remark to Garcia, and added a slight reproach on his severe treatment of one so likely to have much to suffer. “I am aware,” replied he, “that the world blames me; but



Maria (Garcia) Malibran 101 I am right. Maria can never become great but at this price: her proud and stubborn spirit requires a hand of iron to control it. Towards her younger sister, on the contrary, I have never had cause to exercise harshness, and yet she will make her way. This is the difference: the one requires to be bound by a chain, the other may be led by a silken thread.”9

Of course, this different treatment of an older child as opposed to a younger sibling is very common in most families. After the premiere performances of Il barbiere and perhaps in terror due to an outbreak of cholera, Garcia decided to return to the Théâtre Italien in Paris to join Catalani’s troupe in the spring of 1816. In the following autumn, the family made a short visit to London, where he enrolled Maria in the convent boarding school at Hammersmith. Garcia, no doubt out of patience with the strong-willed youngster, turned her over to the French Benedictine nuns, who would have administered a healthy dose of discipline as well as an excellent education in French and English. There is some controversy about when Maria returned to her parents in Paris—it was probably after Garcia’s London season in 1819. This is when her vocal education began in earnest and when Maria became acquainted with the Countess Merlin, whose life’s work became the immortalization of Maria Malibran. The Countess Merlin states that Maria’s first years of practice were painful and tedious. Nothing short of that firmness of character, with which nature had so liberally endowed her, could have made her a musician. Her aptitude for musical study was but slowly developed, and her voice wanted flexibility; yet, in spite of all these disadvantages, she resolutely persevered, and she overcame each fresh difficulty with increasing courage. Some credit is doubtless due to her father; he never allowed the plea of “I cannot” to prevail. Maria Garcia’s voice was at first feeble. The lower tones were harsh and imperfectly developed, the upper tones were indifferent in quality, and limited in extent, and the middle tones wanted clearness. Her intonation was so false as to warrant the apprehension that her ear was defective.10

It certainly sounds hopeless, doesn’t it? However, contrast this to Rossini’s statement and the story of Paer’s Agnese above. Malibran was famous, above all, for her outstanding musicality, and I cannot believe that she was innately unmusical. In my opinion, musicality cannot be taught, only musicianship. As for her voice being imperfect, how can you make such judgments about the voice of a child? Maria had to wait for physical maturity for her voice to develop. This leaves vocal technique, such as proper breathing and velocity studies, which Garcia certainly could teach her. Above all, Maria learned spontaneity from watching her father and Colbran work. Unlike Pasta, who worked everything out beforehand, Garcia was always “in the moment” and improvised brilliantly, never singing the same piece in exactly the same way. Imbedded in Garcia’s style—the style which simultaneously attracted and scandalized—was the Spanish spirit, nurtured by his experience of life, love, and theater in the principal cit-

ies of Spain. Garcia came from a country where, even in the folk music (such as cante jondo) the performer is expected to deliver, to embellish, to move the audience with daring artistry executed with a masculine grace not unlike that of a bull fighter. Flamenco artists have a special term for this quality: duende. Duende implies not only spirit, style, flair, but also complete emotional communication with the audience. Garcia had this special quality naturally, from his cultural roots, and it entered into his interpretation of Rossini and Mozart roles. For him it was inconceivable “just to perform” the music as written. He had to charge the music both with embellishments actually affecting the melodic line and with the passion of his delivery. For Garcia this was the essence of bel canto. It was not just a matter of beautiful sound laden with fiorituri. Rather, performing and composition were united and depended on the inspiration of the moment. Although the music of Rossini, Bellini, and Donizetti and its performing style have often suffered at the hands of a twentieth century Western criticism which has had either a heavily rational French or a sober German bias, one wonders if, for a more open-minded evaluation of this style, different critical tools are needed. One also wonders if modern performers, who may lack such spontaneity of delivery, including the ability to improvise, as possessed by a Garcia, Colbran, or Malibran are even able to afford critics and the public a stylistically appropriate rendering of these works—thus making impossible any fair judgement of the works themselves.11

Garcia’s Paris season of 1819 began with the French premiere of Il barbiere di Siviglia. The French seem to have preferred Paisiello and one could imagine little Maria (now eleven years old) primed to do battle on behalf of her beloved Maestro Rossini. A revival of Paisiello’s work was a failure, and Rossini’s masterpiece soon found its rightful place in the Parisian operatic pantheon. The next two years were fruitful for Garcia. He presented two successful new compositions—La mort de Tasse and La Munière—and sang two Paris premieres: Otello (with Pasta) and the role he was most famous for, the title role in Don Giovanni (parts of which were transposed). On July 18, 1821, Maria’s younger sister, Pauline, was born. Maria continued her laborious studies with her father but began to show the rebellious spirit and fire that she became famous for. One day Garcia, after an hour of work said to her: “You’ll never be anything more than a chorister.” Holding up her little head of fourteen, she answered: “This chorister will be more talented than you.”12

In 1823 Garcia’s fortunes changed. His voice showed signs of wear and he may have been touched by the scandal of his abandonment of his first wife, Manuela Morales. There were also political problems between Spain and France, and some Spanish citizens were ordered to leave. The Garcia family set off for London, and in May, Garcia appeared at King’s Theater in London as Otello. He was criticized for his “almost too florid”13 style but generally praised in other Rossini operas.

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The political problems having been resolved, the Garcias returned to Paris in September and were reunited with Rossini in November. I have already described how Rossini, Garcia, Pasta, and Colbran were preparing for the London season of 1824 in chapter 11. Colbran’s failure in Zelmira was compensated for by Garcia and Pasta in Otello and Il barbiere. It was in London that Garcia established his famous singing academies for beginners and those who aspired to be professional singers. No doubt sixteen-year-old Maria was the outstanding pupil. She made her London debut in a concert given by Rossini on June 9, 1824, singing a duet with her father and “Nacqui all’affano” from La Cenerentola.14 The concert was found to be unbearably dull by the reviewer from The Harmonicon in spite of a program that, besides the Garcias, included Pasta, de Begnis, Colbran, and Rossini himself singing his own compositions.15 The reviewer seems to be most upset that the subscription cost two guineas. Mackinlay says that after the London season, Maria also made her professional debut in Paris in the early autumn at a club that was established by her father. Two months later, the family was back in London where Maria continued her studies in her father’s vocal academy. On June 11, 1825, Maria Garcia made her operatic debut in the role that she had prophesied to Rossini when she was eight years old—Rosina in Il barbiere. The opportunity came the way it often does for young singers—she “jumped in” when Pasta had to return to Paris and all the other established prima donnas were unavailable. The debut was a triumphant success. A critic for the New Monthly Magazine (1825) wrote: Such perfection in this respect [her embellishments] was probably never witnessed by a performer of her years. It is scarcely conceivable, and well merited the rapturous approbation which it called from every part of the house. All our experience does not furnish an instance of a first debut of such an age attended with equal and equally deserved success.16

Maria was engaged for the rest of the season for the sum of £500. The 1825 London season closed with the first London performance of Il crociato in Egitto by Meyerbeer with Maria in the role of Felicia and none other than Giovanni Velluti as Armando. The Countess Merlin related a story that Maria appeared with Velluti in a duet from Zingarelli’s Romeo e Giulietta and bested him in a “coloratura duel,” which caused the castrato to fly into a rage. However, Velluti, a relic of the past despised by many Londoners as a freak, oversaw every aspect of the production of Il crociato and provided Maria with a link to the glorious traditions of the bel canto past. She incorporated some of his teaching in her style of embellishment during the remainder of her career. Velluti also assisted Maria’s brother Manuel in the preparation of his monumental treatise on singing.17 At the end of the season, the Garcias appeared in several provincial concerts. Maria was chosen as a soloist in the second York Festival when the management was unable to engage either Catalani or Pasta. Maria’s repertoire was “Gratias” by

Gugliemi, “Alma invitta” from Segismondo by Rossini, a terzetto from Il crociato in Egitto, “O patria” from Tancredi, and her signature aria, “Una voce poco fa.” However, she received devastating reviews for “Rejoice Greatly” from Handel’s Messiah. Apparently the animosity toward her came from the fact that Garcia negotiated a higher fee for her than the established English singers got. Miss Garcia’s “Rejoice” was so complete a failure, that the English singers not only felt but expressed the injustice done them by the enormous sum given to this young, unformed and incompetent Prima Donna, however clever (which she certainly is) she may be upon the Italian stage.18

The Countess Merlin, however, should be counted high up in the annals of hyperbole with the following appraisal of Maria’s talent: Maria’s voice was a rich contralto, possessing all the qualities of a soprano. Her intonation was perfect. Hers was, in fact, a persuasive voice, that bent us to its wish, and realized the sentiment of the poet equally with the feelings of the audience. “She could,” says a talented writer [Mr. I. Nathan], “like the singers of ancient days, transport the mind into sublimity, infuse the spirit of benevolence, inspire divine energy, arouse the slumbering conscience, restore social sympathies, regulate moral feelings, restrain the fury of ambition, unlock the iron grasp of avarice, expand the liberal palm to deeds of charity, breathe the sacred love of peace into the bosom of the turbulent, and the mild spirit of forbearance and toleration into persecuting bigotry and prejudice.” Her decorations, we might add, resembled the natural inflections of the nightingale, or the warbling of zephyrs upon an Æolian harp; yet never unadapted to the nature of the melody, or the genius of the composition.19

In August 1825 Dominick Lynch (1786–1857), who was the son of a prominent New York wine merchant, arrived in London with the express purpose of engaging a group of Italian singers to bring Italian opera to America for the first time. He was the partner of Stephen Price, the director of the Park Theater in New York. Garcia, like a veritable Columbus of opera, put together a company that consisted of his family and a few other singers who embarked for the New World on October 1, 1825, on the packet ship New York. During the thirty-seven-day journey, the troupe entertained the ship with rehearsals and impromptu concerts on deck. The passengers enjoyed conversing with the four-yearold Pauline, who spoke four languages, switching back and forth effortlessly. Once, when Garcia became enraged with his son, Manuel, he felled the twenty-year-old youth with one blow. When the captain of the ship heard of the incident, he promised Garcia that he would reward any further incident by clapping the offender into irons. The rest of the trip was quiet. The intrepid company arrived in New York on November 7, and Garcia immediately set to work promoting and preparing for the first performance of Italian opera in America.



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Il barbiere took place on November 29, 1825. When one considers that Garcia had to recruit and train a local orchestra and chorus (consisting of mechanics who had settled in New York), construct sets, and promote opera to an uncomprehending public, it was a miracle that it succeeded as well as it did. He was aided in this by Lorenzo Da Ponte, Mozart’s librettist, who was a professor of Italian literature at Columbia College. There is a story that Garcia, when he was introduced to the author of Don Giovanni, clasped the old man’s arm and danced around the room while singing “Fin che’han dal vino” in childlike glee. Of course, Garcia was the most famous singer in the troupe, but Maria soon stole the show. Called “signorina” by many, she soon became the darling of New York and fulfilled her own prophecy made to her father three years before. The season in New York was a great place for the young Maria to learn the lessons that only experience on the stage can teach. It was also far away from the critics of London and Paris, who would not feel the need to allow mistakes in the development of a young artist. The repertoire was extensive, with seventy-nine performances of Il barbiere di Siviglia, Tancredi, Otello, La Cenerentola, and Il turco in Italia, all by Rossini, Mozart’s Don Giovanni, Zingarelli’s Romeo e Giulietta, and two operas by Garcia—L’amante astuto and La figlia dell’aria—during a period of ten months. The Rossini repertoire was indispensable for an alto singer of this period and would form the backbone of the Malibran career for the rest of her life. Il barbiere was performed more than forty times alone without “any abatement of interest.” In the ensuing years, New York was proud of launching the career of one of the greatest prima donnas of the age. General Grant Wilson wrote some impressions of Maria: “Her science and skill are such as enable her to run over every tone and semi-tone with an ease and grace that cost apparently no effort.” He concludes with a vivid little sketch of Maria Garcia as she was at the age of seventeen: “Her person is about the middle height, slightly embonpoint; her eyes dark, arch, and expressive; and a playful smile is almost constantly the companion of her lips. She was the magnet that attracted all eyes and won all hearts.”20 The end of the New York season on September 30, 1826, marked the greatest turning point in Maria’s life and also its greatest mystery. Garcia’s family opera troupe, without Maria, set out for Mexico, where they were engaged to present a season. The reason Maria stayed behind was that in March, she had married François Eugène Malibran (1781–1836), a naturalized French-American merchant, who was twentyseven years older than she. Why this event occurred is still debated. Maria had previously contemplated marriage to the American poet Fitz-Greene Halleck (1790–1867), a friend of James Fenimore Cooper (1789–1861). Her father, no doubt understanding that Maria had become the star of his troupe, put a stop to the budding romance. Maria, possibly through an introduction by Da Ponte, then met Malibran, reputed to be very wealthy. Though charming, Malibran, only six years

younger than her father, could not have been much of a physical attraction for her. Mackinlay felt that Malibran’s wealth was not the reason for the marriage, since Maria was well on the way to being one of the great operatic stars of the day. However, in her situation, even if there was plenty of money generated by her stardom, her father controlled it. This was not the first or last case of a prima donna marrying a wealthy man in order to pursue her career in comfort. However, the principal reason was probably that the naive and immature Maria wished to escape the tyrannical hand of her father, who put such strictures on his free-spirited daughter. Apparently, Garcia detested Malibran and initially refused permission for this marriage also. The Garcia household erupted in screams of fury, and Maria threatened to kill herself if her father did not relent. Finally, Malibran offered financial compensation to Garcia and stated that he wanted Maria to retire from the stage. Garcia reluctantly gave his permission and wrote to Pasta that he was sorry that Maria was ending her career but happy that Malibran had the resources to give her a comfortable life. On October 16, 1826, the Garcia troupe left for Mexico, including the five-year-old Pauline. After a successful Mexican season, on the way back on the road to Veracruz, they were robbed of most of the proceeds of their labors by Mexican bandits. Pauline never forgot this misadventure, but also remembered that the rest of the night was spent with surprising good humor, considering that they had all survived and had nothing further to lose. The conventional story, promoted by Merlin, Mackinlay, Ferris, and others, is that meanwhile Maria was learning the truth about Malibran, who not only misrepresented his fortune, which was in a very bad state, but within a year of their marriage had gone bankrupt and had been incarcerated in debtor’s prison. It seems that he had been counting on her earning power as a prima donna to save his fortune. April Fitzlyon presents a convincing case that, on the contrary, Malibran was a decent businessman, aware of the pitfalls of a marriage to the teenaged Maria, and that she was the aggressor, desperate to escape the alleged cruelty of her father. In a letter to Malibran, she wrote: “I can’t believe that your heart is indifferent to my advances, for I try every moment of the day to make you understand my tender feelings with which no one else has been able to inspire me.”21 As Malibran’s fortunes sank, to her everlasting credit, Maria was determined to retire his debt and returned to the stage, where she appeared in English operettas and sang in church. She was the highest paid performing artist in America up until that time and earned $6,000 for ten performances, which was still not enough to pay off Malibran’s creditors. Maria then journeyed to Philadelphia, where she was the first to introduce Italian opera there. She gave several concerts in the Philadelphia area with orchestra. Fitzlyon writes that, unable to find steady work in America, she resolved to return to Europe to resume her career and that Eugène would join her there later. Her last American performance was a benefit concert on October 29, 1827, at the Bowery Theater.

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When the programme had been completed, the Signorina came forward and seated herself at her harp, but seemingly overcome by emotion again rose. Mr. Etienne, the pianist, thereupon took up the prelude to the farewell song, especially written for the occasion, and this, on regaining her composure, she sang in a most touching and effective manner.22

In a narcissistic letter to Malibran written on the ship to Europe, the nineteen-year-old Maria assured him that it is hard to be separated from people one loves, from you. Pauvre ami, I assure you that I have never loved you with passion, as I’ve already told you, but since I’m no longer with you, your good qualities appear so vividly in my mind, that I see that I have made a mistake in believing that I only loved you faithfully.23

Maria (now Malibran) arrived in Paris on November 28, 1827, and took up lodgings with her husband’s sister. Her brother, Manuel Patricio, who had left the family troupe in Mexico, soon joined her there and also began to supervise his sister’s vocal studies. No one in Paris knew her and her friend, the Countess de Merlin, arranged a soirée to introduce her to the Parisian musical establishment. She was an instant hit. Malibran’s Paris debut was January 14, 1828, at the Académe Royale de Musique in Semiramide in a benefit for Fillipo Galli, a great bass and family friend. Semiramide was a part that she had never sung and in which she was not yet entirely comfortable; however, her talent and determination carried the day. The prodigious talent displayed by Pisaroni in the subsequent scenes gave occasion to comparisons by no means favourable to Mme. Malibran. On her re-entrance she was coldly received; but she soon succeeded in winning the public to her favour. In the andante to the air “Bel raggio lusinghier,” the young singer threw out such powers, and displayed a voice so full and beautiful, the former coldness gave way to applause. Encouraged by this, she hazarded the greatest difficulties of execution, and appeared so inspired by her success that her courage became temerity. From that night she was the idol of the French public. Another French critic writes, “If Maria Malibran must yield the palm to Pasta in point of acting, yet she possesses a decided superiority in respect to song.”24

The same benefit program included an act from Il barbiere starring Henriette Sontag, who became Malibran’s only rival. The two divas developed an intense competition that spurred both on to greater accomplishments in the years to come. Rossini, who was always an intimate of the Garcia family and had heard her sing many times at social occasions, had never before made an offer to engage her. After Semiramide, he offered her an exclusive contract at the Théâtre Italien for more than 100,000 francs for four years. When asked why he had waited to make the offer, the shrewd composer replied that he had to hear her in a big house and see the effect upon the audience. If he had offered too little, he would have been doing her a disservice, and if too much, the disservice would

have been to himself. Malibran refused to be bound by the contract but continued to sing for Rossini for enormous fees on a per-performance basis. She instinctively understood that the Opéra, where everything was sung in French, encouraged screaming and was not conducive to long careers. Malibran became the greatest star at the Théâtre Italien. Operas performed for Rossini include both the title role and Arsace in Semiramide, Desdemona in Otello, La Cenerentola, and Ninetta in La gazza ladra. She studied the eponymous role in Matilde di Shabran, but, because it was a soprano part, she never sang it in public and soon surrendered it to Sontag. As Romeo, Malibran electrified the audience with a free fall flat upon the stage in the death scene. Maria, with her extravagant singing and acting, became the icon of the Romantic Age. The reputation of Pasta began to fade from the minds of the ever-fickle dilettanti. Stendhal, the greatest advocate for Pasta, predicted that Maria would become “the greatest singer in the world.”25 Liszt, three years her junior, told her that she “had more than genius”26 and Alfonse de Lamartine (1790–1869) called her “supernatural.”27 The final performance of the 1827–1828 season at the Théâtre Italien was Otello, and Maria was afforded a reception never before witnessed in the French capital. There was a Parisian law forbidding curtain calls. There was such an uproar that the commissioner of police tried to mount the stage to enforce the law but was grabbed by the neck and dragged away. Maria wrote Eugène on the same night: The curtain was raised, I appeared. Everyone was standing on the benches, screaming, howling, bellowing, the noise reaching all the way to the dressing rooms. Someone threw me another crown with some verses that you will read in the paper, and each lady from the first, second, and third tiers and from everywhere threw me their bouquets of flowers, while the screaming continued, undiminished, for ten minutes and the uproar redoubled at each falling bouquet. Really, it was like a rain of flowers.28

Malibran then went on vacation and returned to Paris in late September. Her new contract was for 35,000 francs for a six-month engagement to be followed by three months in London for 40,000 francs. Maria added Ninetta in La gazza ladra to her repertoire, a part that became one of her greatest roles. The season was also marked by her brother Manuel’s Parisian debut as Figaro, which was not successful. Thereafter, he decided to give up the stage. Malibran always longed to have a great opera written for her special abilities but that never came to pass. However, on December 9, 1828, a very good one, Clari by the young Fromenthal Halévy (1799–1862), premiered at the Théâtre Italien. For once, Maria could not be compared with other artists in the role she created. The critics were lavish with praise but could not decide if the work’s success was due to the composer or to the artist who created it. François-Joseph Fétis (1784–1871), the “dear grumbler,” wrote what was probably the least emotional review: “As great an actress as a singer, this virtuoso was perfect from one end



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of her role to the other, but in the third act especially, she was beyond all praise.”29 The Countess Merlin felt that the effect of Clari would never be forgotten by those who witnessed the performance, but that after Malibran it would have been difficult for any other artist to sing the part. Soon after Malibran’s meteoric rise to fame and glory, living with her in-laws began to irritate her, and she then moved in with Madame Naldi, the widow of an old family friend. Her attitude toward her husband also began to change, and, although she was willing to work to pay off her husband’s creditors, she chastised him for not paying off his debt to her father, perhaps as much as $50,000. She admonished him not to join her in Europe, where she felt that she needed to be left in peace to pursue her career. There is no hint that she was unfaithful to Malibran, but she saw herself as a high priestess dedicated to her art. Madame Naldi became a surrogate mother to her and educated her in the management of money. She could be stingy in financial negotiations but gave away a large portion of her earnings in secret without recognition, and in Paris, she regularly worked several mornings a week in the Catholic hospital for children.30 News of Malibran’s triumph reached Mexico while the Garcia troupe was playing there. An article appeared in El Sol that credited Garcia as the last master of the ancient tradition of improvisation and credited Maria’s success as the direct result of his teaching.31 In March 1829, after losing the proceeds of eighteen months of hard work to the bandits, the Garcia family arrived in Paris practically destitute. Garcia had financed their trip by an appeal to Eugène Malibran, who apparently paid him part of the debt he was owed. Garcia sang a few performances of Il barbiere, Elisabetta, regina d’Inghilterra, and Don Giovanni, but his voice had deteriorated to the point where he retired from the stage at the age of fifty-five. He then dedicated himself to the teaching of voice and developed some of the great singers of the age. His accompanist for many of the lessons was the eight-year-old Pauline, who was a piano student of Charles Meysenberg (1785–c. 1828) and who studied composition and counterpoint with Antoine Reicha (1785–1836), a friend of Beethoven and Haydn. Reicha also taught Hector Berlioz (1803–1869), who became a close friend of Pauline’s. Although very different artists, the Malibran-Sontag rivalry could not be resisted by the cognoscenti, and Rossini brought them together at a soiree and coerced them into singing a duet from Semiramide. Thereafter, recognizing the publicity value of the rivalry, they appeared together as often as possible in Tancredi, Don Giovanni, where Maria played Zerlina to Sontag’s Donna Anna, and her first Arsace in Semiramide. In the meantime, Malibran returned to London in 1829, where she had emerged from the chorus and made her unscheduled debut four years before. This time she was a full-fledged prima donna who commanded a fee of £66 per performance during the three-month season. Her roles at King’s Theater included Desdemona, Semiramide, Romeo (in Zingarelli’s opera), Tancredi, Ninetta, Fidalma in Il matrimo-

nio segreto, Susanna in Le nozze di Figaro, and Zerlina, which in her time, occupied a more important place than it does now. The summer season of 1829 presented a whole galaxy of stars. Besides Malibran, Sontag, and Pisaroni, Pasta decided to appear to do battle with her new rival. Pasta’s style was queenly and rather plain, but in response to Maria’s virtuosity, she began to embellish her vocal line more. The English critics, unlike their French counterparts, were always reluctant to appear too enthusiastic about anyone, and Malibran’s artistic momentum had to build slowly. First she had to overcome the notion that she was a mere imitator of Pasta. Then, conservative critics had to get over being shocked over the realism of her interpretations. “In love scenes she often outsteps the modesty of her sex, and seems to forget that a woman should be wooed, and was not made to woo,” observed a scandalized journalist. “With her, however, it is quite the reverse; and the manner in which she sometimes paws about the person of her lover is really indelicate.”32

Chorley wryly observed: “On the whole, she was found unequal, bizarre, and fatiguing by many of our opera loungers (a public as apt to be scared as allured by original genius).”33 In Malibran’s time, it was unusual for the same person to sing both tragic and comedic parts. Pasta did so occasionally, but Malibran often performed in pasticcio evenings where she might sing the last act from Otello, two acts as Susanna in Le nozze de Figaro, and the musico role of Romeo in Giulietta e Romeo. She enjoyed character parts such as Fidalma, the old aunt, in Il matrimonio segreto. Far from Pasta’s tragic dignity as Desdemona, in the final scene, Maria flew around the stage like a frightened deer. She would advise her partner to catch her when he could because she was not sure what she would do. Only [Marco] Bordogni, middle-aged and lazy, refused to alter his habits when acting with her. “Look here, Maria, my girl,” he told her, “just don’t you imagine that I’m full of fire and energy like you, and that I want to tire myself out and fling myself about like you do. If you want me to kill you, you come over here.”34

There has been a lot of ink expended on the question of Malibran’s ability to elicit such a frenzied response from her audiences. There seems to be little question about her vocal, histrionic, and musical abilities. However, audiences do not only listen, but they also look, and there must have been something sensual about Maria Malibran’s expressions and movements onstage. The Romantic movement was not just intellectual, but was also about the free expression of long-repressed sexual feelings. Maria Taglioni (1804–1884) and Fanny Essler (1810–1884) were two ballet dancers who inspired adulation from an adoring public by shortening their skirts. Some English critics criticized the realism with which Malibran played peasant parts: Zerlina and Ninetta (in La gazza ladra), making them “coarse country girls with awkward demeanor and hoydenish manners.”35

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The London management had heard of the Parisian enthusiasm for the Malibran-Sontag duo and presented them together as often as possible, often to Sontag’s disadvantage. In Figaro and Don Giovanni, she was perceived as cold and remote as compared with Malibran’s impassioned portrayals. In a performance of Romeo e Giulietta, Maria’s deadfall caused ladies in the boxes to scream. Besides the opera, Maria’s endless rounds of soirees and private concerts left her exhausted, and she canceled several of the final performances. Sometime during the London season of 1829, Maria had become friends with Charles-Auguste de Bériot (1802–1870), a Belgian violinist and composer. They had met before in Paris when Bériot was vainly pursuing Malibran’s rival, Henriette Sontag, who was well on her way to a marriage to the Count Rossi. Bériot was handsome and his style of playing was congruent with Maria’s own intensely Romantic view of music. Malibran and Bériot appeared together in a concert at the Argyll Rooms, which also featured Felix Mendelssohn (1809– 1847). Maria sang a set of difficult and beautiful variations composed by Bériot. Soon after, Maria, still jealous of Bériot’s interest in Sontag, was persuaded to sing as a guest at his solo recital. A bond of friendship developed, which soon ripened into a more intimate relationship. At a concert in Brussels that featured Malibran and Bériot: When he [Bériot] finished she rushed up to him with what at first appeared to be merely heartfelt congratulations. The violinist thanked her politely. At this total misinterpretation of her sentiments she grasped his hand. “No, no!” she whispered urgently, her eyes flashing. “Can’t you see I love you?” From that evening they were lovers.36

In the fall of 1829, Malibran returned to Paris and was reunited with her family after a three-year separation. She was probably already Bériot’s mistress, but in relations with her father, the shoe was on the other foot now. Maria was already the famous prima donna and wealthy, so a delicate truce developed between her and her father. She had offered him 4,000 francs a year, which he took as an insult. Garcia was singing a few performances at the Théâtre Italien, and Maria was in some of them. Fitzlyon tries to suggest an incestuous relationship between Garcia and his young daughter, but there is no evidence to support this beyond their appearing together on stage in love relationships, that is, Don Giovanni–Zerlina and Otello-Desdemona and a novel, Max by Ernest Legouvé (1807–1903), supposedly based on Malibran’s life. Maria’s chief problem at this time was her relationship with Bériot. She wished to be married to him but suffered the inconvenience of already being married to Eugène Malibran. Maria wanted to be free to pursue her own life and began to resent the preaching of Madame Naldi. She moved into her own residence in Paris and, for the first time, began to live alone. She deeply loved Bériot, and Fitzlyon speculates that she may have already been pregnant in 1830. The couple fell into disagreements. Maria was anxious to preserve her “vestal virgin” status as high priestess of the Romantic movement, and Bériot apparently wanted to cash in on her fame by embark-

ing on a concert tour to Russia together, which would compromise her but not him. They were separated by conflicting engagements—she to London and he to St. Petersburg. Their relationship was at a low ebb. Maria was depressed and offended by being discriminated against for being a mere actress by many in London’s aristocracy, a sentiment shared by many of her colleagues. She was also deathly afraid of being labeled an adulteress and went for help to a friend she trusted, Louis Viardot (1800–1883), who later became the husband of her sister, Pauline. Malibran kept up a manic schedule: On May 26 she reported, “LaLande [Henriette] having failed, I am up to my neck in work. A concert in the morning, two or three more in the evening, and the same thing over again the next day, not even excepting the nights I sing at the opera.” She planned to sing that Wednesday in a London concert, leave immediately for Bath where she would arrive at 9:00 in the morning, sing two songs, depart for Bristol at 1:00 in the afternoon, be there by 2:00 and play the third act of Otello with Donzelli, pocket her 120 guineas, and arrive in London the next morning to start all over again at the theater.37

Like many other talented people, such as Caruso and Chaliapin (1873–1938), Maria Malibran had a number of talents and interests. She was a good painter and caricaturist, sometimes made her own costumes, was a born mimic, often went shooting and riding, and was a good fencer. She fancied herself a dancer but, like most singers, was not very good at it. She read voraciously and was friends with many of the most influential writers and great actors of the day. But it was music that penetrated the deepest recesses of her soul. When she first heard Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, she went into convulsions and fainted. As a musician, she was capable of reading any music at sight, often providing her own accompaniment. She was a harpist and played her own harp accompaniment for the “Willow song” in Otello. Not the least of Malibran’s talents was that of composer. She composed mostly romances, drawingroom songs mostly sentimental and naive, which were very popular. She published several collections during her lifetime. After her death Les dernières pensée musicales de M. F. Malibran Bériot was a best seller. Her songs were praised by Berlioz, Schumann, and Debussy.38 Howard Bushnell observes the following fact about Malibran’s and Pasta’s singing, which is of great value to those who are prepared to understand how it is done. Maria’s voice was not outstandingly beautiful, but its remarkable range and her powers of expression raised her above her rivals. She, like Pasta before her, had learned to take the same notes in different registers to vary the color for purposes of expression; her middle voice could be sung in the brilliance of her soprano register or the rich power of her chest tones, which she used frequently and with more force than any singer before her.39

In May, Maria received twin blows that had a grave impact on her. Bériot sent her a bitter letter, to which she replied in kind, and she received the false news that her



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brother Manuel had been killed in Algeria. The day before her performance of Semiramide, Malibran went into a cataleptic trance and fell down a flight of stairs, suffering a serious gash. The next day she insisted on going to the theater and, not being able to stand, was carried into her carriage and into her dressing room. Then, to the amazement of her entourage, she revived and swept onto the stage, where she gave one of her most luminescent performances. When the performance was over, she lapsed back into the trance again. Even a genius such as Malibran cannot repeal the laws of nature, and Maria became known for frequent “indispositions,” which reminds one of Montserrat Caballé, of whom it is said, “is available for a limited number of cancellations this year.” On July 26, Maria added the trouser role of Don Diego in Mercadante’s Donna Caritea to her repertoire and received rapturous reviews. In June, through the offices of Bériot’s sister, the lovers were reconciled. The summer was spent searching for a solution for their problem and the idea of a “secret” (and bigamous) marriage was apparently hatched, which may or may not have happened. This was complicated by the French Revolution of 1830 in which King Charles X (1757–1836) was driven from power and Louis Philipe (1773–1850) assumed the throne. During the summer of 1830, probably in Paris, the couple appeared with two witnesses before a priest who, at first, “could not understand anything.” The situation was explained to him and absolute secrecy was promised. He was not asked for any written declaration. Some sort of ceremony—a benediction?— was performed. From then on, Maria, Charles, and his family considered them to be married, and Charles referred to her as his “wife.” It is, perhaps, ironical that Malibran’s greatest success that season was in Cimarosa’s Il matrimonio segreto.40

In August Maria traveled to Bath, England, where she became deathly ill. She may have suffered a miscarriage or delivered a child that did not survive. From then on she (and her career) revived and she negotiated a new contract with the Théâtre Italien for the unheard-of sum of 1,075 francs per performance and the exclusive right to play all the principal roles. The managers of the theater resigned themselves “to drink the hemlock,” agreeing that she was “unique in the world.”41 When Maria Malibran returned to Paris to resume her career at the Théâtre Italien, tired of hypocrisy and subterfuge, she and Bériot moved in together in a house on the Rue Blanche. She was deeply hurt by the shunning she received from old friends like Madame Naldi, her father turned against her, and she even received catcalls from the orchestra pit. With characteristic determination she assembled a legal team coordinated by Louis Viardot to dissolve her marriage to Malibran. Malibran, alarmed, traveled to Paris in late November to confront her and was advised to consult her lawyers. Having just met the Marquis de Lafayette (1757–1834) at court, she enlisted his aid in obtaining a divorce. He became a dear friend up until his death in 1834, and they addressed each other as “tutor” and “pupil.” Eugène flatly refused the divorce, agreeing only that they should live together platonically.

Maria attempted to stave off her depression by a manic round of activity. She added Francesco Gnecco’s La prova d’un opera seria to her repertoire. She ignored all advice about husbanding her energy and was frequently ill. Toward the end of the season, her performances sometimes suffered. She and Charles turned down all offers for the summer season and traveled to Belgium, where they built a magnificent new home in Ixelles. Life became more complicated when she became pregnant. She notified the Théâtre Italien that she would be unavailable for an unspecified length of time due to illness. Having no adequate replacement, the management panicked and Malibran reluctantly agreed to appear but to leave before the end of the season. For two-and-a-half months Maria continued to sing at the Italien, garnering rave reviews. George Sand was especially effusive: I have seen Madame Malibran in Otello. She made me weep, shudder, in a word, suffer as if I were present in a real-life scene. This woman is the premiere genius of Europe, beautiful as one of Raphael’s virgins, simple, energetic, naïve, she is the foremost singer and the foremost tragedienne. I’m crazy about her.42

There was one misstep. Having seen Pasta in the title role of Otello in London (the first act was omitted), she decided to take on the entire opera. This time her competitive nature led her astray and no one was convinced with the venture. Wilhemine Schröder-Devrient, a large German dramatic soprano, was Desdemona. The contrast between the slender and feminine Malibran and the heroic-sized soprano was ludicrous. Malibran’s last performance was January 20, 1832, as Desdemona to Giovanni Battista Rubini’s Otello. Fétis wrote: She has regained all her powers, the alteration of which has been noticeable for several months. Her voice was clear. Daring, genius, astonishing fecundity of imagination, surety of execution, all the brilliant qualities to which we have often paid homage we found again this time, and she moved us to the highest degree. We cried with her tears; her melancholy made us grieve; we were surprised to find ourselves bursting with joy at her sudden joys; all her emotions were ours; and when the curtain fell between us to separate us, perhaps for a long time, we felt a great affliction.43

This seems an apt swan song, for she never sang in Paris again. Her child, who did not survive, was probably born in March 1832. Maria and Charles returned to Belgium but any plans to return to Paris had to be canceled due to a cholera outbreak so virulent that it killed twenty thousand people. Toward the end of May, Maria and Charles were visited by Luigi Lablache, who was on his way to Italy. On the spur of the moment, they decided to join the great bass, and the event so dreaded by the management of the Théâtre Italien, Maria Malibran’s Italian career, began. She was engaged for the equivalent of 4,000 francs per performance at the Teatro Valle in Rome. No other artist had even approached such a sum. Her debut was scheduled for June 30, 1832, as Desdemona.

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During rehearsals she learned of the death of her father on June 9. Despite his severity to her, she was devastated, for Maria loved her father and always gave him credit for developing her great talent. After her father’s death, Maria was responsible for the support of her mother and her sister. This was not difficult, since she made enormous amounts of money and had a generous nature. Pauline and Johanna moved into Maria’s home in Brussels. Depressed by her father’s death and despite her popularity, Malibran sang only six of the twelve performances of Otello and Il barbiere that she was contracted for. She then traveled to Naples, where she was engaged for eight performances of Otello, La gazza ladra, and La Cenerentola by the famous impresario Domenico Barbaja. She was booked into the Teatro Fondo but was reengaged for the San Carlo for an additional ten performances. Despite praise from the critics, the Neapolitan custom of withholding applause unless the king led it did not sit well with Malibran. However, her final performances did erupt into frenzied excitement, despite court protocol. Maria’s next engagement was in Bologna for eighteen performances for enormous fees. At Bologna, she undertook the role of Romeo in Bellini’s I Capuleti e I Montecchi for the first time. She replaced the last scene with that of Vaccai’s Giulietta e Romeo, a substitution that was standard for a long time. The success of the scene was such that at several performances women had to be carried from the theater in a faint. For her final performance, she sang the last three scenes of the Bellini/ Vaccai Romeo and the last scene of La Cenerentola. When she reached “Non piu mesta,” she burst into tears and could not continue. The applause lasted for one hour, and there were twenty-four curtain calls. Maria was scheduled for forty performances at La Scala after Bologna, but her second pregnancy forced her to cancel the contract. This resulted in litigation that lasted for two years but ended when La Scala, eager to have the famous diva, capitulated. A son, Charles II, was born in Brussels on February 13, 1833. Since his parents were very seldom in the city, he was cared for by Charles’s sister. The divorce from Malibran took on a special urgency, but despite the help from Lafayette, the lawyers on two continents dithered on. Meanwhile, the myth about the “secret marriage” was promulgated and, whether believed or not, was tolerated. Malibran resumed her career with an engagement in London’s Drury Lane Theater for fifteen performances. This engagement reminds one of Catalani’s stint at the Théâtre Italien in Paris, because the rest of the company was second rate. Malibran received a large salary and “packed them in” at double ticket prices. Her competition was at King’s Theater, where an all-star roster included Pasta, who was singing Norma, Anna Bolena, Tancredi, Medea, and Il pirate, among other works. Malibran’s first assignment was as her first Amina in La sonnambula in a clumsy English translation. The English critics had always hated La sonnambula with its vapid libretto, but they praised Maria to the skies. Bellini was present and, although vexed by the translation, loved Maria’s singing. He

was dragged to the stage by admirers and both immediately felt a great kinship. Malibran appeared in two other inferior works during the season—The Devil’s Bridge by Charles Edward Horn (1786– 1849), which she had sung in New York, and Hyppolite Chelard’s (1789–1861) The Students of Jena, which included a “family concert” that allowed her to sing songs in varied languages and styles. Maria was appreciated; the operas were not. She then returned to Naples for the season from November 1833 to March 1834. There she was in her element with the language and a public that, unlike London, understood the style of an art form that had sprung from the soul of the people. She started slowly at first, chafing at the no-applause protocol when the king was present. On November 30, she appeared in Irene, ò L’assedio di Messina by Pacini, one of the few works written expressly for her. Besides Malibran, the stellar cast included Giovanni David and Luigi Lablache, but the opera was judged to be mediocre. In January 1834, another new work, Carlo Coccia’s La figlia del’ Arciere, was even less of a success and lasted only three performances. Bushnell points out that Malibran’s greatest triumphs always occurred toward the end of the season, when the court suddenly realized that it was about to lose her.44 Despite her veneration for Pasta, Malibran excelled in La sonnambula and Norma, and with these roles she surpassed the older diva and entered into the realm of a quasi-divinity. Some superstitious Italians attributed miracles to her. Malibran first appeared as Norma in 1834. Her success was “colossal,” and from then on many considered it her greatest part. It was one with which she could easily identify; was she not a dedicated priestess torn between love and her vocation? She had ceased to be Desdemona, the predestined victim, and had become the Druid priestess—or pure Amina in La sonnambula, unjustly accused of immorality. Malibran was no longer a Rossini heroine, but a Bellini heroine.45

Other Malibran operas in the Naples season include Il matrimonio segreto, La gazza ladra, Otello, the title role in Semiramide, La prova d’un opera seria, and possibly I Capuleti ed I Montecchi of Bellini. The last fortress to be conquered, La Scala, was next. On the way there, Malibran stopped in Bologna, where, in addition to La sonnambula and Otello, it was announced that she would undertake Pasta’s greatest role, Norma. The public erupted into a delirium; no hotel rooms were to be had, as people from the outlying districts crowded into town, and hysterical fanatics followed her home, serenading her most of the night after performances. While in Bologna, she received news that her friend and benefactor, Lafayette, had passed away. Despite his best efforts and those of Louis Viardot, the French Parliament failed to pass the divorce law that made it possible for Maria to divorce Eugène Malibran. When Malibran arrived in Milan, it was said that her life was threatened by “Pastists.” She was very nervous in her introductory cavatina, “Casta Diva,” which surely was exacerbated



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by the fact that Pasta herself was in the audience. She soon recovered her equilibrium, however, and was given four curtain calls at the end of the first act. The operatic annals of no country present any example of a triumph similar to that enjoyed by Madame Malibran, on the evening of her first performance at Milan. At the conclusion of the opera she was recalled no less than thirty times; and each time wreaths, bouquets, trinkets, and sonnets, were thrown on the stage. When she returned home, she found the gardens of Visconti Palace, where she resided, brilliantly illuminated. A triumphal arch, with a complimentary inscription, was erected at the entrance of the principal avenue. Upwards of twenty thousand persons assembled around the palace, and the orchestra and chorus performed a cantata, composed for the occasion by Madame Panizza. Madame Malibran’s feelings were quite overpowered by these marks of favor. She repeatedly went into her balcony, and by graceful and expressive gestures thanked her numerous admirers.46

The following two days were passed in debates between the “Pastists” and the “Malibranists.” Any doubts about Maria’s first performance were erased by the second, in which she was in full command of all her powers. There was a “changing of the guard” in the La Scala performance from Pasta’s unvarying and studied Classical perfection to the new Romantic realism that varied from performance to performance as Malibran followed her feelings on the spur of the moment. In this sense, Malibran represented the wave of the future and Pasta belonged to the glorious but stilted past. Maria’s Desdemona further stoked the fires of enthusiasm in Milan. Malibran left La Scala for London on May 25, 1834, with a contract for fifteen performances the next autumn and engagements for the Carnivals of 1835 and 1836 for the astonishing total sum of 420,000 francs. En route to London, she and Charles stopped in Paris to see friends, who were amazed that her voice had doubled in size and resonance. Her abilities as a musician had likewise grown to the point where there was no comparison to anyone else. While in Paris, she attended a performance of Norma starring the young soprano, Giulia Grisi, who, along with Henriette Sontag, was in the vanguard of the ascending popularity of the soprano as the quintessential prima donna assoluta. Grisi was the spearhead of the “Puritani Quartet” that dominated opera production in London and Paris for twenty-five years. The trip to London was only to attend brother Manuel’s concert, but when the impresario Alfred Bunn (1797–1860) heard of Malibran’s arrival, he offered her La sonnambula. The offer came to naught when Maria asked for a sky-high fee for an opera that was unpopular in London. On June 30, the couple left London for Sinigaglia and Lucca, where Maria received her usual frenzied reception. Malibran returned to La Scala, where on September 27 she opened the season with Norma, followed by I Capuleti, Otello, La sonnambula, and one of her characteristic programs of scenes from La Cenerentola and Il barbiere. Merlin says that Malibran found it difficult to pass from one character to

another in the course of one of these pasticcios but the public loved them. Maria received eighteen curtain calls in her last Norma on October 26, and the next day left for Naples. On the way, she attended a performance of Norma with Pasta in Bologna. She paid her respects to the great diva, who received her graciously and thanked her for the gift of singing for the Milanese. Malibran opened at the Teatro Fondo on November 30, 1834, in La sonnambula with tripled ticket prices and followed with Tancredi and Norma. During the 1834–1835 season in Naples, Malibran was to learn four new operas: Amelia by Lauro Rossi (1812–1885), Bellini’s promise of a Puritani revised especially for her, Ines de Castro by Persiani, and Il colonello by Luigi and Federico Ricci (1809–1877). Amelia was a fiasco for several reasons, but the most egregious was that Malibran insisted that Rossi write a mazurka for her to dance with a dancer named Mathis in the second act. There is an Italian proverb about the suitability of singers as dancers: song and dance are like the devil and holy water. Ines de Castro, with Malibran and Gilbert-Louis Duprez, on the other hand, was a resounding success and was repeated all over Europe. Bériot wrote a letter in which he asserted that in Naples, it was necessary for the composer to pay off the conductor, concertmaster, costume person, the claque, and all others involved in a production in order to ensure its success. He stated that Persiani spent all the profits he made from the production of Ines in this way. Maria then had an accident in a carriage and dislocated her wrist, so that she was unable to rehearse Il colonello and had to leave Naples for Venice in early March 1835. Carolina Ungher premiered Il colonello three weeks after Malibran’s departure and had an outstanding success. Because of a cholera outbreak, the score for the Malibran version of I puritani was prevented from arriving in Naples on time, so Maria was never able to sing it. On the way to Venice, Maria and Charles stopped in Bologna. There she gave three unscheduled concerts and learned that she had been granted an annulment from Eugène Malibran by a French court. Charles and Maria were free to marry after a ten-month residency in Paris, and her joy almost amounted to an illness. As used to adulation as Maria was now accustomed to, she was quite unprepared for the reception accorded her in Venice. The whole city shut down awaiting her boat from the mainland. Brass bands serenaded her and the police led her and Charles to their lodgings. Since the fifteenth century, all gondolas had to be painted black by law. Maria designed one that was gray with silk and gold decorations and an interior of scarlet with blue curtains. Her gondolier was dressed in colorful costume and all Venice knew who was passing. Malibran’s Venetian debut was Desdemona at La Fenice. She had to repeat the first cavatina and received ten curtain calls after the third act. She sang La Cenerentola next with the same result, and then Rosina. Norma followed on April 4 and 5. Some critics favored Pasta’s interpretation, citing the composer’s intentions, but were ignorant of the fact that Bellini wanted Maria to introduce his opera to Paris.

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An aspect of Maria’s character is illuminated by the following story. Gallo, the impresario of a neighboring theater, the Emeronittio, facing bankruptcy, begged Malibran to sing two additional performances at 3,000 francs each to rescue him. To save her colleague, she did so, and the first performance, Il barbiere at the Fenice, netted him 2,875 francs. La sonnambula at the Emeronittio brought in 4,125 after expenses. The evening was an amazing triumph. Franz Liszt counted thirtysix curtain calls, and Gallo announced that the theater would henceforth be called Il Teatro Malibran, a name by which it is still known today. When the grateful impresario came in to pay the diva her fee, she told him to keep it—they were even. Maria’s return to London was in La sonnambula and was marked with a huge standing ovation, even before she began singing. One critic wrote that her singing was only equaled by her acting. On her previous London trip, Maria had observed the performance of Fidelio by Wilhimine Schröder-Devrient, a great German actress who had barely learned to sing but who had great dramatic power. In this regard, she was a prototype of a modern singer who seems to think that if one emotes enough, it is all right to ignore vocal difficulties. Chorley had prescient insight in his review of Schröder-Devrient: Her voice was a strong soprano . . . with an inherent expressiveness of tone which made it more attractive on the stage than many a more faultless organ. Such training as had been given to it belonged to that false school which admits to such a barbarism as the defence and admiration of “nature singing.” [Today this is called “organic” singing.] Why not as well speak of natural playing on the violin or other instruments which is to be brought under control? A more absurd phrase was never coined by ignorance conceiving itself sagacious. Why as well not have nature-civilization?—nature-painting?—nature-cleanliness? But on the rock of this difficulty the German singers and German composers for voices have split. A man whose fingers cannot control the strings would hardly have a second hearing, did he attempt instrumental music. But a woman, supposing she can correctly flounder through the notes of a given composition, has been allowed, too contemptuously, to take rank as a singer.47

Maria Malibran was unquestionably a great actress. Her performance of Leonora was a revelation to many, but the controversy about the relative merits of Malibran and Schröder-Devrient continued. Maria had set herself the task of surpassing Schröder-Devrient as an actress while retaining all her vocal and musical qualities. Chorley had some reservations despite his general admiration of Malibran. She delivered Beethoven’s music wonderously, considering its unsuitability for her voice, making changes and adaptions where they were inevitable with such musician-like science that not the protest of a solitary purist could be raised against them, but the effect produced in the opera by a singer incomparably inferior to her, Madame Schröder-Devrient, was deeper and more moving.48

Malibran’s manic work schedule was alarming to her husband and friends, and I would think that she was headed for disaster if she had not died so young. The most astounding

fact was that she sometimes sang La sonnambula and Fidelio on the same night.49 I cannot think of any similar feat by any other artist. She also often sang afternoon concerts on the same nights that she had operatic performances and then would sing for late-night private soirees. Charles de Bériot wrote about her schedule: Maria is well despite the unprecedented work that she endures. Here is her schedule three or four days a week: morning rehearsal at ten o’clock after a good hour of piano practice, Concert from 1:00 until 4:00. Opera from seven until 10. Then one or two private concerts finish the evening; and poor Maria has hardly returned to rest before it is daybreak. And that is the existence that she leads in London. All this is against my will, for I oppose with all my strength her acceptance of these concerts after the performances, and I refuse a large part of them although she doesn’t know it; for you know that little Spanish head. She would kill herself if she were permitted.50

Malibran was scheduled for another tour of Italy, which began August 15, 1835, in Lucca with Ines de Castro and La Cenerentola. Lucca was under the threat of cholera but Maria received her customary frenzied reception. Charles and Maria departed for her next engagement at La Scala on September 12, 1835, but on reaching Carrara, they were stopped by the quarantine. The intrepid prima donna and her party surreptitiously left Carrara to travel over the Apennines by way of an unused and perilous mule trail. Modern-day singers who can fly to almost any place on earth seldom think of the difficulty of travel in the nineteenth century. The great Maria Malibran reached an astonished Castelpoggio astride a mule. From there she reached Milan and began a six-month engagement at La Scala. Sometime early in the engagement she received news of the death of Bellini on September 23, 1835, and was cast into a state of despair. Little did she know that that fatal date would be the same as her own exactly one year in the future. Maria Stuarda by Donizetti was to have been premiered in Naples the preceding year but was prevented from opening by the king because of the portrayal of Mary being beheaded. Maria Malibran was chosen for the premiere at La Scala. The first performance on December 30, 1835, was a fiasco. Donizetti declared Maria, who had been ill, “voiceless.” Her condition improved for subsequent performances, but the censors demanded changes in the libretto, which she refused. A compromise was reached. For the last four evenings, the first act of Maria Stuarda, in which Mary does not appear, was followed by the last two acts of Otello, where Maria scored her customary triumphs. The original version of Maria Stuarda then lapsed into a 130year slumber. Maria then premiered another new work, Vaccai’s Giovanna Grey, which was judged a failure despite Malibran’s best efforts and was withdrawn after four repetitions. On March 20, 1836, Maria Malibran gave her last performance at La Scala and Italy: I Capuleti and the last act of La sonnambula. Having waited the ten-month period required by law since the annulment of her marriage to Eugène Malibran, Maria and Charles set off for Paris. They became legally married on March 29, 1836, and set off for Brussels for a short rest before the London



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season. The Bériots, despite their intentions to rest, gave two concerts for charity. In the second, Maria was joined in a duet by her sister, Pauline, now almost fifteen. The London season at Drury Lane, which commenced on May 2, 1836, included Fidelio, La sonnambula, and a new work by Michael William Balfe (1808–1870), The Maid of Artois. Balfe, an Irish baritone protégé of Rossini, was multitalented as a singer, composer, conductor, and impresario. Malibran had met him in Milan, where they had sung Il barbiere, La sonnambula, and Otello together. She had dubbed him “the English Rossini,” although he was thoroughly Irish. The Maid was based on the story of Manon Lescaut, Malibran’s character being named Isoline. The convoluted libretto by the impresario Bunn ends with a lieto fine or happy ending. Bushnell writes that it was one of the most successful operas ever staged in England. The Maid received some small criticisms but Malibran was praised to the skies. The masterly light and shade in her singing of the recitative, her intense and refined expression, and the novel and musician-like graces and ornaments which she introduced in the succeeding passages, brought down a torrent of approbation. Her clear and powerful voice, her wonderful skill in executing roulades, chromatic phrases, and shakes, the richness and volume of her contralto notes and the precision, brilliance, and variety of her cadenzas, defy all description and set at naught all criticism.51

Despite being pregnant, Maria continued her hectic schedule of performances and concerts as well as extracurricular activities. She accepted an invitation to a hunting party and chose the most spirited horse in the stable called “King of the Stables.” She was a skilled horsewoman but was pitched headlong from the steed, her foot caught in the stirrup, and was dragged over the rocky course, her head bouncing from the stones. Despite her injuries, she insisted on singing a performance that very night. The Countess Merlin believed that Maria Malibran had a premonition of an early death and engaged in frenetic activity, sometimes in childish amusements like playing with dolls, to stave off thoughts of doom. After her accident, Maria’s behavior became even more bizarre. She continued performing at Drury Lane to the end of her contract on July 16, 1836, and then she and Charles returned to the continent. On August 14 Maria appeared with her sister in concert at Liège, where Pauline also demonstrated her ability on the piano. Maria confided to her sister that she believed that she had a blood clot on the brain and would soon die. Then she traveled to Aix-la-Chapelle, where she sang two performances of La sonnambula in Italian while the rest of the cast sang in German. Her headaches were so severe by this time that she could hardly stand. After a short vacation, Maria and Charles traveled to Manchester, where the choral festival was to begin on September 12. She was able to perform well the first two days, although onlookers remarked that she appeared to be pale and ill. Two days later, she was to sing a duet from Mercadante’s opera Andronico with Maria Caradori-Allen (1800–1865). Although barely able to stand, Malibran insisted on singing. Caradori-Allen decided to add embellishments be-

yond those agreed upon and Maria rose to the challenge as she had with Velluti so long ago. Her voice rose a third above her rival and held a trill for an amazing length of time. The audience responded with a great burst of applause and demanded an encore. Malibran said to her conductor, Sir George Smart (1776–1867), “If I sing again, it will kill me.” “Then do not sing,” replied Sir George, “let me address the audience.” “No,” said Maria, “I will sing it again and annihilate her!”52 After the duet she fainted and was carried into her dressing room. Two doctors prescribed that she be bled. Her dear friend Lablache, knowing that she did not believe in the procedure, protested. He was told to stick to singing and let the doctors attend to healing. Nine days later, on September 23, 1836, at 11:40 pm, Maria Malibran, one of the greatest—if not the greatest—female singer who ever lived passed away peacefully. After a protracted and unseemly battle between her family and Manchester Festival authorities, her body was exhumed and buried in an appropriate mausoleum in Brussels.

NOTES 1. Henry F. Chorley, Thirty Years’ Musical Recollections (New York: Knopf, 1926), 8. 2.  Countess Maria de Merlin, Memoirs of Maria Malibran, vol. 1 (London: Henry Colburn, 1840), 55. 3. April Fitzlyon, Maria Malibran: Diva of the Romantic Age (London: Souvenir Press, 1987), 23. 4.  Malcolm Sterling Mackinlay, Garcia the Centenarian and His Times: Being a Memoir of Manuel Garcia’s Life and Labors for the Advancement of Music and Science (New York: D. Appleton, 1908), 35–36. 5. Edmond Michotte, Richard Wagner’s Visit to Rossini and an Evening at Rossini’s at Beau Sejour, trans. and ed. Herbert Weinstock (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1968), 121–23. 6. Michotte, Richard Wagner’s Visit to Rossini, 126–27. 7.  James Radomski, Manuel Garcia: Chronicle of the Life of a Bel Canto Tenor at the Dawn of Romanticism (New York: Oxford University Press, 2000), 301. 8. Fitzlyon, Maria Malibran, 31. 9. Merlin, Memoirs of Maria Malibran, 51–52. 10. Merlin, Memoirs of Maria Malibran, 47. 11. Radomski, Manuel Garcia, 96. 12. Radomski, Manuel Garcia, 301. Radomski is quoting Ernest Legouvé, Soixante ans de souvenirs, 242. 13. Radomski, Manuel Garcia, 162. 14. Mackinlay, Garcia the Centenarian, 49. 15. Anonymous, The Harmonicon, ed. William Ayerton, vol. 2 (London: Samuel Leigh, 1824), 145. 16.  Howard Bushnell, Maria Malibran: A Biography of the Singer (University Park, PA: Penn State University Press, 1979), 13. 17.  Angus Heriot, The Castrati in Opera (1927; repr., New York: Da Capo, 1975), 198. 18. Radomski, Manuel Garcia, 184. Quoted from Quarterly Musical Magazine 7 (1825): 437. 19. Merlin, Memoirs of Maria Malibran, 4. 20. Mackinlay, Garcia the Centenarian, 67–68. 21. Fitzlyon, Maria Malibran, 43. 22. Mackinlay, Garcia the Centenarian, 82. 23. Fitzlyon, Maria Malibran, 54.

112 24. Mackinlay, Garcia the Centenarian, 88. 25. Fitzlyon, Maria Malibran, 79. 26. Fitzlyon, Maria Malibran, 79. 27. Fitzlyon, Maria Malibran, 79. 28. Bushnell, Maria Malibran, 76. 29. Bushnell, Maria Malibran, 84 30. Bushnell, Maria Malibran, 93. 31. Radomski, Manuel Garcia, 235–36. 32. Bushnell, Maria Malibran, 92. 33. Chorley, Thirty Years’ Musical Recollections, 8. 34. Fitzlyon, Maria Malibran, 95. 35. Fitzlyon, Maria Malibran, 98. 36. Bushnell, Maria Malibran, 104. 37. Bushnell, Maria Malibran, 116. 38. Fitzlyon, Maria Malibran, 264.

Chapter 14 39. Bushnell, Maria Malibran, 44. Italics mine. 40. Fitzlyon, Maria Malibran, 112. 41. Fitzlyon, Maria Malibran, 113. 42. Bushnell, Maria Malibran, 128. 43. Bushnell, Maria Malibran, 134. 44. Bushnell, Maria Malibran, 166. 45. Fitzlyon, Maria Malibran, 184. 46. Merlin, Memoirs of Maria Malibran, 150–51. 47. Chorley, Thirty Years’ Musical Recollections, 39. 48. Chorley, Thirty Years’ Musical Recollections, 9. 49. Bushnell, Maria Malibran, 196. 50. Merlin, Memoirs of Maria Malibran, 35–37. 51. Bushnell, Maria Malibran, 211. Quoted from The Morning Post, May 28, 1836. 52. Pleasants, The Great Singers, 151.

15 Pauline (Garcia) Viardot

take Maria’s place in the operatic firmament. The comparison was not fair, for Maria was beautiful and Pauline was not, although she had a strange, magnetic attraction in performance that made people forget her plainness. The debut of the sixteen-year-old Pauline Garcia took place at a charity concert in Brussels in December 1837 with her

“Ed io anché son un cantatrice!”1 [And I am also a singer!]— Pauline Garcia, age 16

Michelle Ferdinande Pauline Garcia was born on August 29, 1821, in Paris. She was thirteen years younger than Maria Malibran, her illustrious sister, and separated by temperament as well as by geography and age. We have already seen how Maria was brilliant in an impetuous, willful, spontaneous, and neurotic way. Pauline was more thoughtful and intelligent, bordering on genius, but no less abandoned onstage. In her performances with Rubini in Moscow in 1844–1845: “Her passions, as yet unawakened in real life, found an outlet on the stage. All those who saw her were struck by the extraordinary passion of her acting, and Rubini told her more than once in a performance: ‘Don’t act so passionately, you’ll die on the stage.’”2 Pauline was like her sister in refusing to accept limitations. As an alto, she was probably more of a contralto than mezzo-soprano. She struggled with Norma all her life and advised her students: “Don’t do as I did. I wanted to sing everything and I spoilt my voice!”3 Pauline Garcia was her father’s favorite, and she accompanied singers in his studio from the time she was eight years old until his death in 1832. She said that she learned much there, especially from the great tenor Adolf Nourrit. Pauline had always wanted to be a pianist, and besides Meysenberg, she had studied with the young Franz Liszt. He was twentyfive and she fifteen. It’s no small wonder that she developed a crush on the man who was the romantic idol of all Europe. All her life, Pauline Garcia was regarded as an excellent pianist by such keyboard luminaries as her friend Frédéric Chopin (1810–1849), Ignaz Moscheles, Camille Saint-Saëns (1835– 1921), Liszt, and others. However, after her father’s death, her mother Joaquina decided that she should carry on the family business of singing. Joaquina pressured her daughter to abandon the piano, and, with some regret, Pauline began the serious study of voice, mostly by herself, under the watchful eye of her mother. The death of her sister, Maria, in 1836 was a terrible shock to her and to all of musical Europe. Not the least of Pauline’s problems was the expectation that she would

Figure 15.1.  Pauline Viardot from a photo by Erwin Hanfstaengl

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brother-in-law Charles-Auguste de Bériot. This was followed by a concert tour for royalty in the spring, when they visited Berlin, Leipzig, Frankfurt, and Dresden. In Leipzig, she met a girl three years older than herself who became her lifelong friend—fellow pianist Clara Wieck, later to become Clara Schumann (1819–1896). In the fall of 1838, Joaquina decided to take her daughter to the scene of her father’s and sister’s triumphs, Paris. We recall Maria Malibran’s introduction to Parisian intellectual and artistic life at the soiree given by the Countess Merlin in 1827. Madame Carolina Jaubert did the same for Pauline Garcia in the autumn of 1838. Expectations ran high and the dilettanti assembled there were not disappointed: “I feel I can still hear the tremor of joy which ran through the audience from the very first bars,” Paul de Musset, the poet’s brother wrote many years later. “It was La Malibran’s voice, we said, but with a wider range, more velvety, fresher. . . .” The emotion by those present, discerning amateurs, to whom La Malibran had been the inspiration of their youth, communicated itself to Pauline too. Feeling herself appreciated and among well-wishers, she began to sing better and better, and with such enjoyment that her mother was not able to tear her away from the piano.4

Some of those present at the soiree formed a “Pauline Garcia defensive league” to help and protect her in establishing her career. One of the members was Alfred de Musset (1818–1857), who, after engaging her in conversation, was pleased to discover how intelligent and well-informed she was. He drew her out on all sorts of themes, and found that this girl of not yet seventeen was “as well up in everything as an old professor.” He went home delighted with his new discovery. “What a charming thing genius is!” he kept on repeating. “How fortunate we are to live at a time when it still exists, and to see it so close too!”5

Musset was the epitome of a poet in the Romantic Age. He had a well-publicized affair with George Sand and wrote a moving tribute to Pauline’s late sister. Musset had idolized Maria Malibran as the personification of the Romantic Age, and he began to view Pauline as the harbinger of a new age of artistic achievement. There is some substance in this because Malibran was perhaps the last exemplar of the improvisatory genius of bel canto, whereas Pauline Garcia would become the doyenne of the emerging musical genre called grand opera while remaining mistress of the older styles of Gluck and Rossini. Maria had built her career largely on the works of Rossini. However, the most important composer for Pauline, aside from Rossini, was Meyerbeer, followed by Charles Gounod (1818–1893), Halévy, Saint-Saëns, and Berlioz. Musset became infatuated by Pauline, perhaps as much for her intellect as for her physical (and vocal) charms. He felt that she would be a bulwark against the corrupted state of opera in Paris at that time. It is not quite clear what happened, but apparently Pauline rebuffed Musset’s advances, which, in true Romantic fashion, caused him great pain. However, they remained friends for a long time.

In spring 1839, the fearless Pauline Garcia traveled across the English Channel to London, where she made her operatic debut on any stage as Desdemona on May 9 at King’s Theater. The pendulum of public taste was swinging toward the high soprano as prima donna, with Giulia Grisi and Fanny Persiani (1812–1867) ready to do battle with any upstart who dared to challenge their hegemony, especially an eighteen year old named Garcia. Grisi became an implacable enemy, ready to sabotage Pauline at any opportunity. Chorley, writing many years later, recalled his first encounter with Pauline Garcia, who became a close friend: Well, this new Garcia, with a figure hardly formed, with a face which every experience and every year must soften and harmonize, with a voice in no respect excellent or equal, though of extensive compass, with an amount of sensitiveness which robbed her of half her power, came out in the grand singers’ days of Italian opera in London and in a part most arduous, on every ground of memory, comparison, and intrinsic difficulty— Desdemona in Otello. Nothing stranger, more incomplete in its completeness, more unspeakably indicating a new and masterful artist, can be recorded than that first appearance. She looked older than her years; her frame (then a mere reed) quivered this way and that; her character-dress seemed to puzzle her and the motion of her hands as much. Her voice was hardly settled, even with its own after-conditions; and yet, paradoxical as it may seem, she was at ease on the stage, because she brought thither instinct for acting, experience of music, knowledge of how to sing, and consummate intelligence. There can be no doubt with anyone who saw that Desdemona on that night, that another great career had begun.6

It can be said that Pauline, by great personal effort—like Pasta before her and Callas after—conquered a naturally intractable instrument and added notes to either end of a modest mezzo-soprano range. She lived in an age when singers were still not conscious of vocal categories, and the altos continued to sing parts that were getting increasingly higher. Pauline, who was inexperienced on stage, made a greater impression in the concert hall at first, and sang for the young Queen Victoria twice. Unwilling to pander to popular taste, she was always more popular with the cognoscenti than the general public. While the Garcias were still in London, they were visited by Louis Viardot, who, it will be remembered, was a dear friend of Maria Malibran. After the disastrous fire of January 14, 1838, Viardot was named the director of the Théâtre Italien in Paris. He had heard of Pauline’s success in London and came over to scout the new prospect. He was pleased with her performances and promptly engaged her for the new season in Paris. The date of the first performance was October 8, 1839, and Pauline chose Desdemona once again, with her confidence bolstered by her success in London. The name on the lips of the audience was Malibran before Pauline began to sing, but she soon won their applause on her own merits. She was applauded vigorously after every act and Lablache embraced her.



Pauline (Garcia) Viardot 115 “Oh, cunning Lablache,” commented Gautier, “who pretends to be fat and grey-haired in order to kiss pretty women!”7

With this quote, Gautier raised the issue of Pauline Garcia’s personal appearance, which was an issue with the public and critics from the outset of her career in London. Pauline had a tall, slender figure in her youth, and her physiognomy, Jewish in its cast, though noble and expressive, was so far from being handsome that when at rest the features were almost harsh in their irregularity. But, as in the case of many plain women, emotion and sensibility would quickly transfigure her face into a marvelous beauty and fascination, far beyond the loveliness of line and tint. Her forehead was broad and intellectual, the hair jet-black, the complexion pale, the large black eyes ardent and full of fire. Her carriage was singularly majestic and easy, and a conscious nobility gave her a bearing a loftiness which impressed all beholders.8

Perhaps this nobility of bearing reminded Pauline’s aficionados of Pasta’s queenly bearing, while her voice recalled the beauty and passion of her sister’s singing. Pauline was ahead of her time in the care with which she prepared her parts. A self-taught artist, she designed her own costumes to be both historically accurate and pleasing to the eye in an era when scant attention was paid to such details. She studied the literary sources of her roles avidly, a trait not shared by any of her contemporaries. In comic parts, her interpretations of Rosina and Angelina were calculated to bring out the youth and freshness of the characters and won the hearts of cynical critics. After all, she was only eighteen years old. At this juncture, a woman who was to be an enormous influence on Pauline Garcia entered her life. AmantineLucile-Aurore-Dupin (1804–1876), who is best known by her nom de plume, George Sand, was a flamboyant novelist and memoirist who is now as well known for her numerous affairs with Chopin and other famous men as for her literary achievements. It may be that Pauline was introduced to Sand by Louis Viardot, who was an old friend of the novelist and who helped her with her marital difficulties, as he had with Pauline’s sister. Sand and Pauline immediately became fast friends, a relationship founded on mutual respect for each other’s genius. Sand was exactly twice as old as Pauline and became her trusted adviser. One of Sand’s former lovers was Alfred de Musset, and she certainly influenced Pauline’s hardened attitude toward him. She had another prospective match in mind—none other than Louis Viardot. Despite being twenty-one years older than Pauline, Viardot was no Eugène Malibran. Madame Garcia and Sand were agreed that Viardot was a fine man of absolute integrity, and though a little cold, was cultured as well as being an impresario and a practical businessman. As unlikely as it seems, Viardot was also an agnostic and had extremely liberal political views. George Sand, for her part, saw in Viardot an excellent support for Pauline’s coming role as high priestess of her art, someone who would not demand too much emotional commitment from his wife. Pauline hesitated, perhaps put off

by the cold-blooded calculations of her friend and her mother. She had known Viardot since she was a child; she trusted and was truly fond of him but did not love him. He, in turn, deeply loved her and patiently courted her. The Paris opera season ended on April 5, 1840, and on April 18, Louis Viardot and Pauline Garcia were married. Ever a man of integrity, Viardot had resigned his post as director of the Théâtre Italien because of the conflict of interest of having a wife who was a prima donna. Pauline had not been engaged for the following season, so the Viardots were free to travel on their honeymoon to Italy. While in Rome, they visited the Villa Medici, where the winners of the Prix de Rome were housed. There a young man played the accompaniment to an aria from Der Freischütz for Pauline by memory. His name, unknown to her then, was Charles Gounod. When they returned to Paris at the beginning of August, Pauline was only able to obtain engagements for concerts, despite the sterling reputation that she had garnered the previous season. The reason for this was that the prima donnas Rosine Stoltz (1815–1903) at the Opéra and Giulia Grisi at the Théâtre Italien were terrified that Pauline Viardot-Garcia would eclipse their careers. Stoltz was a mezzo-contralto singer who was the mistress of Léon Pillet (1803–1868), the director of the Paris Opéra from 1840 to 1847. Grisi was beautiful and a great singer, but her musical and intellectual acuity were wanting. She was ten years older than Pauline and her intense jealousy would cause Pauline problems for years to come. Pauline was beginning to lose her illusions. . . . One thing was now becoming clear to her, as it had to Berlioz before her: in Paris in the mid-nineteenth century artistry, musicianship, high ideals and true devotion to art counted for very little; reputations were made or marred by intrigues, cabals, love affairs and even bribes. After the splendid excitement of her initial successes, Pauline was beginning to taste the bitterness of disappointment and inactivity; not because of any artistic shortcomings on her part—on the contrary, the critics had been unanimous in their praise—but because of the petty plots and intrigues which ruled Parisian life.9

Given these difficulties, Pauline spent the winter of 1840 singing in concerts and developing friendships with artists and literary people such as Frédéric Chopin, Ary Sheffler (1795–1858), the Dutch-German painter who became a father figure for her, Eugène Delacroix (1799–1863), and, of course, George Sand, who was saddened to see the Viardots depart for London for the spring season. In London, Pauline Viardot-Garcia assumed the part of Orazia in Cimarosa’s Gli Orazi e i Curiazi, which had been created by the great Grassini. Chorley felt that even Malibran’s sister could do nothing for the heroine in this weak opera. He wrote that Pauline had to fight recollections of Pasta in Tancredi, which she sang with Persiani. She also had to contend

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with the malevolent presence of Grisi, with whom she had to sing Semiramide. However, as Angelina, Chorley wrote Yet even so early in her career her singing in La Cenerentola could not be exceeded for invention and brilliancy of style. When she appeared with Rubini she had to subdue her voice so as to match his musical whisper; but for the final rondo she had already invented that reading and those admirably ingenious changes (changes not so much allowed as demanded by Signor Rossini’s music) most of which have been quietly appropriated by less imaginative singers—to name but one, Madame Alboni.10

The year 1841 was to be Rubini’s farewell season in London, and on April 29, he sang a benefit performance of Otello opposite Pauline’s Desdemona. The previous night was the Ancient Concert at the Hanover Square Rooms, where Viardot-Garcia performed Beethoven’s terzetto Tremate, empi, tremate with Rubini and Lablache. Pauline also sang two concerts on May 12 and 17. On May 17, there took place what was deemed the “Monster Concert” in the press—Mr. Benedict’s morning soiree at Her Majesty’s Theater. The concert was oversold, and some patrons were turned away, while the rest were packed into an overheated room where they could not exit, even if they had wanted to. The concert lasted four-and-a-half hours, but all agreed that there was great music-making. The highlight was “Preghiera” from Rossini’s Mosé sung by Rubini, Mario (Giovanni Matteo de Condia), Viardot, Grisi, Persiani, the Lablaches, and other stars of the opera and accompanied by Liszt, Henri François Joseph Vieuxtemps (1820–1881) on the violin, and Giovanni Puzzi (1792–1876) on the horn. The same night she sang with most of the same stars at Buckingham Palace. The singers had learned that London was the source of the highest fees paid anywhere, and most of them often sang more than one performance a day. Because of such gruelling schedules, it is hardly surprising that Pauline was tired; added to this, she was expecting her first child. At the end of the season, she was happy to accept an invitation from George Sand to vacation at her estate at Nohant. After Pauline sang a concert in Paris on August 24, the Viardots joined Sand, Chopin, and Delacroix for rest, music-making, and good conversation. Louis was an avid hunter, and Pauline enjoyed outdoor walks with him. Most of all, she enjoyed going through whole scores with Chopin and listening to him improvising and playing his own works. This carefree idyll had to be cut short because Pauline was engaged for the Three Choirs Festival at Gloucester in early September. This is the world’s oldest choral festival, which dates back to 1724 and is hosted by the three choirs of Gloucester, Herford, and Worcester in rotation. The festival has presented Handel’s great choral works and featured many eminent soloists over the years. When Pauline returned to Paris, she had an exciting opportunity to premiere Rossini’s Stabat Mater before a distinguished audience in a private tryout at the salon of M. Herz

on October 31, 1841. She then gave birth to her first child, a daughter named Louise Pauline Marie, on December 14. Pauline, who was just twenty years old, was not oriented toward domestic life and resumed her career almost immediately. In February, she appeared in concert with Chopin, but, with no operatic engagements forthcoming, she and Louis left for a concert tour of Spain in April 1842. Little Louise was left in the care of her grandmother, Joaquina. Louis had always been enamored of Spain and its culture, and Pauline had never visited the country of her parents’ birth. When they reached Madrid, they were dismayed to find that the Italian opera company had been disbanded. Pauline repeated history and recruited an ensemble from amateur and professional singers, as her father had in America in 1825. She too worked night and day to prepare them for performances of Il barbiere di Siviglia and Otello. Despite the difficulties, Pauline was successful and the Viardots were feted wherever they went. While in Spain, Pauline first encountered her bête noire, Norma. Although the part was not very congenial vocally, she identified with the Druid priestess and insisted on singing it throughout her career. At this time, the Viardots were in touch with George Sand and eagerly awaited the latest issue of La Revue Indépendante, which included installments of Sand’s latest novel Consuelo. The heroine was unabashedly based on Pauline ViardotGarcia. In the novel, Sand advances the Lisztian idea of génie oblige, or the obligation of genius to care for one and all and to promote the ideals of truth and beauty. Pauline was influenced by this ideal all her life and George provided encouragement for her protégé. Pauline’s career seemed to be at a stopping point; negotiations for Italian engagements had fallen through. Finally, four days before the premiere of Semiramide, on October 13, 1841, the Théâtre Italien announced that Pauline Viardot-Garcia would sing the part of Arsace to Grisi’s Semiramide, not in her own right, but as a substitute for an indisposed singer. The reviews were generally favorable, but when the season was over, it was not considered a success. Pauline had been discriminated against in her choice of repertoire by theater management, which was afraid to incur the displeasure of Grisi and Persiani. She was allowed only supporting roles in La Cenerentola, Tancredi, and Valentino Fioravanti’s Le cantatrici villane (1799). Ninetta, a soprano part in La gazza ladra, was her only lead role. In addition, there were critics who viciously attacked her, not because of her singing, but because of the political views of her husband and George Sand. When she wished to sing Rosina at her own benefit, the Figaro, Antonio Tamburini suddenly became mysteriously ill and the performance never took place. Onlookers did not fail to note that Tamburini was an original member of the famous “Puritani Quartet,” which, besides him, consisted of Grisi, Rubini (replaced in 1839 by Mario, Grisi’s lover and eventual husband), and Lablache. All the friends around Pauline agreed that such a poisonous atmosphere would destroy her career and that she must build it up elsewhere, so she ultimately returned to Paris riding on a wave of success.



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When an offer came from Donizetti, the director of the Kärntnertortheater in Vienna, she left Paris. After a triumphant debut as Rosina in Il barbiere di Siviglia on April 19, 1843, Pauline was received by the emperor, sought after by all the nobility, and acclaimed by the public. Unfortunately, Donizetti’s Alina (1827) was a failure, despite Pauline’s inclusion of a rondo by de Bériot based on a theme from L’elisir d’amore. However, she performed the opera at La Scala between 1843 and 1846. Pauline’s performance of Amina in La sonnambula was subject to some animosity from Italian partisans, but she rose to the occasion and was given an ovation at the end of the opera. She went from there to Prague for more performances of Il barbiere and then to Berlin, where she met Meyerbeer, who had been a friend of her sister. Meyerbeer made it known that he considered Pauline Viardot-Garcia to be the foremost singer of the day and arranged a concert for her before the king. Meyerbeer was a powerful person in Paris at the Opéra and stated that he would not allow any of his operas to be performed there unless Pauline was in the cast. This, as we shall see, was an important development for Pauline Viardot and a new direction for the alto voice in opera. It was also to impact the career of Giulia Grisi. The Viardots returned to France and visited Nohant for a short time, then they traveled to Berlin for a few concerts, and finally went to Leipzig, where Pauline joined Robert and Clara Schumann, as well as Felix Mendelssohn (1809–1847) at the Gewandhaus for some sublime music-making. In a few days, Pauline was able to announce that Louis had negotiated a contract for the coming season with the Imperial Theaters in St. Petersburg in the mysterious and forbidding Russian empire. European travelers to Russia were often nervous but fascinated by the prospect of encountering an alien environment: one trembles lest one should encounter a bear on the Nevsky Perspective, or receive in one’s peaceable dwelling a famished wolf. His mind full of such erroneous anticipations, the traveler fancies himself a stage or two beyond Christendom, expects to make acquaintance with a semi-barbarous land, and approaches the City of the Czars with trepidation and anxiety. How startling and agreeable is the contrast to these gloomy forebodings, of the reality that presents itself on entering the Russian capital, especially if the approach is made from the side of the sea. The beauty of the entrance into St. Petersburg cannot easily be paralleled.11

In 1836, the Russian appetite for Italian opera was stimulated by a local production of Semiramide. In 1841, Giuditta Pasta had pioneered the Italian opera’s conquest of Russia. She appeared in Norma, which she had created ten years earlier, and Semiramide, Tancredi, and Anna Bolena. Pasta’s great style was intact but her voice was not. In the spring of 1843, the eminent tenor Giovanni Battista Rubini had visited Moscow and St. Petersburg for a series of concerts. After Lent in St. Petersburg, he starred in La sonnambula, Lucia di Lammermoor, I puritani,

Otello, a performance of scenes from Marino Faliero by Donizetti, and Niobe by Pacini. He was assisted by a local company of Russian and German singers who had learned their parts in Italian just for the occasion. Although Rubini’s voice was a bit worn, the critics were ecstatic. The “iron tyrant,” Tsar Nicholas I (1825–1855), was reported to be in tears. Nicholas appointed Rubini “imperial director of singing” and asked him to organize a first-rate Italian opera company for the following season, 1843 to 1844. This was the environment where the twenty-two-yearold Pauline Viardot-Garcia found herself as prima donna. Pauline Viardot-Garcia’s debut was in Il barbiere on November 3, 1843. She was joined by Rubini and Tamburini in the three-thousand-seat Bol’shoy Theater (not to be confused with Moscow’s Bol’shoy). Pauline had a triumph that could only be compared with those that her sister had experienced in Italy. Critics were amazed by her voice and captivated by her conception of the character, which was faithful to both Beaumarchais and Rossini. She was considered to be a greater artist than Sontag, Catalani, or Pasta. Heady fare for a girl of twenty-two! On November 27, she sang “The Nightingale,” a popular romance by Alyabyev in perfect Russian in the lesson scene. Pauline’s Russian language coach was Ivan Sergeyevich Turgenev (1818–1883), who would play a large part in Pauline’s life. The tsar himself applauded “like a madman.” From that moment on, Pauline Viardot-Garcia was the greatest star on the Russian stage. The next opera on Viardot’s schedule was Otello, and the reception was even more enthusiastic: Again her capacity for understanding the literary text as well as the music impressed the critics, who found Rubini wanting in this respect. “Madame Viardot-Garcia is both Shakespeare’s and Rossini’s Desdemona, whereas Rubini is only Rossini’s Othello.”12

Pauline Viardot seemed to sense the inexorable movement of the composers’ choice for the protagonists in opera away from the alto voice to the high soprano. Her way of combating this trend was to sing both categories: Semiramide and Lucia di Lammermoor were her next roles, the former judged to be the outstanding hit of the season. Pauline received excellent notices and the Russian public was thoroughly captivated by the Romantic movement. A new industry was founded—the raising of hothouse flowers for bouquets that rained down upon St. Petersburg’s new darling. However, the company was not able to adequately cast all the roles in Don Giovanni, and Mozart’s masterpiece was the only work that was unappreciated. At the end of the season, it was announced that Rubini would bring the opera company back to St. Petersburg for the 1844–1845 season, and the tickets immediately sold out. As Pauline left for Vienna, the news of her triumphs in St. Petersburg preceded her and she was recognized as the latest heir of the Garcia legacy. While Pauline was in Vienna, Louis traveled back to France, where he purchased a magnificent old house in Rozay-en-Brie, not far from Paris. In the three months she had off before the

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season began in St. Petersburg, Pauline busied herself setting up the household at Courtavenel, as the new house was called. The Viardots were reproached by George Sand for not visiting her at Nohant and for being “too Russified.” The stunning success of the previous season in St. Petersburg had resulted in the Italian company being expanded with two sections—one for St. Petersburg, the other for Moscow. There were ultimately to be seventy-six performances, the auditorium of the theater was enlarged, and ticket prices were increased. There were new additions to the company, notably Marietta Alboni and Jeanne Castellan (1819–d. after 1858), a notable French soprano. On October 21, 1844, ViardotGarcia’s season opened with La sonnambula. When she appeared, the applause lasted so long that she was reduced to tears and had to collect herself before she could begin to sing. Despite Pauline being idolized, the taste of the Russian public had begun to change. Her performance as Desdemona was considered great but the opera was deemed heavy and oldfashioned. There was another development: Castellan was not only a very good singer, but was considered to be beautiful, as well. As is often the case with opera fans, the public began to divide into two factions—the Viardotists and the Castellanists. The chief of the Viardotists was Turgenev, who, smitten with Pauline from the very first, loudly proclaimed his love for her to all who would listen. Pauline was probably embarrassed by Turgenev’s adoration, but she nevertheless continued her Russian lessons with him, as Louis was friendly with the Russian writer and shared a number of interests with him. After performances of Il barbiere and La Cenerentola, Viardot-Garcia again engaged her nemesis, Norma. Her performance of November 30 was considered a qualified success. “Viardot-Garcia is the most exquisite singer,” wrote a musical journal of repute, “strictly in the demi-caractère type of music, in opera buffa and semi-seria, but for opera seria her chest is too weak—this was proved by the part of Norma. Consequently she can probably be prima donna assoluta only in Petersburg.” This prophecy proved to be devastatingly accurate. Pauline may not have admitted to her friends that Norma had not been an unqualified success, but she was too intelligent not to realize it herself. Norma continued to terrify, torment, tantalize, and fascinate her literally to her dying day.13 Before the beginning of Lent, an opera called Bianca e Gualtiero composed by A. L’vov [1798–1870] was performed. Even with Viardot, Rubini, and Tamburini singing, it was un succès d’estime, so to speak.14

As the season came to a close, Rubini retired but Tamburini and Viardot-Garcia agreed to return for the 1845–1846 season. Pauline was presented with a golden flower holder bearing the signatures of the eighty-six subscribers on the handle, inscribed: “St. Petersburg, homage, admiration and recognition offered to Mme. Viardot-Garcia, on February 25th, 1845.” The names of the dozen roles she had sung in Russia were listed: Rosina,

Desdemona, Amina, Romeo, Lucia, Zerlina, Tancredi, Adina, Norma, Cenerentola, Bianca and Norina.15

The Viardots chose to remain in St. Petersburg during the Lenten season. Like London, there were concerts almost every day. One of the most important events for Russian music was that Viardot, Rubini, and Tamburini performed the trio from Glinka’s Life for the Tsar, which was the first time that European journals reported on Russian music in the West. Viardot-Garcia later did much to advance the cause of Russian composers. At the end of Lent, the Viardots traveled to Moscow for more concerts. The reception for Pauline was even more enthusiastic than in St. Petersburg. At one concert she had to repeat every song on the program and was given thirty curtain calls. By chance, Turgenev was also in Moscow, and he showed them around the city and even began to plan to follow the Viardots home. He was treated like a member of the family, and although his love for Pauline was never in question, her attitude toward him is a matter of some controversy. Although Pauline Viardot-Garcia loved her husband, Turgenev, her children, her mother, and George Sand, nothing was as important to her as her music. Those who wrote about her being a careerist missed the point. Artists like Viardot do not care as much about their careers in the same sense that movie stars care about theirs. In a letter to Louis written in 1857, Pauline declared: There is nothing more interesting, nothing more moving than to feel that you have an entire audience in the hollow of your hand, laughing when you laugh, weeping when you sob, and shaking with anger. Believe me when I say that if one feels so happy at these moments, it is not simply that one’s vanity is pleased, or that one experiences a sense of mastery over the audience, still less that that one is simply in accord with them; no, it is rather that the power of creation, kinetic strength, is being openly revealed in the performer.16

Nor was it a love of money: now success and property ownership made it difficult for her to focus on her art for art’s sake, and she cried: “Oh give me back my songs, my sleep. Take back your hundred crowns.”17

After a rest at Courtavenel, Pauline received a letter on July 1, 1845, from Meyerbeer inviting her to take part in a ceremony in Bonn for a monument unveiling to Beethoven with an accompanying festival. The project had been proposed by Franz Liszt, who contributed a great deal of money toward it. Nobility, both hereditary and artistic, attended, including Queen Victoria. On August 11, a small concert under Meyerbeer’s direction was given for all the dignitaries. Both Pauline and Jenny Lind (1820–1887), her brother’s prize pupil, sang. On August 13, Pauline sang the great scene from Orfeo and she and Jenny Lind sang the duet from Les Huguenots with Meyerbeer as the accompanist. At the end of the festival, the Viardots returned to Courtavenel, where they were joined by Turgenev at the end of August.



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The 1845–1846 St. Petersburg season took place in a radically changed atmosphere. The public, ever fickle, began to lose interest in Italian opera. Rubini was gone and the previous season had been overextended in the number of performances and ticket prices. Rossini was considered by some of the dilettanti as old hat, and some felt that Donizetti, so popular a few years before, had “written himself out.” I Lombardi by Verdi was greeted by howls of outrage. After an engagement in Berlin, Viardot-Garcia opened her season in October to a warm welcome. She sang her first Norina in Donizetti’s Don Pasquale, which, having premiered in 1843, was dans l’air du temps, but it failed to draw. There were further travails. Louis and Pauline had taken Louise with them and the child had developed whooping cough, and, more seriously, Louis came down with cholera. Pauline continued to sing L’elisir d’amore, Il barbiere, and finally La sonnambula, which was the last triumph she would enjoy in St. Petersburg for a long while. She contracted whooping cough from Louise and was forced to cancel the rest of the season. The Viardots left St. Petersburg on February 24, 1846, and passed through Berlin on the way home. During the summer, Turgenev wrote often, urging Pauline to return to St. Petersburg for the fourth time. However, after the taxing season in Russia, Pauline knew that she had to recover her health before making any decisions about further engagements. She finally decided on Berlin, where Meyerbeer was anxious to work with her. Thus, she avoided the climate in Russia, which most of the Italian singers found distressing, and Turgenev’s presence, which was often disturbing to her. Pauline’s debut on October 5, 1846, at the Königstadt Theater was as Amina in La sonnambula. In her letters, she claimed that her success had been great, but German audiences were more reserved than her Russian admirers. On October 13, she sang a duet concert with her sister’s old rival, Henriette Sontag (now Countess Rossi) at the Italian Embassy. She then sang her first Berlin Norma on November 2. The Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung published a long article about the performance that called Pauline Viardot-Garcia “an extraordinary singer, better, a musical genius.”

Italian, while those at the Deutsche Theater were in German. Additional operas at the Königstadt Theater were Norina in Don Pasquale on the November 18, Don Giovanni, L’elisir d’amore, and Otello. At the Deutsche Theater she also sang Otello and Il barbiere in German. There she partnered with the Bohemian proto-Heldentenor, Joseph Alois Tichatschek (1807–1886). Tichatschek was the first Rienzi, the first Tannhäuser, and the best of the early Lohengrins. The Berlin engagement from 1846 to 1847 was an important turning point for Viardot because working with Meyerbeer showed her a path to the future. Her repertoire also consisted of new dramatic parts that were more theatrical and, for the most part, less florid. Though these roles were mostly written for heroic sopranos, Pauline sang Leonore in Fidelio, Gluck’s Iphigénie en Tauride, Rachel in La Juive of Halévy, Valentine in Les Huguenots, and Alice in Robert le diable by Meyerbeer. In Robert, Viardot performed the legendary feat of singing two roles in the same opera. Tuezek, who was singing Isabella, became ill. The management was frantic and Pauline took over her part. Since the characters are never on stage at the same time, she was able to change costumes and assume both characters. The public loved it and wanted her to repeat her tour de force, but Viardot refused, not wishing to offend the other singer. The new repertoire was not appreciated by everyone. Delacroix wrote a letter to George Sand on November 20, 1847: Last night I saw the opera of the famous Verdi, (he referred to the first performance of Jerusalem [I Lombardi] at the Opéra on the 19th) about whom that young German musician I met at your house was so enthusiastic; Verdi or Merdi is the fashion of today; it’s merely a rehash of Rossini’s leavings, without the ideas; nothing but noise! They’ll ask your opinion, so you’ll have to go see it, but I won’t go with you, I assure you. I keep thinking about your poor Madame Viardot whose inevitable fate, if she wants to earn a living, is to sing the music of these scoundrels for evermore.19

George Ferris recapped Pauline’s Berlin season:

The biggest sensation made was the Norma, and rightly so, for the brilliant woman developed in this well-known opera an originality of conception of the character, a wealth of beautiful and dramatic true intentions, a mastery, power, energy and stamina in singing that surpasses anything seen or heard until now from the time of the Norma of Fraul. Hähnel (who in Könnigstadt, about 12 years ago, was the first Norma for Berlin), until Jenny Lind.

Berlin, Vienna, Hamburg, Dresden, Frankfort, Leipsic, and other German cities were the scenes of a series of triumphs, and everywhere there was but one voice as to her greatness as an artist, an excellence not only great, but unique of its kind. Her repertoire at this time consisted of Desdemona, Cenerentola, Rosina, Camilla (in “Orazi”), Arsace, Norma, Ninetta, Amina, Romeo [in Bellini’s I Capuletti], Lucia, Maria di Rohan, Leonora (“La Favorita”), Zerlina, Donna Anna, Iphigénie (Gluck), the Rachel of Halévy, and the Alice and Valentine of Meyerbeer.20

The article goes on to compare Pauline’s performance to that of Jenny Lind who, it was said, “was an insulted civilized woman, who in her soul was an injured Christian nun,” while Viardot was a “priestess of a barbarous uncivilized people, a Gallic woman.”18 Pauline had to call upon her natural aptitude for languages in Berlin because the operas at the Königstadt Theater were in

Ferris failed to mention the Leonore in Fidelio. Also, Meyerbeer, who was famous for his powers of persuasion, talked a reluctant Pauline into singing Vielka in Ein Feldlager in Schliesen, which had been written for Jenny Lind. While Viardot was in Berlin, she was approached by her old friend Clara Schumann. Clara asked her to appear in Robert’s Das Paradies und die Peri. Pauline, overburdened by learning

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new parts, reluctantly refused. From then on, Clara, who despised Meyerbeer, referred to Pauline with a hint of bitterness. The summer of 1847 was eventful. Pauline was grieved by the breakup of Chopin and George Sand. She was friendly with both of them and tried to remain neutral, despite pressure from people who had axes to grind on both sides. Turgenev stayed with the Viardots at Courtavenel and did some of his best writing there. The exact nature of the ménage à trois of Louis, Pauline, and Turgenev is not known. Louis and Turgenev had many interests in common and the older man may have resigned himself to the status quo. Turgenev, for his part, loved Pauline his whole life and did not want to cause her unhappiness, so whatever love relationship there was between them was discreet. In the fall of 1847, Pauline again embarked on a tour of Germany and visited Dresden, Hamburg, and Berlin. Undaunted by their experience in St. Petersburg, the Viardots also brought Louise along. In Berlin, she saw a great deal of Meyerbeer, who was the Generalmusikdirector there. Meyerbeer had not forgotten his promise to compose a new opera for her at the Paris Opéra. In the beginning of 1848, he was in Paris and nearing completion of the work that included the role that was to become her signature, Fidès in Le prophète. After protracted negotiations, she was engaged to premiere the work in September 1848. While Meyerbeer was in Paris, the conflagration called the Revolution of 1848 erupted. Fears haunting the established classes of Europe for thirty years came true in 1848. Remembered horrors appeared again, as in a recurring dream, in much the same sequence as after 1789 only at a much faster rate of speed. Revolutionaries milled in the streets, kings fled, republics were declared, and within four years there was another Napoleon. Soon thereafter there was a series of wars.21

In Paris, Louis-Philippe (1773–1850) abdicated and fled to England. A republic was declared and a period of turmoil ensued. Against this backdrop of unrest, Pauline traveled from Germany to Paris, arriving in March. She and Meyerbeer worked intensely together on her role of Fidès, altering parts of it to fit her voice like a glove. Louis’s political dreams had seemed to come true. He contemplated becoming a member of the National Assembly, while Pauline composed a cantata, La jeune république, which was sung by tenor Gustave Roger (1815–1879) and sixty girls from the Conservatoire on April 6. Roger, who created the title role in La damnation de Faust (1846) of Berlioz, was to be the first Jean de Leyde in Le prophète opposite the Fidès of Viardot-Garcia. The 1848 opera season in London, insulated from the convulsions in Europe, promised to be brilliant. There were two rival opera companies again, one at Covent Garden and the other at Her Majesty’s. Pauline was engaged at Covent Garden, where she had to contend with Grisi and Persiani once again. The main attraction at Her Majesty’s was her brother’s star pupil, Jenny Lind. Viardot-Garcia’s work was cut out for her. She chose to sing La sonnambula on May 9, 1848, a rather injudicious choice, since Grisi had sung the piece with great

success a few days earlier. Jenny Lind was also judged to be an outstanding Amina. Pauline was to be teamed up with Mario, but Grisi was up to mischief, and Mario became suddenly “indisposed.” Pauline had to make do with a substitute tenor, a certain Señor Puig (whose stage name was Signor Flavio), who had to go on without a rehearsal. She reported that he sang quite well but his acting was “stiff.” Pauline was very nervous and the audience was unresponsive until she sang “Ah! Non giunge,” whereupon she received an encore and enthusiastic applause. There were further complications: Pauline’s repertoire for the season was to consist of Les Huguenots, Fidelio, Romeo in I Capuletti e i Montecchi, and Iphigénie en Tauride. All were delayed because of missing music, translations not prepared on time, and so forth. Mario did sing the second Sonnambula, and the Illustrated London News said that there was a huge difference between this performance and the preceding one. In her opening cavatina, she was quite another being, taking the most difficult divisions with a volume of voice and a certainty that drew forth immense applause. In the finale of the bedroom scene she exhibited all the intensity of Malibran without the exaggeration, encouraging Mario to sing with extraordinary fervor: the effect was electric and there were loud cheers and calling for the singers at the end of the act. Mme. Viardot, by this second performance of Amina, has proved that her dramatic genius is of the highest order, and that she possesses originality of musical conception to a remarkable degree. Her fiorature are thoroughly artistic, and entirely her own. In respect to the quality of her organ, it is beautiful in the medium notes and soul stirring in the lower tones, but in the upper octave, there is a want of timbre, as if this portion of the register had been fatigued by over-exertion or by forcing them in her earlier studies.22

The reviewer was aware of Pauline’s transition to the head voice for her upper notes, as the Garcia training would dictate, but he probably did not understand that there would be fewer overtones in the higher register. Zerlina in Don Giovanni and Romeo in I Capuletti e i Montecchi passed without much notice but the London premiere of Les Huguenots was an immense success for Pauline in the role of Valentine and it caught the Italian cabal, who had hitherto avoided Meyerbeer’s works, by surprise. The opera was attended by Queen Victoria and Prince Albert and performed in Italian by Viardot and Mario “on command.” Chorley wrote that Les Huguenots established Pauline Viardot as “different from, and superior to, any other prima donna within the compass of these [his] recollections.” The effect which was to be produced in it seemed to strike conviction that the opera was not so much “foolishness” into Madame Grisi, who subsequently, in consequence of Madame Viardot’s deferred arrival, appropriated the part, and, with it, took as tradition some of her predecessor’s inventions—especially those of listening terror, in the striking conspiracy scene.23

Grisi was not through. Pauline’s benefit was scheduled for August 3. The morning of the performance, Mario announced



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that he was ill and could not appear. Grisi graciously offered to sing Norma for Pauline’s benefit if she wished. Pauline was ready this time and retorted that if anyone sang Norma, it would be she. Viardot also noted that Gustave Roger was in town and perhaps could be persuaded to take Mario’s part of Raoul in Les Huguenots. Roger readily agreed, but since he only knew the part in French, he sang in the original language while the rest of the cast sang in Italian. Pauline, in another feat of Garcia derring-do, learned as much of her part as she could in French while she was offstage and was able to join Roger in his own language as the evening wore on. The audience was very excited by this feat and gave the artists a great ovation. Grisi’s intrigues were thwarted, and from then on Pauline was given the respect she deserved. During the 1848 season, both Berlioz and Chopin were in London, perhaps avoiding the turmoil in Europe. Besides the opera season, there was a busy concert schedule. On May 12 and again at Chopin’s own concert in July, Viardot sang her own transcriptions of some of Chopin’s mazurkas, which were enthusiastically approved of by the composer. Then, on June 29, she premiered an arrangement for voice and orchestra of Berlioz’s La captive. Berlioz became one of her most fervent admirers and declared that “she was one of the greatest singers of all time.”24 After the London season, the Viardots remained in England for the music festivals in Norwich, Birmingham, and a reengagement for the Three Choirs Festival of Herford, Gloucester, and Worcester. Besides her familiar interpretations of operatic excerpts, Pauline exhibited her mastery of the styles of Haydn in The Creation, Handel’s Jeptha, and a scene from Carl Maria von Weber’s (1786–1826) Der Freischütz sung in German. After the British festivals, the Viardots returned to Paris and the new townhouse that Louis had had built on the Rue de Donai. Pauline had been engaged to sing Valentine in La Huguenots at the Théâtre de la Nation, as the Paris Opéra was called post-revolution. Pauline’s major concern in the fall of 1848 was the preparation of the role of Fidès with Meyerbeer. His grand operas were immensely popular with the French public, but he had not composed one for twelve years since Les Huguenots in 1836. Viardot and Meyerbeer needed each other; she to finally find her rightful place as the star of the Opéra, and he to retain his popularity in the face of the challenge from the growing reputation of Giuseppe Verdi, whose Jérusalem (I Lombardi) premiered there in 1847. Verdi was an admirer of Meyerbeer and credited him as being a model for his works. Meyerbeer, in turn, was influenced by the mature Rossini’s fluent vocal writing, but his four great operas, Robert le diable, Les Huguenots, Le prophète, and L’Africaine were also distinctly German in their meticulous preparation, philosophical underpinnings, and orchestral scoring. It is easy to see how Pauline Viardot, with her high-minded dedication and intellectual achievements, not to mention her great musical and vocal ability, would be irresistible to the composer. Giacomo Meyerbeer, born Jakob Liebmann Beer into an extremely wealthy family, was a talented composer whose popular-

ity lasted into the twentieth century, as long as there were singers able to interpret his difficult music. Les Huguenots, for example, requires seven virtuoso singers, and was called the “Night of the Seven Stars.”25 In addition, most of his grand operas required the vast resources of a subsidized opera house to mount these gargantuan works. In Le prophète, the sensational effect of the rising sun over the battlefield was staged by the first use of electrical arc lamps at the Paris Opéra; the ballet was equipped with a new invention—roller skates to simulate ice skating; and the final scene required the catastrophic demolition of a palace from the explosion of a powder magazine. The anti-Semitic attacks by Schumann, Heinrich Heine (1797–1856), and especially Wagner, who bit the hand that fed him, and the impact of the scenic effects and other novelties in his operas have done much to dim the luster of Meyerbeer’s career. Some pundits have observed that the music was the least important element in Meyerbeer’s operas. Berlioz, a friend of Meyerbeer, famously said: Meyerbeer has not merely the luck to have talent, but in a very high degree the talent to have luck.26

However, modern research has given Meyerbeer new status as one of the greatest and most influential composers of nineteenth-century opera. In his youth, Meyerbeer was a child prodigy as a pianist who studied with Muzio Clementi (1752–1832) and made his public debut at the age of eleven playing Mozart’s D minor Piano Concerto, K. 466. He counted among his friends Carl Maria von Weber and Ignaz Moscheles, with whom he enjoyed performing extemporized piano duets. Meyerbeer studied composition with the Abbé Georg Vogler (1749– 1814) and Mendelssohn’s teacher, Carl Friedrich Zelter (1758–1832). Meyerbeer had already composed several works but still considered himself to be a virtuoso pianist until he met Antonio Salieri, who encouraged him to travel to Italy to study writing for the voice. Europe was opera-mad and even Beethoven was intimidated by the mania for Rossini’s music. Meyerbeer understood that in order to be “on the map” as a composer, he had to write successful operas. He moved to Paris in 1815 and then to Italy the following year. There he adopted the first name “Giacomo” in place of Jakob. We have previously mentioned some of Meyerbeer’s Italian operas—Semiramide riconosciuta and Emma di Resburgo of 1819, Margherita d’Anjou (1820), and L’esule di Granata (1822). His greatest Italian success was Il crociato in Egitto, composed for La Fenice in Venice in 1824, after which Rossini invited him to the Théâtre Italien in Paris in 1825. Il crociato provided Meyerbeer with critical recognition but Robert le diable, in 1831, really began his career as the most-performed operatic composer of the nineteenth century. Meyerbeer had a contradictory and complicated personality. He was one of the first artists who understood the value of public relations and courted favor with the powerful, yet he was personally reserved and suspicious. He burned all letters that he received, was morbidly afraid of being buried alive, and had a horror of cats. He was outwardly affable but privately withdrawn

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and irritable. Meyerbeer invented the press conference to inform the public about the latest news in his compositional world. He was meticulous in his casting choices, and there was considerable delay in mounting Le prophète. The opera was based on a libretto by Eugène Scribe (1791–1861), and although Meyerbeer had been working on it since 1838, the first draft was not ready until 1841. Meyerbeer always had Viardot-Garcia in mind for the pivotal role of Fidès, but Leon Pillet, who was the director of the Opéra from 1840, insisted on casting his mistress, Rosine Stoltz, in the part. Meyerbeer deposited the score with a Parisian lawyer and refused to consider a production until his specifications were met. He was the only composer of his time who had the resources to control his destiny in this way. That was not all. Chorley tells us that, originally, Meyerbeer had conceived the eponymous part of John of Leyden for Adolphe Nourrit, “the most intellectually gifted of tenors on record,”27 who had committed suicide in 1839. Then he considered Gilbert-Louis Duprez, who had become famous for the so-called ut de poitrine in Rossini’s Guillaume Tell in 1837. By 1848, because of this pernicious technique, Duprez’s voice was almost gone, and Meyerbeer chose Gustave Roger instead. The other two major roles were Jeanne Castellan as Berthe and Nicholas Prosper Levasseur (1791–1871) as Zacharie. Levasseur was an excellent bass who created important roles for Rossini, Gounod, Halévy, and Donizetti, as well as for Meyerbeer. The preparation for Le prophète was long and arduous. The rehearsals, which began on October 1, 1848, saw Meyerbeer continually altering the score, much like the tryout period for a Broadway musical, as he struggled to reconcile Scribe’s artistic aims with his own while at the same time trying to please the singers. For example, Castellan wanted an introductory cavatina, which Meyerbeer considered unnecessary, but he nonetheless composed two. Castellan predictably chose the more florid version. Roger’s voice was more lyric than Duprez’s and Meyerbeer had to trim the part of Jean to suit him. In addition, Roger’s wife insisted that the composer cut Roger’s thirdact aria so as not to tire her husband too much. Meyerbeer did so, even though both he and Roger liked the aria very much. In such an atmosphere, Pauline’s advice and musical insights were beneficial to the composer. Le prophète is not a conventional love story and the part of Berthe is not the center of interest. It is, rather, the story of an older woman’s love for her son whom she is forced to renounce in order to save him. Only the true contralto voice can do justice to this part and Pauline’s searing portrayal is still being spoken of today. The aria “Ah! Mon fils” takes advantage of the strong chest and middle registers that Pauline obviously had, but it also reaches high up into the head register as well. Fidès is the forerunner of dramatic alto roles like Azucena and Ulrica, even Ortrud and Kundry, which are not romantic leads but important to the drama and the musical structure of the opera. Unquestionably Verdi was influenced by Le prophète when composing Il trovatore in 1853. In Verdi’s mind Azucena was to be the main role of the drama: he initially wanted to title his opera La zingara (“The Gypsy”)

or La vendetta (“The Revenge”). There is a first draft of the plot by Verdi, written before Cammarano had been chosen as the librettist. Azucena is the main character, and her revenge is the heart of the plot.28

After many postponements, the premiere of Le prophète took place on April 16, 1849. As late as April 8, Meyerbeer was still making revisions to the score. Because of the novelty of the libretto and the music, opinion was divided about the opera. Chopin and Delacroix, both friends of Pauline’s, hated it, but one point was agreed upon by all: it was a personal triumph for Pauline Viardot-Garcia. Berlioz, who could be severe toward mediocrity, reviewed the opera in the Journal des Débats on April 20, 1849: The success of Roger and Madame Viardot was immense. The latter, in the part of Fidès, displayed a dramatic talent which no one, in France, believed her to possess to such a high degree. All her poses, her gestures, her expressions, even her costume, are studied with profound art. As to the perfection of her singing, the extreme skill of her vocalization, her musical assurance— those are things known and appreciated by everyone, even in Paris. Madame Viardot is one of the greatest artists who come to mind in the past and present history of music. To be convinced of this, it is enough to hear her sing her first aria, “O mon fils, sois béni.”29

London was eager for its own premiere of Le prophète but both theaters, Covent Garden and Her Majesty’s, were in financial and artistic disarray. Meyerbeer felt that the London public would not tolerate a four-hour performance and gave the Covent Garden conductor, Michael Costa, carte blanche to make cuts. The role of Berthe was taken over by Catherine Hayes (1825–1861), an Irish soprano who had sung at La Scala and the opera was translated into Italian. Mario, who was a modern tenor in the sense that he relied much more on his natural talent than he did on skill as either a vocalist or musician, had not learned his part adequately and broke down musically several times. Nevertheless, on July 24, 1849, Pauline Viardot-Garcia swept away all previous reservations about her work with her portrayal of Fidès. Wilhem Kuhe (1823–1912), the Bohemian-born British musician and administrator, wrote that: Viardot-Garcia invested the part she created with a living interest, which made it quite as attractive as that of the ordinary youthful heroine. How beautifully she sang her two arias Ah, Mon Fils and Pieta, pieta and how transcendentally she acted in the Coronation scene; none who heard and saw her will ever forget.30

Chorley, who was an early supporter of Pauline but who was never blind to her faults, devoted an entire chapter in his book Thirty Years’ Musical Recollections to her. Her other great success, then in England, was in M. Meyerbeer’s Prophète—an opera so thoroughly identified with herself and so animated by her probable performance of a character (however improbable) high-toned and new in an opera, that it has lived



Pauline (Garcia) Viardot 123 a languishing life here since she has been withdrawn from it, as compared with the former work. The intrinsic merits of this opera will be discussed elsewhere; but here it must be repeated that our artist could set on the scene a homely burgher woman, with only maternal love and devotion to give her interest, and could so harmonize the improbabilities of a violent and gloomy story, and of music much too forced, as to make the world, for a while, accept it for its composer’s masterpiece. When the story of M. Meyerbeer’s operas is finally written it may prove that he was as much indebted to Madame Viardot for suggestion in Le prophète as he was to Nourrit in Les Huguenots.31

After an engagement in Liverpool where she appeared in Mendelssohn’s Elijah, the Viardots returned to Paris where, unbeknown to Pauline, her dear friend Chopin had died on October 17, 1849. On October 30, Pauline Viardot sang the alto part in a performance of Mozart’s Requiem dedicated to Chopin. Luigi Lablache, who had sung the “Tuba Mirum” at Beethoven’s funeral, had the bass part. Later in the fall, the Viardots received a visit from a young man who was scheduled for a thirty-minute interview. The visit lasted for more than two hours. They had met briefly, nine years previously, in Rome. The young man, Charles Gounod, impressed Pauline with his charm, musicality, and good looks. He also had an air of an ascetic about him, as he had contemplated the priesthood and had a lifelong interest in Catholic theological matters. Like Turgenev, he also had a very close relationship with his mother, a piano teacher, who accompanied the thirty year old everywhere. Gounod had written nothing for the stage, he said, because he did not know a competent librettist, so Pauline gave him an introduction to Emile Augier (1820–1889). She agreed to sing in Gounod’s opera and on the basis of her fame in Le prophète, Nestor Roqueplan (1809–1870), the director of the Opéra, agreed to stage the work by the unknown composer. The result was Gounod’s first opera, Sapho. Pauline uncharacteristically seemed to completely suspend judgment with regard to Gounod. She wrote to George Sand: “Really, for Art, what a consolation it is to be face to face with a great musical genius, without always having to give oneself a crick in the neck from looking backwards into the past,” she told her. Apart from his musical genius, Pauline assured George that Gounod was a man of distinction, “a noble nature, lofty and simple.” She spent her time making music with him “from morning to evening, and dreaming about it from evening to morning.” She even went so far as to tell George that she considered Gounod to be in “the same elevated sphere” as Mozart.32

In the spring of 1850, Pauline left for Germany, where she was to sing several performances of Le prophète. Soon the Viardots received the news that Gounod’s brother, Urbain, had died. Gounod’s mother was prostrate with grief, and Charles had to suspend work on Sapho to attend to his family’s affairs. The kindly Louis discreetly offered the young composer money, if he needed it. Then the Viardots invited Gounod and his mother to Courtavenel so Charles could finish Sapho in peace. The Gounods gratefully accepted.

The peculiar organization of the occupants of Courtavenel in 1850 has been described in great detail elsewhere.33 Besides Louis and Pauline Viardot, Gounod and his mother, there was also Pauline’s daughter Louise, Louis’s sister Berthe, Pauline’s mother Joaquina, her uncle Paolo, and Ivan Turgenev. Both Turgenev and Gounod adored Pauline, and she began to spend more time with the latter discussing Sapho. The men in this situation got on well together, but Turgenev returned to Russia in June while the Viardots were in London. Then, in November, Turgenev wrote that he had an illegitimate daughter the same age as Louise who was suffering bullying and abuse from servants, other children, and even from Turgenev’s mother, who had died and left the author a substantial fortune. Pauline offered to raise the child, Pelageya, along with her own daughter. The young girl was nicknamed Paulinette and proved to be as difficult as Louise, who resented her and her mother’s relationship with Turgenev. The 1850 season at Covent Garden featured Halévy’s La Juive with Viardot as Rachel. The production was sumptuous and money was no object. Pauline had already appeared as Rachel numerous times singing the role in French and German. For the Italian company in London, she learned the part in Italian. Chorley felt that the music, written for soprano Cornélie Falcon, was beyond the natural range of Pauline’s voice but that she acted and sang it “sublimely.” Chorley did not mention that Grisi tried yet a third time to sabotage Pauline’s premiere: In 1850, when La Juive was revived for Viardot, with Mario as the Eléazar, the latter became indisposed a few hours before the premiere. This time Viardot was prepared. She had a substitute, a Belgian tenor named Enrico Maralti (Merelt) ready and waiting, and the performance went on. It was, of course, Maralti’s last performance in the part.34

The original Eléazar was Adolphe Nourrit, who was renowned for his artistic integrity, attention to detail, and intelligence. His makeup for the aged Eléazar was correct in every detail. Mario, on the other hand, who was famous for his good looks, refused to alter his appearance and appeared to be as young as his daughter.35 During the 1850 London season, Viardot-Garcia appeared in two other roles that couldn’t be more different from Rachel—Zerlina in Don Giovanni and Adina in L’elisir d’amore. Others in the cast were Mario, Tamburini as Belcore, and Georgio Ronconi (1810–1890) as Dr. Dulcamara. A press notice remarked: “L’Elisir was revived, Mme. Viardot making her first Covent Garden appearance as Adina. It was one of the great hits of the season. Her Adina was a piece of genuine, refined comedy and her vocalization was distinguished by the most brilliant cadenzas. In Prendi per me she was immediately applauded, as also in the two duets.36

The rehearsals for Sapho commenced at the Opéra in the beginning of February 1851. Pauline had to assume command of the proceedings because of Gounod’s inexperience and the

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incompetence of others in the cast. Gounod was unused to the chaos of an operatic premiere and Pauline had to soothe him like a child, though he was three years older than she. Because of the closeness of their relationship, there were (and still are) rumors that they were lovers. Whatever the case, the opera opened on April 16, 1851, to mixed reviews. The opera was uneven in quality, had no ballet, and was thought by some to be “politically dangerous and subversive.”37 The unkindest cut of all came from Léon Escudier: “Madame Viardot no longer sings,” wrote Escudier in La France Musicale on 20th April. “Every note that comes from her intelligent voice is an ear-splitting cry. This singer, once so admired, is more or less dead to art.”38

Sapho was withdrawn after seven performances and Pauline Viardot did not sing in all of them. During such a period of unrest, there is evidence that perhaps Pauline, who was only thirty, was criticized more for her husband’s political views than she was for her singing. The London season opened on July 5, 1851, with Le prophète. Pauline and Mario were generally praised. On July 11, Viardot appeared as Pappagena in The Magic Flute while Grisi sang Pamina. On August 2, Pauline reprised Adina, one of her most popular parts in London. Gounod had accompanied the Viardots to London, where Sapho premiered on August 9, 1851. The general consensus of the critics was that the work was pretentious and boring. Pauline, as usual, was praised for her individual effort. She had introduced some of Gounod’s sacred works in concerts around London before the premiere of Sapho and introduced him to influential friends. Gounod, beginning to feel that he no longer needed her to advance his career, turned on her like a viper. He mostly blamed her for choosing Augier as librettist for Sapho because the poet took a lot of the criticism relating to the opera. But he also wrote to a friend that Pauline’s voice was past its prime and that she sang out of tune all the time. While in London, Pauline learned from a musical journal that her contract at the Paris Opéra had been cancelled. The official reason was that she needed a rest but the real truth was that she had been labeled a subversive, a friend of George Sand, and the wife of Louis Viardot, a dangerous republican. Gounod decided that his association with the Viardots was no longer politically advantageous and began to withdraw. He married the daughter of a professor at the Conservatoire, Anna Zimmerman. It seems that he was browbeaten into proposing by his future mother-in-law, a formidable woman, like his own mother. Pauline was expecting her second child, Claudie, in May 1852, and Gounod vowed not to get married until after her baby was born. The Zimmermans had received an anonymous letter accusing Gounod and Pauline Viardot of having had an affair. Making last-minute excuses not to attend several dinners with the Viardots, Gounod and the Zimmermans announced that the marriage would take place without guests. Pauline had sent a wedding present of a gold bracelet to Anna Zimmerman, whom she had known since she was a

child. Gounod returned the bracelet, stating that Anna wished to wear no bracelet other than the one he had given her. For his ill-mannered behavior, Gounod received the following letter from Louis Viardot: Sir: It is no longer for my wife, but for me to write to you today. Since you have had the weakness, I might say the cowardice, to make yourself intermediary for, and the accomplice of, an insult addressed to a woman whom you should at least respect, you will not be surprised that I should, from henceforth, close the door of my house to you. Doubtless you will, sir, be a great musician and will have admirers, but I doubt you will keep your friends. Louis V.

For his part, Pierre Zimmerman stated that he had never believed the rumors about Pauline and Gounod. Turgenev, Ary Scheffer, the painter who was like a second father to Pauline, and George Sand all withdrew their friendships with the hypocritical composer. In June, the Viardots received the unwelcome news that Turgenev had been imprisoned briefly and then was placed under house arrest at Spasskoye, his family estate. He had angered the tsar with an article he had written eulogizing Nicolai Gogol (1809–1852), who had been a notorious critic of the autocratic establishment. Pauline rested for the summer and then felt well enough to travel to England, where she appeared in festivals in Norwich, Birmingham, and at the Sacred Harmonic Society in London. She had always excelled in sacred music and Chorley had remarked that in that genre “she had never been surpassed.”39 In January 1853 the Viardots returned to St. Petersburg, the scene of Pauline’s former triumphs. Her initial role was Rosina and she was welcomed back by an enthusiastic public who were relieved that rumors of her vocal decline were greatly exaggerated. She performed many of her old roles in works like Otello, Il barbiere, and La sonnambula, but some were transposed, a well-worn Garcia solution to the problem of growing older. The tenor Mario was also engaged for the season and did his lastminute cancellation act for Il barbiere, but Viardot substituted La Cenerentola without a rehearsal and scored a brilliant success. Le prophète was new to Russia and many felt that Fidès was now more appropriate for Pauline’s age (she was only thirty-two). In March, Louis came down with the flu and decided to return home. Pauline traveled to Moscow, where her reception was even greater that it had been in St. Petersburg. Being Lent, she only appeared in concert, often accompanying herself. Her vocal arrangement of one of Chopin’s mazurkas was especially appreciated. Apparently, Turgenev evaded his house arrest and visited her for a short time in Moscow, although nothing is known about the visit. One important facet of Viardot’s visit to Russia is that her concerts featured pieces by contemporary Russian composers such as Glinka, Alexander S. Dargomyzhski (1813–1869), and Anton Ru-



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binstein (1829–1894). She later made them known to the West, along with Alexander Borodin (1833–1887) and Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky (1840–1893). On June 13, 1853, Viardot-Garcia was back in London where she appeared in several concerts with the Philharmonic Society. She sang in Handel’s Samson in Liverpool and then returned home to Paris where her career was stymied through no fault of her own. She was pregnant again and devoted herself much more to Louis and her family. The Viardots’ daughter Marianne was born on March 15, 1854. However, Pauline was sufficiently recovered to take part in the Covent Garden season from June to August 1854. The Musical World, in perusing the prospectus for the season remarked: Another great name remains to be added—Pauline Viardot Garcia who has been re-engaged after the absence of two seasons. This distinguished artist is as much a contralto as a soprano, and as much a mezzo soprano as either. We have therefore, not classed her among the soprani proper, although she stands next to Grisi on the list.40

The season was marked by the first of Giulia Grisi’s interminable series of “farewells.” Although the great bass Luigi Lablache had sung in London repeatedly since 1830, he finally made his Covent Garden debut on May 9. Pauline reprised Le prophète in a performance before Queen Victoria and the king of Portugal. Jean was sung by Enrico Tamberlik (1820–1889), an Italian dramatic tenor who was to become an important Verdi interpreter and who was first to interpolate the high C in Il trovatore. Tamberlik was the only competitor to Mario. The Musical World welcomed Viardot back with a long critique: Madame Viardot’s style and method are models. It is the style and method of Garcia, of Malibran, Catalani, and Pasta. Her faults arise from the want of dependence upon her vocal powers. Not being able to trust to her voice alone for producing effects, she is sometimes led to sacrifice natural and simple expression to an excess of elaboration, and a continual endeavor to make the most out of every bar and phrase. But even this is done with wonderful skill, and is not always easily detected. As a mere vocalist, Madame Viardot is one of the greatest we ever heard. Her manner of enunciating, and her method of producing the voice might afford a useful lesson to some of her most famous contemporaries. Moreover—what cannot be said of many singers—she is a practiced and skilled musician.41

Gnecco’s buffa opera La prova d’un opera seria was given in July with a strong cast of Viardot, Lablache, and Ronconi. Lablache caricatured Pauline to the amusement of all. On the same program, Pauline introduced the rondo finale from Balfe’s The Maid of Artois, which her sister had created in 1836. On July 15, she sang Desdemona and three days later sang two acts of Le prophète and La prova d’un opera seria to cover for another’s indisposition. On August 9, Pauline took part in a song recital at the Harmonic Union. In September,

she returned to Worcester for the Three Choirs Festival, where she performed in Elijah and arias from La Sonnambula and La Cenerentola. Then on September 21, she participated in the opening performance of St. George’s Hall in Liverpool with much the same repertoire as in Worcester, plus Louis (Ludwig) Spohr’s (1784–1859) Last Judgment. The latter work was thought too high for Pauline but she was given great credit for negotiating it. In January 1855, Pauline Viardot received a visitor at her home in Paris. It turned out to be a moderately successful Italian composer named Giuseppe Verdi, whose latest work, Il trovatore, was creating a sensation at the Théâtre Italien. Verdi had come to ask Pauline to step into the role of Azucena, a part that was definitely influenced by Pauline’s portrayal of Fidès in Le prophète. Il trovatore was having a long run but the Azucena, Adelaide Borghi-Mamo (1826–1901), described as “one of the finest lyric tragediennes of the age,”42 had just had a baby, Erminia, who would later become a successful soprano. Although Pauline did not know the work and had never seen the score, she attended a rehearsal and sang the next performance but not without extracting a contract of two performances of Rosina from the management. Like Gounod before him, Verdi was amazed at Pauline’s astonishing grasp of a new musical idiom and of her ability to commit it to memory almost instantaneously. Of this wonderful feat the Italian said: “I can never forget it—she’s a woman of great talent and altogether remarkable.”43

For her trouble, Pauline was immediately criticized: for declaiming rather than singing, for delivering [her part] with too much fire, for gesturing too much . . . for being too much the actress. . . . But, however that might be, she has produced the most lively impression on the public.44

The Paris critic for The Musical World, who paraphrased a review by P. A. Fiorentino in Le Constitutionnel, was even more scathing. His vicious review can be summed up in the following sentence: There is no use concealing the fact that Mad. Viardot’s performance was a failure.45

Louis Viardot wrote a letter to the Musical World in rebuttal and enclosed the following letter from Verdi: Sirs—I was not acquainted with the article you mention in the English journal The Musical World, which I do not find just. Since Madame Viardot does me the honour to value my opinion of the manner in which she sustained the part of Azucena, in the Trovatore, I am happy to repeat to her what I had the pleasure to tell her at her first representation, in the ThéâtreItalien—which is, that, without considering the veritable tour de force of appearing, after a single rehearsal, in a part new to her, and so difficult as that of Azucena, it is impossible to represent it with more intelligence, truth, and perfection, than she had done in every detail. Mad. Viardot was, in the part of Azucena,

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what she has been and always will be, a great artist, in the full acceptation of the term. Such is my opinion—an opinion, moreover, which the public completely shares with me. Pray accept and present to Madame the expression of my sentiments les plus distingués. Paris, 12th March, 1855.46

As a result, Verdi insisted on Pauline’s singing Azucena in the London premiere of Il trovatore, which took place on May 10, 1855, before the queen, Napoleon III, and Empress Eugénie. With the Verdi work, Pauline Viardot-Garcia’s art anticipated the modern era and her skills showed that a singer trained in bel canto can deal with the Italian melodramatic operas, French grand opera, and even some of Wagner’s works. It should be said that the English critics were divided on the merits of Il trovatore and some of the old guard considered Verdi’s music to be offensive to the ears. Madame Viardot’s Azucena is one of the most remarkable performances of its time. The savage, credulous, restless Spanish gypsy, strong in her instincts but whose reason amounts to little beyond a few broken ideas of revenge, is in every word, look, and gesture. Nor has Covent Garden ever heard such singing as hers in this music. It lies thoroughly within the compass of her voice:—the middle portion of which has gained body and sweetness. Since Madame Pasta and Rubini left the stage, we have had nothing of higher vocal finish—nothing in dramatic utterance more true and beautiful than her delivery of the Andantino, “Si, la stanchezza” [act 4].47

Pauline appeared in Julius Benedict’s concert with the rest of the artists of the Royal Italian Opera on June 14. Along with familiar arias, she sang two “woodland melodies” part songs, “The Forest Home” and “The Warbler of the Forest” with her friends, Clara Novello (1818–1908) and Charlotte Sainton-Dolby (1821–1885). She then sang Rosina on June 23. Le prophète was given for the first time in August with Viardot and Tamberlik as Jean. The Royal Italian Opera then embarked on a tour to the Theater Royal in Liverpool. Pauline sang an act of Otello following a performance of Lucia by others, and added Donna Anna to her repertoire. The festival in Birmingham was next, where Pauline won plaudits for her performance in Elijah. The “great event” in Birmingham, on August 29, was the premiere of Sir Michael Costa’s oratorio Eli. Besides Viardot, the singers were Sims Reeves (1818–1900), a British tenor known for his fine oratorio singing, Jeanne Castellan, and Karl Johann Formes (1815–1889), a German bass. Viardot was singled out for her work—“nothing could be more artistic and finished.”48 On September 3, 1855, Il trovatore was given its initial performance in Dublin by the Covent Garden Company with Viardot-Garcia and Tamberlik. “Certainly the Azucena, as an ‘all round’ performance, has never been equaled; but all the lyric world with one consent submit to the matchless genius of Viardot.”49 The next night Pauline offered her Rosina to the Dublin public. On September 6, her incomparable Fidès in Le prophète was given there for the first time.

This was, perhaps, the most complete representation which ever took place in the Theatre Royal, not only with reference to the artistes engaged, but to the accessories, the mise en scene, &c., &c. It required a vocal and dramatic genius, such as Viardot, to grasp the character of Fides. It cannot give offence to say that all succeeding attempts have been imitations, and the nearer they approached the original “creation” the more successful.50

On September 8, Otello with Viardot and Tamberlik was performed. Pauline’s Desdemona “was a study in every particular” and Tamberlik astounded the public with his famous high C sharp, which had a “pure metallic ring.”51 On September 10 and 11, Trovatore and Prophète were repeated. The season closed with a “glorious” performance of Don Giovanni with Pauline as Donna Anna. The Viardots returned to Courtavenel, and there Turgenev joined them. In early November, he took an apartment in Paris where he settled his daughter and her governess. Pauline was pregnant again and only sang the occasional concert. On July 20, 1857, the Viardots’ son, Paul, was born at Courtavenel. Late in the summer, Pauline resumed her career in London at the Society of Ancient Music concerts where she sang arias by Gluck, a composer she revered whose works later brought her more adulation. In the late fall, Pauline and her maid traveled alone to Warsaw, where on December 13, she gave a concert at the palace of Prince Gortchakoff. She sang an aria from L’Italiana in Algeri, some Russian songs, and two airs from Le prophète, the performance of which, in its entirety, was forbidden in Poland. Her operatic debut was in Norma on December 15, and she went on to sing twelve performances that included Il barbiere, Otello, La sonnambula, L’elisir d’amore, Il trovatore, and La Juive. Of her Norma performance, Pauline wrote to Louis: “I was frightened, absolutely and horribly frightened! I sang the opening recitative as badly as you can possibly imagine,” but afterwards she declared that she would never be so scared again, as she had used up all her fear on that occasion!52

The correspondent of The Musical World did not notice Pauline’s nervousness and reported: The fair vocalist’s success was immense. Everyone was delighted by the power of her voice, by her marvelous facility, by her vocal science, pushed to the utmost limits of art, and by her dramatic talent, which is beyond all praise. In speaking thus, I am simply the echo of our musical critics. A shower of bouquets overwhelmed Malibran’s emulator and sister, who was called forward as many as ten times in the course of the evening.53

From Warsaw, Pauline gave a series of performances in northern Germany and then arrived in Berlin in late January at the invitation of the prince and princess of Prussia. Ludwig Rellstab (1799–1860), the German music critic, poet, librettist, and novelist whose poems were set by Schubert in Schwanengesang, wrote the review for Die Zeit that was then translated by The Musical World. Rellstab was a conservative



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critic who didn’t care for Meyerbeer, but he was an enthusiastic admirer of Viardot-Garcia. In 1826, he produced a pamphlet that satirized Rossini’s music and Henriette Sontag in particular. For this, he was sent to Spandau prison. On February 2, 1858, he reported: Hers [Viardot-Garcia’s] is the true grandiose, historical style. The singer frequently touches your heart’s core by a noble and simple trait, by a natural and feeling gesture, by a stroke of genius. The culminating point of the part [Fidès] is in the scene of the church; the malediction was given with the greatest maestria, both vocal and dramatic. Here especially the artist painted in a historical style; she exhibited in every passage incomparable freedom, precision, and force, with a mimic and plastic power full of burning life. The grand air of the fifth act was the triumph of her extraordinary singing. Her success was as great as the talent displayed.54

Pauline’s tour de force was the ease with which she switched back and forth between styles. To speak frankly, we were uneasy about Madame Viardot’s Rosina; uneasy from the recollections of fifteen years. The heart of an old critic is a stone pyramid, filled with the mummies of the Pharaohs of art. Imagine our surprise on beholding a Rosina that appeared to step from the fountain of youth; a Rosina of sixteen. Ought we not to attribute to genius the virtues of this same fountain? Not only has the great artist’s singing remained as fine and charming as it was in her younger days, but it has become more beautiful, younger, and more charming. Yes, singing, acting, and appearance—miraculous to say—have become more charming and more beautiful. If ever there was an opportunity of admiring the triumph of art over nature it was certainly on this occasion.

With reference to Norma, the same journal goes on to say: Scarcely had we heard the Casta Diva, before we recognized the greatest, the most complete, and the most glorious of Mad. Pauline Viardot’s creations. Not one of the other Normas we ever heard rose to such grandeur in her acting, or such maestria in her singing; not Grisi who did not possess the same amount of dramatic genius; nor Jenny Lind who appeared not to understand that this priestess of the moon could become a terrible Hecate.55

From Berlin, Viardot-Garcia went to Leipzig, where in February and March she gave several concerts in the Gewandhaus. Her conductor was Julius Rietz (1812–1877), a respected musical scholar who became Pauline’s close friend and epistolary confidant. On February 12, she sang a scene from Gluck’s Orfeo, including “Che faro senza Euridice.” She also sang several familiar arias and a novelty—a bravura aria from Carl Heinrich Graun’s Brittanico (1751)—as well as her vocal arrangements of Chopin’s mazurkas.56 On March 29, Pauline was in Cologne for a concert that was followed by performances of Donna Anna and Rosina. The reviewer wrote that he agreed with the Berlin critic and added that he admired Pauline’s technical ability, especially her

command of the breath. He added that her German diction was better than the German artists who neglected this branch of the art.57 Pauline’s next engagement was in London in May, though not at Covent Garden, which had burned down at a masked ball in 1856. Colonel James Henry Mapleson (1830–1901), a flamboyant twenty-seven-year-old impresario, set up a company at the Theater Royal in Drury Lane that opened with Don Giovanni featuring Viardot-Garcia as Donna Anna. While in London, the Viardots purchased the autograph score of Don Giovanni, now preserved in the Bibliothèque Nationale. After Don Giovanni, Pauline appeared in her familiar role of Amina in La sonnambula. During the summer, she was touring the English provinces with a company organized by Thomas Willert Beale (1828–1894), an enterprising manager and sometime composer. The tour was rough and ready and proved to be fatiguing to the singers. Pauline was accompanied by Louise, now seventeen years old, who assisted by preparing local choruses and serving as prompter. On August 12, 1858, Pauline reprised Azucena for the Dublin audience. On August 16, she sang her first Yelva (queen of the gypsies) in La Zingara, an Italianized version of Michael Balfe’s very popular The Bohemian Girl. She was also heard as Donna Anna and Rosina. In September, Pauline returned to the Birmingham Festival where she created another oratorio role, the eponymous Judith composed for her by Henry Leslie (1822–1896), an English choral conductor and composer. She was praised for her performance but local newspapers were resentful of her Messiah, feeling that the English singers were crowded out by too many foreigners who were “lesser Handel singers.”58 After a short stay in Paris, the Viardots traveled to Budapest, where Pauline debuted as Rosina in November 1858. She received a cold reception and Louis wrote that the Hungarians preferred to cry rather than laugh. With La Juive, Norma, Le prophète, and Otello, they had plenty to cry about and the press soon began to write rapturous reviews. Pauline’s season coincided with a visit from her friend Clara Schumann, who was on tour. The friends gave two concerts together where they played a piece for two pianos by Robert Schumann and sang arias and one of Pauline’s arrangements of a Chopin mazurka. Before they left the city, the Holgyfutar reproached the sellers of prints because they had missed the opportunity of offering the public portraits of the “two most celebrated musicians in the world!”59

From Budapest, Pauline traveled to Weimar, where Liszt greeted her warmly. He was enthusiastic about her performances of Norma on December 19 and Rosina on December 22. In a letter to Julius Rietz, she mentions Liszt’s kindness to her and that she did not care for his musical ideas. After her departure from Weimar, along with extolling her singing and acting, Liszt paid her composing career a great compliment in a long article in the Neue Zeitschrift für Musik, saying that her music displayed great tenderness and harmonic subtleties that

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would cause more well-known composers to feel the pangs of envy. He felt that she had written too little and hoped that she would begin to compose more.60 From Weimar, the peripatetic singer rested in Paris for a few days and then embarked again on a strenuous tour of the English provinces. She planned to sing about fifty concerts during a period of two months. The tour included Dublin, to which she returned at the end of March for a three-week season at the Theater Royal. The company included her old rivals, Grisi and Mario. However, Pauline did not spend much time worrying about them, as she had to prepare for one of the greatest triumphs of her career—the British premiere of Verdi’s Macbeth. In the case of Macbeth, those deficiencies often pointed out by her critics—her uneven, sometimes harsh voice and lack of physical beauty—may have contributed to her portrayal of Lady Macbeth as one of the greatest in history. Verdi famously described his vision of the character in comments about Eugenia Tadolini (1809–1851), who was being considered for the role. This may sound absurd, but Madame Tadolini is a handsome woman with a beautiful face, and I want Lady Macbeth to be ugly and evil. Madame Tadolini sings to perfection, and I don’t want Lady Macbeth to sing at all. Madame Tadolini has a wonderful voice, clear, flexible, and strong, while Lady Macbeth’s voice should be hard, stifled, and dark. Madame Tadolini has the voice of an angel, and Lady Macbeth’s should be that of a devil.61

Viardot-Garcia’s portrayals of Norma and Azucena as savage, primitive women bent on revenge were an excellent preparation for the role of Lady Macbeth. There was one problem: Lady Macbeth was written for a wide-ranging soprano voice. Pauline wrote detailed instructions to the conductor, Luigi Arditi (1822–1903), asking that her parts be transposed. For example, her opening cavatina Vieni, t’affretta was to be transposed down a minor third and other parts a whole tone down. She urged him to have the parts copied because the prospect of converting to six double flats and five double sharps would be too daunting for the local orchestra to handle.62 Apparently these changes were not observed by the local critic in the new work: The first performance of “Macbeth” formed a special feature during this engagement. This work contains some of Verdi’s best writing and scoring, but the absence of a soprano part has prevented the Opera from becoming as popular as others by the same eminent composer. Lady Macbeth is a mezzo-soprano— indeed almost a contralto part—and the interpretation was such as might be expected from the musical and dramatic powers of a Viardot. Her “make-up” was evidently formed on that of Mrs. Siddons; and in the bedroom scene the likeness to the received portraits of the latter great actress was very striking; and some very old playgoers, who had seen the sister of the great Kemble act the part in Crow-street Theater, gave evidence to this effect, and were very much struck with Viardot’s magnificent performance, which was, indeed, a high Shakespearean study, well worth witnessing, even if deprived of the beautiful music.63

The season had opened with Il trovatore on March 28, 1859, starring Grisi, Mario, and Viardot. Macbeth was on March 30. New parts for Pauline were Orsini, in Lucrezia Borgia by Donizetti, in which her Brindisi was encored four times, and Nancy in the Dublin premiere of Martha by Friedrich von Flotow (1812–1883). It is unnecessary to remind Dublin opera-goers of Giulia Grisi’s Enrichetta, Mario’s Lionello, or Graziani’s Plunketto; but we may refer to this the only occasion on which Viardot held forth as Nancy. Those who had seen her “heavy tragedy” the night before, and now beheld her on the “light fantastic,” dancing like a sylph (for in everything she was perfect), could hardly believe it was the same person.64

Viardot also reprised Zerlina in Don Giovanni. Her partners in all these performances were Grisi and Mario, in whom the pangs of jealousy had evidently subsided. Later, Viardot took Lady Macbeth on the road in a tour of the British provinces in a ragtag production conducted by Auguste Vianesi (1837– 1908), who also conducted the opening night performance of the Metropolitan Opera on October 22, 1883. On May 24, 1859, Pauline appeared in a benefit concert for Marie Carolina-Carvalho (1827–1895), who would go on to create four roles by Gounod: Marguerite in Faust (1859), Baucis in Philémon et Baucis (1860), Mireille (1864), and Juliette (1867). Marie was the wife of the director of the Paris ThéâtreLyrique, Léon Carvalho (1825–1897). When Carvalho heard Pauline sing “Che faro?” from Gluck’s Orfeo ed Eurydice he determined to revive the venerable azione teatrale for her. No one expected much interest in such a “dated” work since Paris was always clamoring for something new. The original version of Orfeo was written for the alto castrato Gaetano Guadagni and was sung in Italian in Vienna at the Burgtheater in 1762. In 1774, Gluck thoroughly revised the opera (now titled Orphée et Eurydice), transposed the title part for the haute-contre tenor Joseph Legros (1739–1793), and added ballet sequences to conform to the French taste. For the 1859 revival, Carvalho recruited Hector Berlioz who, besides his other accomplishments, was France’s leading authority on Gluck. Pauline and Berlioz had known each other for a long time, occasionally collaborating on various projects. When Carvalho’s offer came, Berlioz was hard at work on his monumental Les Troyens. In August 1859, Pauline sang excerpts from Berlioz’s great work in a concert at Baden-Baden. The composer began to visualize her as Cassandra, or possibly Dido, and sought her advice, although it is not certain how far her influence extended. For Orphée, Berlioz retained the key scheme of the 1762 version while incorporating many of the features of the 1774 Paris performances. In September, Berlioz spent two days at Courtavenel, where he confessed a sudden unrequited love for Pauline. Besides being tormented emotionally, Berlioz was not well and suffered from an intestinal illness that plagued him all his life. The atmosphere was uncomfortable but the two worked very hard to make a success of the work they both



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venerated. Berlioz and Viardot were assisted in their work by another young composer, Camille Saint-Saëns, a prodigy who had already attracted the attention of some of the greatest musicians of the time. The rehearsals helped to calm Berlioz and he was elated by the unexpected success of the opera, which premiered on November 18, 1859. Gluck’s masterpiece had an astounding run of 138 performances through 1861. Pauline’s performance, although hampered by a case of bronchitis, was lauded by the critics. Chorley, writing in 1862, was a great admirer of Pauline Viardot’s art but he was not blind to her faults: The part, [Orfeo] originally written for an artificial Italian contralto, was subsequently transposed so as to suit a high tenor French voice. That either Guadagni or Legros can have satisfied the eye may also be doubted. The Frenchman, we know, was affected and grimacing in his action. As personated by Madame Viardot it left nothing to desire. Her want of regularity of feature and of prettiness helped, instead of impairing, the sadness and solemnity of the mourner’s countenance; the supple and statuesque grace of her figure gave interest and meaning to every step and every attitude. . . . Further, the peculiar quality of Madame Viardot’s voice—its occasional harshness and feebleness, consistent with tones of the gentlest sweetness—was turned by her to account with rare felicity, as giving the variety of light and shade to every word of soliloquy, to every appeal of dialogue. A more perfect and honeyed voice might have recalled the woman too often to fit with the idea of the youth. Her musical handling of so peculiar an instrument will take place in the highest annals of art.65

Emboldened by the unexpected success of Orphée, Carvalho decided to mount Beethoven’s Fidelio with Viardot in the title part. Fidelio had been a fiasco when presented at the Théâtre Italien a few years before but was a success on its return on May 5, 1860, although not as great as Orphée. Pauline felt that Beethoven’s opera was “too symphonic” for the Parisians.66 In February 1860, Pauline Viardot encountered the colossus who would soon revolutionize the operatic world, Richard Wagner. The two had met briefly twenty-one years before, but in 1860, influenced by Julius Rietz, Pauline was firmly in the anti-Wagner camp. However, she did agree to sight-read act 2 of Tristan und Isolde in a private audition for a patron, with the composer singing the title role and Berlioz in attendance. Because she was sight-reading and disliked the music, Pauline “marked” her part, singing some of it an octave lower. Also, Isolde is a high part and not a comfortable fit for a voice like Viardot’s. Wagner was not pleased but he was impressed with Pauline’s feat of reading such a complicated score at sight. Also, unknown to Rietz, she performed excerpts from Tannhäuser at an afternoon concert given by the Countess Löwenthal. She probably thought more of Wagner than she let on to Reitz because she defended the composer against those who behaved badly at performances of Tannhäuser and Die Meistersinger. Pauline was next asked to prepare Gluck’s Alceste for the Opéra and Berlioz was asked to supervise as he had for Orphée,

but citing his unwillingness to alter the part for Pauline’s voice, he declined. He later relented and helped to advise her, but not to the extent that he had done for Orphée. Although her voice was now in serious decline, Alceste was the last triumph for Pauline on the great international stages. She continued to sing in concerts and small operatic venues but retired gracefully from the larger scene. Viardot and Berlioz became more estranged when he did not cast or even consult her for the production of Les Troyens, part of which was given at the Théâtre-Lyrique on November 4, 1863. Pauline had been intimately involved with the creation of Berlioz’s chef-d’œuvre and she was deeply hurt. During that same year, 1863, the Viardots resolved to leave France. Louis detested the imperial régime of Napoleon III (he hated any Napoleon). Pauline, despite her recent successes with Orphée and Alceste, had been wounded deeply by the intrigues and hostility of the previous twelve years of the Parisian artistic milieu. Pauline gave her “official” farewell performance of Orphée on April 24, 1863. She was only forty-two years old. The Viardots moved to Baden-Baden, where they purchased a villa that soon became a center of the social life of the town, which was largely populated by European aristocracy. Madame Viardot’s matinees and soirees were attended by Prussian aristocracy and, on occasion, even by Otto von Bismarck (1815–1898) himself. The Viardots were accepted into a society that would have snubbed them in Paris a generation earlier. Turgenev also acquired land next to the Viardots, which included a small theater. He was as devoted to Pauline as ever, but their relationship had evolved and became less melodramatic. Pauline began to compose more and wrote several operettas for her children and pupils to stories by Turgenev. They were appreciated not only by the titled audience who attended, but also by Clara Schumann, Anton Rubinstein (1829–1894), and Liszt, who were frequent visitors. She published a number of songs, some in Russian. Through Clara Schumann, Viardot met Johannes Brahms (1833–1897), who spent the summer of 1864 near BadenBaden. Other writers have attached great credence to Pauline’s letter to Rietz of 1859 that states that she did not care for Brahms’s music, which had been introduced to her by Clara Schumann. However, as time passed, she grew to appreciate the gruff young man more. They became friendly and Brahms composed a serenade for her birthday in which he conducted some of her students under her window. On March 30, 1864, they participated together in a performance of Bach’s St. Matthew Passion at Karlsruhe; Brahms played the organ and Pauline was the alto soloist. Brahms also conducted a performance, from the piano, of Pauline’s operetta, Le dernier sorcier, staged in her music room on August 24, 1869.67 To me, Pauline Viardot and Brahms found kindred spirits in Pauline’s public premiere of Rhapsodie aus Goethes Harzreise im Winter, op. 53, or more simply in English, the Alto Rhapsody. Like an echo of Schubert’s stark Winterreise, Goethe’s poem must have evoked feelings of isolation and yearning in them both.

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The Rhapsody also represents a turning point in Brahms’s life, as “Harzreise im Winter” had for Goethe. In Brahms’s case it was an acceptance that all he had, now, was his art. In that sense too it is his bridal song, his embrace of a solitary fate. Whatever succor and redemption from despair he might find in life, he would find henceforth in music.68

Pauline Viardot-Garcia was certainly no stranger to such feelings. The rhapsody was one of Brahms’s most moving and heartfelt works and in Pauline he found the ideal interpreter. Pauline’s major activity in Baden-Baden was teaching. She had pupils from all over Europe, an unusual number of which were Russian. As befitted a Garcia, she was strict and thorough but cared deeply for the welfare of her students. Besides her songs, she published An Hour of Study, in two volumes, which remain highly instructive to this day. Her pupils included Désirée Artôt (1835–1907), Aglaia Orgeni (1841–1926), Marianne Brandt (1842–1921), and Antoinette Sterling MacKinlay (1850–1904). In 1870, the conflagration called the Franco-Prussian War put an end to the Viardots’ idyllic existence in Baden-Baden. They were caught in the middle: as French citizens, they could not remain in Germany, and since they were opposed to the régime in France, they could not return to Paris. They had to hasten to London as a haven while Turgenev settled their affairs in Baden-Baden before rejoining them there. Pauline was glad to see her brother Manuel but was distressed to be in a foreign country with no money, since all their property was in Germany and France. They were refugees who possessed only that which they were able to take out of Germany. Pauline was forced to accept pupils who were less than talented and did a little singing, although her London glory days were long past. Turgenev was of some help and what he had to spare went to the Viardot children. Pauline was always interested in the younger Russian composers, especially Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, whose songs she sang from 1871. She also had a high opinion of Eugene Onegin before its premiere in 1879. As the war wound down, Louis Viardot redirected his hatred for the Second Empire toward Germany and a return to BadenBaden became impossible. After being away for eight years, the Viardots returned to their house in Paris with Turgenev in tow. There was no longer any pretense about the ménage à trois of Pauline, Louis (who was over seventy), and Turgenev, who was increasingly dependent on Pauline for his emotional health. Having relinquished Courtavenel, the Viardots bought a summer home in Bougival, on the Seine, not far from Paris. Turgenev built a Swiss-style chalet for himself in the garden. He also occupied an apartment in the house in Paris. As things in life often do, they changed drastically in the house on the Rue de Douai. Turgenev had been an unknown writer on his mother’s apron strings when he first encountered Pauline at the height of her great career. Now, a constant stream of visitors came to see the world-famous author. Russian acquaintances often painted Pauline as a gold digger who was after Turgenev’s money and kept him prisoner, forbidding him from returning to Russia as one of its most distinguished authors. They either did not know or ignored the fact that the Viardots had often provided Turgenev financial support when his mother closed the purse strings.

Pauline resumed her Sunday “at-homes,” where she sometimes sang, usually with Saint-Saëns as accompanist. Although her voice had deteriorated, her interpretations still held her listeners spellbound. In 1872, Saint-Saëns introduced his student, a young composer named Gabriel Fauré (1845–1924), into the Viardot circle. Fauré fell deeply in love with Marianne, the Viardots’ daughter. Marianne and Fauré were engaged to be married, but she broke off the engagement soon after and married another. Fauré was deeply affected for a long time but ultimately understood that it was for the best. He resisted Pauline’s urging that he write large-scale works for the theater and today is known as an excellent composer of mélodies for the concert stage. Another young composer, Jules Massenet (1842–1912), who had been the timpanist in the historic Orphée performances at the Théâtre-Lyrique, attracted Pauline’s interest. Massenet had written an oratorio, Marie-Magdeleine, which Pauline Viardot premiered at the Odéon Theater on April 11, 1873. It put Massenet on the map and was the last new role she would create in public. Saint-Saëns was almost the only close friend who survived Pauline Viardot. Louis had a stroke in 1882 and Turgenev became gravely ill with what turned out to be spinal cancer. Pauline gave up her teaching to nurse both. Louis died in May 1883 and Turgenev lingered on with terrible suffering until September 3, 1883. Pauline Viardot-Garcia lived on until May 18, 1910. She became cautious about confiding in anyone because there were many eager to exploit her and even to blame her for keeping Turgenev away from his homeland. She remained lively and engaged to the very end. Her last word was the role that most vexed and challenged her—Norma!

NOTES 1.  George T. Ferris, Great Singers, Second Series (New York: D. Appleton, 1892), 115. 2. April Fitzlyon, The Price of Genius (New York: AppletonCentury, 1964), 188. 3.  Henry Pleasants, The Great Singers: From the Dawn of Opera to Our Own Time (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1966), 223. 4. Fitzlyon, The Price of Genius, 46. 5. Fitzlyon, The Price of Genius, 47. 6. Henry F. Chorley, Thirty Years’ Musical Recollections (New York: Knopf, 1926), 232. 7. Fitzlyon, The Price of Genius, 70. 8.  George T. Ferris, Great Singers, Second Series (New York: D. Appleton, 1892), 120. 9. Fitzlyon, The Price of Genius, 92. 10. Chorley, Thirty Years’ Musical Recollections, 133. 11.  Edward Jerrman, St. Petersburg: Its People, Their Character, and Institutions (New York: Barnes, 1855), 9. 12. Fitzlyon, The Price of Genius, 151. 13. Fitzlyon, The Price of Genius, 182–83. 14. Aleksandr Ivanovitch Vol’f, Khronika peterburghskikh teatrov s kontsa 1826 do nachala 1855 goda (St. Petersburg: Tip. R. Golike, 1877), 112. 15.  Barbara Kendall-Davies, The Life and Work of Pauline Viardot Garcia, 1836–1863, vol. 1 (Amersham, UK: Cambridge Scholars Press, 2003), 199.



Pauline (Garcia) Viardot 131

16. Kendall-Davies, The Life and Work of Pauline Viardot Garcia, 218. 17. Kendall-Davies, The Life and Work of Pauline Viardot Garcia, 219. 18.  H. Truhn, “Pauline Viardot-Garcia,” Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung 7 (July 1847): 111–12. 19. Kendall-Davies, The Life and Work of Pauline Viardot Garcia, 219. 20. Ferris, Great Singers, Second Series, 128–29. 21. R. R. Palmer, A History of the Modern World (New York: Knopf, 1963), 469. 22. Kendall-Davies, The Life and Work of Pauline Viardot Garcia, 249–50. 23. Chorley, Thirty Years’ Musical Recollections, 234. 24. Kendall-Davies, The Life and Work of Pauline Viardot Garcia, 255. 25.  Denis Arnold and Tim Ashley, “Giacomo Meyerbeer,” Oxford Music Online, www.oxfordmusiconline.com/article/opr/t114e4393 (accessed 5 May 2014). 26.  Hector Berlioz, Memoirs of Hector Berlioz from 1803 to 1865 (New York: Dover, 1966), 476. 27. Chorley, Thirty Years’ Musical Recollections, 227. 28. Anonymous, “Il Trovatore,” The Opera Glass, http://opera .stanford.edu (7 July 2014). 29. Fitzlyon, The Price of Genius, 245. 30. Kendall-Davies, The Life and Work of Pauline Viardot Garcia, 279. 31. Chorley, Thirty Years’ Musical Recollections, 235. 32. Fitzlyon, The Price of Genius, 261. 33. Fitzlyon, The Price of Genius; Kendall-Davies, The Life and Work of Pauline Viardot Garcia. 34. Pleasants, The Great Singers, 180. 35. Ruth Jordan, Fromental Halévy: His Life and Music, 1799– 1862 (New York: Hal Leonard, 1996), 149. 36. Kendall-Davies, The Life and Work of Pauline Viardot Garcia, 303. 37. Kendall-Davies, The Life and Work of Pauline Viardot Garcia, 312. 38. Fitzlyon, The Price of Genius, 273. 39. Kendall-Davies, The Life and Work of Pauline Viardot Garcia, 344. 40. Anonymous, “Prospectus for Covent Garden, 1854,” The Musical World 32, no. 11 (1854): 196. 41.  Anonymous, “Review of Le Prophète,” The Musical World 32, no. 23 (1854): 392.

42.  Martin Chusid, Verdi’s Il trovatore: The Quintessential Italian Melodrama (Rochester, NY: Rochester University Press, 2012), 93. 43. Kendall-Davies, The Life and Work of Pauline Viardot Garcia, 356. 44. Chusid, Verdi’s Il trovatore, 93. Reported in the Gazzetta musicale di Milano, March 11, 1855. 45.  Anonymous, “Review of Il trovatore,” The Musical World 33, no. 9 (1855): 147. 46.  Anonymous, “Letter from Verdi Enclosed in a Communication from Louis Viardot,” The Musical World 33, no. 9 (1855): 168. 47. Chusid, Verdi’s Il trovatore, 98. Quoted from The Athenaeum, May 19, 1855. 48. Anonymous, The Musical World 33, no. 35 (1855): 561. 49. R. M. Leavey and J. O’Rorke, Annals of the Theater Royal, Dublin (Dublin: Joseph Dollard, 1880), 166. 50.  Leavy and O’Rorke, Annals of the Theater Royal, 167. 51.  Leavy and O’Rorke, Annals of the Theater Royal, 168. 52. Kendall-Davies, The Life and Work of Pauline Viardot Garcia, 381. 53.  Anonymous, “Madame Viardot in Poland,” The Musical World 35, no. 2 (1858): 27. 54. Ludwig Rellstab, “Madame Viardot at Berlin,” The Musical World 35, no.7 (1858): 108. 55.  Rellstab, “Madame Viardot at Berlin,” 157–58. 56. Anonymous, “Feuilleton,” Deutsche Allgemeine Zeitung 37 (1858): 301. 57.  Anonymous, “Music at Cologne,” The Musical World 35, no. 16 (1858): 246. 58. Kendall-Davies, The Life and Work of Pauline Viardot Garcia, 388. 59. Kendall-Davies, The Life and Work of Pauline Viardot Garcia, 393. 60. Franz Liszt, “Pauline Viardot-Garcia by Franz Liszt,” Neue Zeitschrift für Musik 50, no. 5 (1859): 49–54. 61.  Charles Osborne, The Complete Operas of Verdi (New York: Da Capo, 1969), 147–48. 62. Kendall-Davies, The Life and Work of Pauline Viardot Garcia, vol. 1, 398. 63.  Leavey and O’Rorke, Annals of the Theater Royal, 196. 64.  Leavey and O’Rorke, Annals of the Theater Royal, 197. 65. Chorley, Thirty Years’ Musical Recollections, 237. 66. Fitzlyon, The Price of Genius, 356. 67.  Peter Clive, Brahms and His World (Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, 2006), 476. 68.  Jan Swafford, Johannes Brahms (New York: Knopf, 1997), 353.

16 The Altos of Grand Opéra

The long career of Pauline Garcia-Viardot could be viewed as a template for the gradual movement of the alto voice from the bel canto coloratura fireworks of Handel and Rossini toward the gravitas of grand opera heroines like Saint-Saëns’s Dalila and Verdi’s Princess Eboli (Don Carlo). Many of these roles are not ingenue romantic leads but interesting flesh-and-blood characters whose dramatic situations invite our attention. Whereas the original reason for the elaboration of coloratura singing was to enhance the emotional weight of the text and dramatic situation, grand opera reflected the desire of the Paris public to be titillated by novel, sometimes grotesque, twists of plot and shocking stage effects. The requirement of having a ballet in each opera illustrates the taste of a public that was increasingly more interested in being entertained visually than aurally. This taste dominates all entertainment today. In addition, opera orchestras became bigger, choruses and crowd scenes more abundant, with soloists who were forced to sing louder, higher, and with a darker tone color (voix sombrée). The inevitable consequence was an inflated style of “effects without causes” (in Wagner’s phrase), of striking and brilliant musical numbers inadequately motivated by the dramatic situation. In short, composers and librettists acted on three principles that are still perfectly familiar: (1) give the public what it wants; (2) if a little is good, more is better; and (3) the whole (that is, the complete opera) is equal to the sum of its parts (that is, the several musical styles of which the opera is composed). The result, while undeniably successful at the time and of great influence on the future course of opera, was not one that can now be contemplated with unmixed admiration.1 The specialty of the coloratura alto, so prevalent in earlier times, gave way to the lyric and dramatic voices required by these changing conditions. Sometimes these roles could be classified as romantic leads, but they were more often designated as character parts. Daniel Francis Auber’s (1782–1871) La muette de Portici (1828) and Rossini’s Guillaume Tell (1829) are considered to be the first of the French grand operas, but Meyerbeer is credited with establishing the distinguishing traits of the form. His early Italian operas were heavily influ-

enced by Rossini, and some featured altos in leading roles. Of these Meyerbeer operas, Rosa Mariani created Isaura in Margherita d’Anjou (1821) and L’esule di Granata featured Benedetta Rosmunda Pisaroni in the travesti role of the king of Granata. The last opera written for a castrato, Il crociato in Egitto (1824) starred Giovanni Battista Velluti and was also one of the last operas to use secco recitatives. Valentine in Les Huguenots (1836) was written for Cornélie Falcon, who had a category named for her (falcon soprano), which was a slightly lower voice than a lyric soprano. As we have seen, Pauline Viardot often sang Valentine, as well as Rachel in Halévy’s La Juive (1835), which was also written for Falcon. Of course, Fidès was Viardot’s signature role. Halévy had also composed Clari (1828) for Pauline’s sister, Maria Malibran. From Pauline Viardot’s circle, three composers who were influenced by her and wrote important parts for the alto voice were Hector Berlioz, Camille Saint-Saëns, and Jules Massenet, whom I cover in chapter 18 on the Opéra Lyrique. Camille Saint-Saëns originally conceived the eponymous role of Dalila, in Samson et Dalila for the voice of Pauline Viardot in her prime. The extraordinary ability of Pauline to expand her musical and dramatic range from the bel canto repertoire, such as Rosina and Angelina, to the grand opera roles of Fidès, Azucena, and Dalila, is very impressive. Pauline had known Saint-Saëns for a long time. He had begun Samson in 1868 but he did not finish it until 1876. By that time Pauline Viardot was too old to be convincing on stage and her voice was in poor condition. However, she did perform the first two acts in 1874 in a private performance with homemade scenery as an attempt to influence its production. Saint-Saëns was like the proverbial “prophet in his own country” and no French company had any interest in producing the opera whatsoever. The ostensible reason was hostility of the public toward its biblical subject, but separate performances of acts 1 and 2 produced adverse reactions from the critics who did not understand the music. It was not until after 1890 that Samson et Dalila began to enjoy the popularity that it still has. 133

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Through the influence of Liszt, Samson et Dalila was given its premiere in a German translation at the grand-ducal opera house in Weimar in 1877. Dalila was sung by a house mezzosoprano, Auguste von Müller (1848–1912). Müller sang in many provincial theaters in Germany in a career that spanned from 1875 to 1886. Her repertoire included Azucena, early interpretations of Fricka (in both Das Rheingold and Die Walküre), and Flosshilde in Götterdämmerung. Saint-Saëns finally reached the stage of the Paris Opéra with his Henri VIII, which premiered on March 5, 1883. The opera concerned the period when Henry was discarding Catherine of Aragon in favor of Ann Boleyn. It featured the great baritone Jean Lassalle (1847–1909) in the title role who lived long enough to make some fine recordings of a bygone age. Anne de Boleyn, a heavy role like that of Amneris, Léonor de Guzman, and Princess Eboli, was sung by mezzo-soprano AlphonsineHélène Richard (1858–?). Other operas by Saint-Saëns that feature altos in lead roles include Ascanio, which premiered at the Palais Garnier in 1890 with Rosa Bosman (d. 1930), a Belgian alto, as Scozzone, and Déjanire, his last opera, in 1911, with Germaine Bailac (fl. 1910–1920) as Phénice. Hector Berlioz loved the alto voice, no doubt reflecting his close relationship with Pauline Viardot, but he was also probably influenced by his memory of performances by Alexandrine Carolina Branchu (1780–1850) in representations of Gluck’s Alceste and Iphigénie en Tauride, as well as her interpretations of Hypermnestre in Antonio Salieri’s Les Danaïdes. Branchu is listed as a soprano but none of the roles assigned to her lie very high. Branchu was prima donna at the Opéra, where she created Cherubini’s Corine (Anacréon, 1803) and Noraïme (Les Abencérages, 1813) and Spontini’s Julia (La vestale, 1807), Amazily (Fernando Cortez, 1809), and Statira (Olympie, 1819). Berlioz shared the same opinion of the alto voice as Rossini, whose remark I have previously quoted. One reason for Berlioz’s predilection for the female voice type lower than that of the conventional prima donna is expressed in Traité d’instrumentation: “The voices of mezzosopranos (second sopranos) and contraltos are usually more homogeneous [than sopranos] and more even, and so much easier to write for.” In his surviving works there are only two roles for full soprano, both comparatively ingenious characters: Teresa in Benvenuto Cellini and Héro in Béatrice et Bénédict. A number of other roles, including Ascanio and Béatrice herself, are designated “soprano” but were in fact sung by performers associated with mezzo-soprano roles. Neither ascends much above the treble staff. The more complex characters—Marguerite, Marie (L’enfance du Christ), Cassandra, Didon, Béatrice— have all been taken by mezzo-sopranos, and to these may be added two trouser roles, curiously with variants of the same name, Ascanio and Ascanius (Ascagne) in Les Troyens.2 Berlioz composed La damnation de Faust in 1845, and as a form halfway between an opera and an oratorio, he called the work a légende dramatique. Faust received its premiere at

the Opéra-Comique on December 6, 1846. Marguerite was Hortense Dufflot-Maillard (1808–1858), a mezzo-soprano who had already had success at the Théâtre de la Monnaie in Brussels in Norma, La Favorite, La Vestale, and Moïse.3 Berlioz was disappointed at the reception from the Parisian public, which was indifferent to his masterpiece. He stated that he “had no fashionable cantatrice to sing the part of Marguerite”4 and was financially ruined by the fiasco. The greatest French grand opera of the nineteenth century was, without a doubt, Les Troyens (1858). The entire opera was never performed in Berlioz’s lifetime and had to wait until 1890 at Karlsruhe for a complete performance. Berlioz composed Les Troyens with the help and advice of Pauline Viardot, who ardently wished to premiere both of its two central characters, Dido and Cassandra. We have seen where she sang excerpts from Les Troyens at Baden-Baden in 1859. Berlioz began his epic work in 1856 with the support of Princess Carolyne zu Sayn-Wittgenstein (1819–1887) of Weimar, who had a forty-year relationship with Franz Liszt. After a frustrating wait for the Paris Opéra to mount his masterpiece, he agreed that a version of the second half of the opera, called Les Troyens à Carthage, be produced by the Théâtre-Lyrique in 1863. However, even this shortened adaptation was mutilated, the orchestra inadequate, and the cast weak in an opera that called for heroic voices. The Dido (there was no Cassandra) was sung by Anne-Arsène Charton-Demeur (1824–1892). Charton-Demeur is listed as a dramatic mezzo-soprano but one wonders about such a designation. She made her debut as Lucia at Bordeaux in 1842 and subsequently sang Amina in La sonnambula. In 1862, Charton-Demeur created the title role of Béatrice et Bénédict at Baden-Baden, conducted by the composer. Apparently, Charton-Demeur had a dramatic temperament, for Berlioz wrote about her Béatrice: I had taken the book from Much Ado about Nothing, and added the songs and the episode of the musician. The duet, Vous soupirez, madame! The trio between Hero, Beatrice, and Ursula, Je vais d’un cœur aimant, and Beatrice’s big song Dieu! que viens-je d’entendre? (which was sung at Baden by Madame Charton with feeling, verve, immense fire, and rare beauty of style), produced a tremendous effect.5

Berlioz’s opinion was mixed about Charton-Demeur for Les Troyens à Carthage. On the one hand he wrote: Dido’s solo Je vais mourir, Dans ma douleur immense submerge, quite overcame me. Madame Charton rendered this passage in a grandly dramatic manner: Enée, Enée, Ah! Mon âme te suit! and shrieked in despair, as she struck her breast and tore her hair, just as Virgil had intended: Terque quarterque manu pectue percussa decorum Flaventesque abscissa comas.6



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The late Lorraine Hunt-Lieberson (1954–2006) has left a wonderful rendition of this aria on YouTube. However, Berlioz also wrote: In the duet between Æneas and Dido, I soon discovered that Madame Charton’s voice was unequal to so violent a scene, and it fatigued her so much that she had not strength enough left to sing the terrible recitative in the fifth act, Dieux immortels! Il part! and her last aria and the scene of the funeral pile.7

The first complete performance of Les Troyens, which, I think, is France’s answer to the Ring, was performed under Felix Mottl’s (1856–1911) direction on two successive evenings, December 6 and 7, 1890, at Karlsruhe. Again performed in German, the premiere came twenty-one years after Berlioz’s death. Dido was sung on this occasion by Pauline Mailhac (1858–1946) who, I am sure, had sufficient stamina for the role, for she was a Wagnerian who took part in the Bayreuth Festival, where she sang Venus in Tannhäuser and Kundry in Parsifal from 1891 to 1894. To see how flexible the repertoire for such an alto voice as Mailhac’s was in Germany at the time, consider that she sang Aida, Rachel in La Juive, Mignon, Senta in Der Fliegende Hollander, Ortrud in Lohengrin, Eva in Die Meistersinger, Carmen, and Leonore in Fidelio. Mailhac made her final performance in 1901, as Brünnhilde in Die Walküre, Karlsruhe, where she spent the major part of her career. Luise Reuss-Belce (1862–1945), née Louise Baumann, sang Cassandra at the premiere of Les Troyens. She was another Wagnerian stalwart whose debut in 1881 was at Karlsruhe as Elsa in Lohengrin. Reuss-Belce remained in Karlsruhe for fifteen years as a member of the ensemble. In 1882, she appeared as one of the flower maidens in the world premiere of Parsifal at Bayreuth. She was engaged at the court theater in Wiesbaden from 1886 to 1907 with numerous guest appearances at other theaters. In Bayreuth she sang Fricka (her signature role), as well as Eva in Die Meistersinger and a host of lesser parts. In 1893, Reuss-Belce also began to have success abroad. She sang Sieglinde in Die Walküre at Covent Garden and Fricka in Amsterdam. From 1901 to 1903, Reuss-Belce was a member

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of the Metropolitan Opera Company. There she sang her first Venus in Tannhäuser, as well as Isolde in Tristan und Isolde, Eva, Sigliende, and Brünnhilde in Die Walküre, as well as Elsa, for a total of thirty-three performances.8 Other roles in a long career included Carmen and Santuzza in Cavalliera rusticana. Reuss-Belce worked as a director for many years and was finally found dead in a railway car in the devastating Allied incendiary bombing attack on Dresden in the last days of World War II. Luise Reuss-Belce was the last singer who had sung under the direction of Richard Wagner. Before leaving the category of grand opera, I should include Don Carlos by Verdi, which received its premiere on March 11, 1867, at the Salle Le Peletier in Paris. Undoubtedly a grand opera, Don Carlos was revised several times and is most often performed in the Italian version, Don Carlo. Princess Eboli is one of the great roles in the alto repertory. It was first performed by Pauline Guéymard-Lauters (1834–1876 or later), another Belgian mezzo-soprano. She created Queen Gertrude in Ambroise Thomas’s (1811–1896) Hamlet (1868) and Balkis in Gounod’s La reine de Saba (1862). Other roles sung by Guéymard-Lauters include Valentine in Les Huguenots, Leonora in Il trovatore, Donna Anna, Fidès, Léonor in La Favorite, and Gluck’s Alcestis.

NOTES 1.  Donald J. Grout, A Short History of Opera (New York: Columbia University Press, 1965), 316–17. 2. Julian Rushton, “Berlioz and the Mezzo-Soprano,” in Berlioz Scenes from the Life and Work, ed. Peter Bloom (Rochester, NY: University of Rochester Press, 2008), 67–68. 3. Édouard Jacques Gregoir, Panthéon Musical Populaire, vol. 1 (Brussels: Schott Frères, 1876), 36. 4.  Hector Berlioz, Memoirs of Hector Berlioz from 1803 to 1865 (New York: Dover, 1966), 505. 5. Berlioz, Memoirs, 420. 6. Berlioz, Memoirs, 500. 7. Berlioz, Memoirs, 501. 8.  Gerald Fitzgerald, ed., Annals of the Metropolitan Opera, Tables, 1883–1985 (Boston: G. K. Hall, 1989), 183.

17 “La Favorite,” Rosine Stoltz

1837. Rosine Stoltz never sang with Nourrit in Paris because, having been displaced by Gilbert-Louis Duprez and his “chest high C” in 1838, the despondent Nourrit plunged to his death from the top floor of the Villa Barbaja in Naples. He was only thirty-seven years old. When Rosine Stoltz did make her debut at the Paris Opéra on August 25, 1837, in La Juive, her partner was the redoubtable Duprez, who detested her. It would not be the first or the last time that artists who hated each other would translate their

One of the most extraordinary episodes in the history of opera was the reign of Rosine Stoltz as the queen of the Paris Opéra from 1838 to 1847. I am sure that she would have been pleased at my allotting a whole chapter to her career. The story of “La Stoltz” is a complicated stew of legend, fabrication, malicious gossip, and vehicle for revisionist history. For example, Léon Escudier blamed Stoltz’s capriciousness at the premiere of La Favorite for Donizetti’s subsequent descent into madness (he was actually a victim of syphilis).1 Stoltz was probably an accomplished singer, as witnessed by the vocal challenges of parts she sang, such as Léonor de Guzman in La Favorite. What is fact is that she was an example of the corruption of the operatic scene in Paris during the 1930s and 1940s when she was the mistress of Léon Pillet. Rosine Stoltz was born Victoire Noël in Montparnasse, Paris. She became quite a slippery character. After an unsuccessful foray into vaudeville, she showed up in Antwerp and Amsterdam as Mademoiselle Héloïse. She then migrated to the Monnaie in Brussels under the name of Mademoiselle Ternaux in 1832, starting in secondary roles. She graduated to leads in Rossini’s Il barbiere, Tancredi, and Otello in Lille in 1833, and in 1834 Stoltz sang Alice in Robert le diable in Antwerp. In 1835 she returned to the Monnaie as Madame Stoltz (a variation of her mother’s maiden name, Stoll), where she reprised Alice. The name Rosine was probably appropriated because of her success in Il barbiere. She then appeared as Rachel in the Brussels premiere of La Juive.2 During the Monnaie’s 1836–1837 season, the principal attraction was the great Adolphe Nourrit, the leading tenor of the Paris Opéra who appeared in many of the grand opera roles he had created there. He also sang the role of Cavatini in Pierre Gaveaux’s (1760–1825) Le bouffe et le tailleur (1804), while Stoltz sang Célestine as well as Rachel in La Juive. Nourrit was moved by Stoltz’s performances and offered to recommend her to the Paris Opéra. Her debut there was delayed because she bore a child to the director of the Monnaie, Alphonse Lescuyer (fl. 1830s) in September 1836, whom she married in March

Figure 17.1.  Gilbert-Louis Duprez and Rosine Stoltz in Donizetti’s La Favorite by Gabrielle Lépaulle (1804–1886)

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enmity into performance excitement. Duprez wrote about Stoltz in his Souvenirs d’un chanteur: With the leadership of Léon Pillet, there began at the Opéra the domination, or rather the reign, of Madame Stoltz, a reign absolute and despotic, if ever there was one. Until that time, this artist had appeared very little and only in roles of middling importance. The creation of La Favorite showed off her energy and her dramatic fire; she was noticed but, not content with her share of public favor, Madame Stoltz could soon not bear for anyone other than herself to be in the limelight and she used her influence relentlessly on the new director to undermine the success of those men and women whose talent or beauty eclipsed her. So she was not exactly adored by the members of the Opéra. The strongest and boldest openly hated her; the small and fearful dreaded her and murmured softly. I remember that I was walking down the rue Saint-Lazare with Meyerbeer when we were suddenly accosted by the great S., that beautiful ballet dancer who had found me so unattractive when I first came to the Opéra. She was exasperated and explained the reason for her anger in a rather common way, typical of those of her class. “Oh,” she exclaimed, “my dear Meyerbeer, oh my dear Duprez, if you only knew that Madame Stoltz has just had my salary reduced! If I meet her, I’ll break her neck!” Among opponents of “la Favorite,” as we called her, was Barroilhet, who was scandalized, as was I, when told by Pillet, “Madame Stoltz is a Malibran, without the defects.” Our bass Alizard never lost an opportunity to express his dislike for our star. One day Madame Stoltz passed by in the courtyard where we were all gathered at the end of rehearsal: “And to think,” said Alizard in his big Picardy voice, “that the destiny of this woman in her old days will be to keep house for a bachelor . . . maybe even mine.” Following this quip, Alizard’s contract was not renewed and he never had the consolation of seeing his prophecy come true.3

Rosine Stoltz was probably a better actress than she was a singer and excelled in declamation. Mary Ann Smart attempts to cut through the myths and misconceptions about this singer in her article for the Cambridge Opera Journal and cites the following by François-Joseph Fétis: A woman of talent counts among the singers at the Opéra. Although her voice is mediocre and her musical training no more than sketchy, she compensates for these deficiencies with a lively dramatic sense and an unusual intelligence. Well placed, and confined within the limits of her specialty, this actress could be very useful, but [because she is] ambitious far beyond the limits within which an artist should sensibly confine herself, she wanted to invade everything, to dominate everything, and M. Pillet’s naïve admiration has not left her to desire in vain the sacrifices demanded by her amour-propre.4

This seems to me to be a fair assessment of Stoltz’s ability but she must have had enough vocal resources to cope with the demands of the repertoire written for her. Smart describes her voice this way: Voice, after all, is only a little more ephemeral than other “realities” of a life, and many descriptions of Stoltz the singer survive.

They tell of power, sometimes stridency, a range of only about two octaves, very good low notes, a strong but harsh upper register. Certain common compliments and criticisms emerge: she often sang out of tune and lacked agility and technical control but her timbre and extensive range of nuance are praised almost unanimously. All agree that her greatest strength was as an actress, that the intensity of her gestures and her tragic declamation were unequalled.5

A list of Stoltz’s creations at the Paris Opéra from 1838 is impressive, but since she had little competition during this time, it is understandable. •  Ricciarda in Halévy’s Guido et Ginevra on March 5, 1838. •  Ascanio* in Berlioz’s Benvenuto Cellini on September 10, 1838. •  Marguerite in Halévy’s Le lac des fées on April 1, 1839. •  Lazarillo* in Marco Aurelio Marliani’s (1805–1849) La Xacarilla on October 28, 1839. •  Loyse in François Bazin’s (1816–1878) cantata Loyse de Montfort on October 7, 1840. •  Léonor de Guzman in Donizetti’s La Favorite (La favorita) on December 2, 1840. •  Agathe in Weber’s Le freischütz (French adaptation of Der Freischütz) on June 7, 1841. •  Catarina in Halévy’s La reine de Chypre on December 22, 1841. •  Odette in Halévy’s Charles VI on March 15, 1843. •  Zaïda in Donizetti’s Dom Sébastien, roi de Portugal on November 13, 1843. •  Beppo* in Halévy’s Le lazzarone on March 29, 1844. •  Desdémone in Rossini’s Otello (French adaptation of Otello) on September 2, 1844. •  Marie Stuart in Louis Niedermeyer’s (1802–1861) Marie Stuart on December 6, 1844. •  Estrelle in Balfe’s L’étoile de Séville on December 17, 1845. •  David* in August Mermet’s (1810–1889) David on June 3, 1846. •  Marie in the Rossini pastiche (by Niedermeyer) Robert Bruce on December 30, 1846. The pasticcio Robert the Bruce was cobbled up from Rossini’s La donna del lago. Smart quotes Gustave Bord (1852–1934), Stoltz’s early biographer, as claiming that Rosine sang Léonor de Guzman in La Favorite 481 times, Catarina in La reine de Chypre 118 times, and Lazarillo in La Xacarilla in 100 performances. Benvenuto Cellini was Berlioz’s first opera and had been accepted for production by Pillet’s predecessor, Henri Duponchel (1794–1868), in 1835. The premiere with Duprez in the title role was a fiasco when the audience erupted in riots and the orchestra musicians judged it too difficult to play. * Trouser roles.



“La Favorite,” Rosine Stoltz 139

La Favorite was Stoltz’s signature role and some critics speculated that the libretto was biographical based on her relationship with Pillet. Donizetti originally planned to compose Le Duc d’Albe as his second opera for Paris, but Pillet objected on the grounds that there was not a starring role for Rosine Stoltz. He then revised L’Ange de Nisida and added the required fourth act, which the librettist Alphonse Royer (1803–1875) declared Donizetti had written in three or four hours after dinner.6 The reception for La Favorite was lukewarm but gradually began to gain favor. Some critics felt that its success would have been immediate had the title role been sung by Cornélie Falcon instead of Stoltz. It was at the time of Dom Sébastien that the mental illness that would eventually overcome Donizetti first manifested itself. Some of Donizetti’s more volatile friends accused Stoltz of being the cause of his decline but most people considered such an assessment ridiculous. Nevertheless, she must have been venal and temperamental. The climax of the difficulties during the rehearsals of Dom Sébastien had come when Rosine Stoltz had refused to remain on stage when Paolo Barroilhet (1810–1871), in the role of Camões (Camoëns), sang a barcarolle. When Donizetti strongly objected to her absence during that part of the scene, Stoltz consented to remain—if the second verse of the barcarolle was deleted. That compromise was agreed to by the direction, and at that point, Donizetti’s anger got the better of him. He threw down the score, denounced Stoltz for having wounded his artistic dignity, and walked out of the theater. “Three friends,” Léon Escudier wrote, “and we among them, followed him home. He said nothing more. He gave vent to rattling sounds of rage. His mind was confused.”7 Stoltz was finally driven off the stage of the Opéra in 1847 by the mounting criticism of her relationship with Pillet, and he followed soon after. Mary Ann Smart states that after 1840, the Opéra entered a period of decline: Pillet’s advent of superintendent in 1840 saw the Opéra’s fortunes decline rapidly. After the triumph of La Favorite, Paris’s first theater slipped into disappointing premières and lackluster revivals with singers often past their primes. Stoltz’s tenure coincided with the departures of many popular artists and the vocal decline of others, including the leading tenor and pioneer of the famous high C “from the chest,” Gilbert Duprez. Of course laments about vocal decline and departed great singers are a commonplace of any opera house in any season, but they had greater polemic urgency in Paris, becoming the basis for an aesthetic debate about the relative merits of the spectacular scenic effects of French grand opera and the Italian style emphasis on voice and melody. . . .

As the unpopular superintendent’s “favourite,” Stoltz was a convenient symbol: since the aesthetic and political problems that haunted the Opéra were too sweeping to be confronted directly, attention could be diverted toward the smaller conflicts and disasters that could plausibly be blamed on her vanity and ambition. She was accused of sabotaging the sopranos already at the Opéra by preventing Pillet from giving them starring roles, and of forbidding him to invite rivals to Paris.8

Rosine Stoltz may not have been the sole cause of the Opéra’s decline, but she certainly had a hand in it, an opinion shared by many separate witnesses. Her later life was as flamboyant as her singing career. Her need to mythologize herself, to embroider and fabricate a persona, enlivens her narrative, but it also creates a need for theories—explanations of her unreliability as a chronicler of her own life. Take, for example, her kaleidoscope of names. With every twist and turn of her career or personal life, Rosine took a new name, at first simply discarding the old, later accumulating them, hoarding assumed personae. By the end of her life the woman born Victoire Noël was signing her letters “Rosa Carolina, comtesse de Ketschendorf, baronesse de Stoltzenau, princesse de Lesignano, duchesse de Bassano, princesse de Paix, née d’Altavilla (Rosine Stoltz).9 Some of these titles were based on actual marriages and some were appropriated from various assignations. Rosine Stoltz died in Paris on July 30, 1903, at the age of eighty-eight.

NOTES 1.  Mary Ann Smart, “The Lost Voice of Rosine Stoltz,” Cambridge Opera Journal 6, no.1 (1994): 34. 2. Jean-Louis Tamvaco, Les cancans de l’Opéra: Chroniques de l’Académie royale de musique et du théâtre, à Paris sous les deux Restaurations, 2 vols. (Paris: CNRS Editions, 2000), 1074. 3. Gilbert-Louis Duprez, Souvenirs d’un chanteur. Paris: Michel Levy Frères, 1880. Trans. Paul Micio. 4.  Smart, “The Lost Voice of Rosine Stoltz,” 39. 5.  Smart, “The Lost Voice of Rosine Stoltz,” 48. 6.  Herbert Weinstock, Donizetti and the World of Opera in Italy, Paris, and Vienna in the First Half of the Nineteenth Century (New York: Pantheon Books, 1963), 157. 7.  Herbert Weinstock, Donizetti and the World of Opera in Italy, Paris, and Vienna in the First Half of the Nineteenth Century (New York: Pantheon Books, 1963), 209. 8.  Smart, “The Lost Voice of Rosine Stoltz,” 38–39. 9.  Smart, “The Lost Voice of Rosine Stoltz,” 41.

18 Altos in Opéra Lyrique and Opéra Comique

pheus in the Underworld), featured the altos Marguerite Chabert (fl. 1850–1860) as Juno and Marguerite Macé-Montrouge (1836–1898) as L’Opinion publique. Both were veterans of Offenbach’s “small operettas.” Orphée was wildly popular with the Parisian public and one of the main reasons was the “Infernal Galop” number, which featured the once-naughty cancan. Some confused spectators actually bought tickets to see Gluck’s Orphée during a long run at the Opéra, thinking they were going to see Offenbach’s rollicking musical! At the Palais-Royal, Hortense Schneider now commanded large fees and was notoriously temperamental. She contemplated retirement, but despite these obstacles, Offenbach persuaded her to rejoin him at the Théâtre des Variétés for La belle Hélène (1864), which was a triumph for her. Schneider created leading roles in several of Offenbach’s operettas, some of which he called opéras bouffes. They include Boulotte in Barbe-bleue (1866), La Grande-Duchesse de Gérolstein (1867), and La Périchole (1868). Schneider continued singing in Paris for a few years and visited London and St. Petersburg as late as 1872. More than her voice, Schneider profited from the succès de scandale of her private life, as well as her personal beauty and acting ability, during a career reminiscent of many of today’s pop divas. The Tales of Hoffmann is an opéra fantastique set to a libretto by Jules Barbier (1825–1901) based on three short stories by E. T. A. Hoffmann The alto voice is very important in this opera, with Hoffmann’s muse, Poetry, masquerading as Nicklausse, his closest friend. One of his loves, Giulietta, is often sung by a mezzo-soprano. The first Nicklausse was Marguerite Ugalde (1862–1940), a French operetta singer who performed the part at the first performances (which did not include the third act) on February 10, 1881, at the Opéra-Comique. The muse was mezzo-soprano Marie Molé-Truffier (1855–1923). Ambrose Thomas was a French composer who is remembered today as the composer of Mignon (1866) and Hamlet (1868). He was also an esteemed educator who was the director of the Conservatoire de Paris from 1871 until his death in 1896. Among his pupils was Jules Massenet. As a winner of the Prix de Rome, Thomas became deeply influenced by the Italian genius

For those who insist on clear-cut labels, the distinction between the opéra comique and regular opera is a source of confusion. Based on a purely mechanical analysis, the difference is between works that have spoken dialogue and others that are through-composed or have sung recitatives. However, many works like George Bizet’s (1838–1875) Carmen, Massenet’s Manon, Gustave Charpentier’s (1860–1956) Louise, and Claude Debussy’s (1862–1918) Pelléas et Mélisande are on serious subjects but they were all premiered at the Théâtre de l’Opéra-Comique. Donald J. Grout states that The state of musical taste in Paris (that is to say in France) from 1840 to 1870 is sufficiently illustrated by three facts: the adoration of Meyerbeer, the neglect of Berlioz, and the craze for Offenbach.1

Jacques Offenbach (1819–1880), a German-born French composer, wrote more than one hundred operettas but only one opera, the posthumous Les contes d’Hoffmann (1881). In 1855, when Offenbach was rejected as a composer by the Opéra-Comique, he opened his own small (three-hundredseat) Théâtre des Bouffes-Parisiens, where he produced more than thirty one-act operettas. All had only three characters because of government licensing strictures. In one of the early pieces, Le violoneux (1855), a mezzo-soprano named Hortense Schneider (1833–1920) made her debut and immediately became the star of the show. In the following season, she created Gigolette in Tromb-al-ca-zar and Pierrette in La rose de St. Flour, both by Offenbach, as well as the role of Violette in Les pantins de Violette by Adolphe Adam (1803–1856). After the two seasons she worked with Offenbach in these small operettas, she moved on to the Palais-Royal, where she appeared in many vaudevilles, melodramas, and comedies, both as a singer and a stage actress, from 1858 to 1864. Once the prohibition against larger casts had been lifted, Offenbach was finally able to embark on a series of full-length operettas. The first of these, Orphée aux enfers (1858) (Or141

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for melody. Mignon is based on Goethe’s novel Wilhelm Meisters Lehrjahre. Mignon’s song Nur wer die Sennsucht kennt was also one of the most popular subjects of the nineteenth century for many composers of song literature such as Schubert, Schumann, Beethoven, Hugo Wolf (1860–1903), and Tchaikovsky. The original French libretto for the opera was by Jules Barbier and Michel Carré (1821–1872) and featured the required happy ending instead of the tragic death of Mignon, as in Goethe’s original story. Mignon premiered on November 17, 1866, at the Opéra-Comique. Thomas prepared a version with sung recitatives in 1870 and that is the one most performed today. However, the original version had achieved 1,600 performances at the Opéra-Comique by 1927.2 Célestine Galli-Marié (1840–1905) was a mezzo-soprano whose performance in Balfe’s The Bohemian Girl attracted the attention of the management of the Opéra-Comique. She made a successful debut as Serpina in Pergolesi’s La serva padrona in 1862. She was then chosen to create the eponymous role of Mignon. “She is small and graceful, moves like a cat, has an impish, pert face, and her whole personality seems unruly and mischie-

vous. She acts as though she had been trained in the sound tradition of Molière; she sings in a fresh full voice, piquant and mellow,” wrote a critic in 1862 after her overwhelmingly successful debut in Pergolesi’s La Serva Padrona. In Albert Grisar’s (1808–1869) Les Amours du diable the following year, “she was by turns piquant, tender, sardonic, and impassioned.” In Lara by Aimé Maillart (1817–1871), an opera based on Byron’s poem, she played her part, dressed as a boy, “with feline grace and fierce energy.” Lara was “a great success for Mme Galli-Marié who is decidedly a most remarkable artist,” Ludovic Halévy realized as early as 1864. She sang and played the part with rarest talent. In 1866 she created the title role of Thomas’s Mignon, making it so much her own that when the opera was later revived with another singer one critic protested: “Mignon is Galli-Marié; no other artist should sing it.”3 Galli-Marié made a fine career from this ever-popular part. One of the features of her interpretation of Mignon was her study of the 1836 painting of Mignon by Ary Scheffer, a dear friend of Pauline Viardot. In 1856, a long article by Offenbach on the history of comic opera in Le Figaro inspired a competition for aspiring composers. It was won by the eighteen-year-old George Bizet, who submitted Le docteur Miracle. Despite winning the prestigious Prix de Rome award the next year, misfortune seemed to dog the career of Bizet, who endured a lack of success in his earlier operas because of a lack of suitable libretti and unfair criticism from unenlightened members of the press. However, there were a few who believed in him, notably Berlioz and Léon Carvalho (1825–1897), the director of the Théâtre-Lyrique. Finally, in 1873, Bizet received a commission from the OpéraComique director for an opera based on Prosper Mérimée’s (1803–1870) novel Carmen of 1845. Bizet played through the part for Galli-Marié and decided that she was perfect for the title role. The libretto was to be by Henri Meilhac (1831–1897) and Ludovic Halévy (1834–1908), a team best known for work with Offenbach. However, the cash-strapped manager of the Opéra-Comique, Camille du Locle (1832–1903), continued to haggle by mail over salary with the touring Galli-Marié for four months. Finally, on December 18, 1873, they came to an agreement. In a letter to du Locle on January 2, 1874, Galli-Marié wrote: I have signed with the Monnaie for a new series of 15 performances. It is no longer a matter for the anodyne, peaceful role of Marguerite (in which, by the way, I have just had a triumph here . . .) but of Le prophète. La Favorite, Il Trovatore, etc, etc. And I am not afraid of them!4

Figure 18.1.  Célestine Galli-Marié as Carmen by Henri Lucien Doucet (1856–1895)

I take this to mean that the thirty-four-year-old singer was feeling a new maturity in her voice and was moving into the mezzo-soprano range with more dramatic parts instead of the lyric soprano roles of her youth. Certainly, she had previously exhibited the temperament necessary for such parts and now the voice matched her dramatic inclinations. In the spring of 1874, Bizet received the news that the premiere of Carmen had



Altos in Opéra Lyrique and Opéra Comique

been postponed, with rehearsals starting in October instead of August. Having planned to learn her role in the summer, Galli-Marié, who was eager to play the fiery gypsy, pretended to be ill to evade several verbal agreements for engagements that summer. She enjoyed a period of relaxation, incognito, in a chateau near Bordeaux. In a nice bit of playfulness, she called herself Madame Cipriani from the Castello di Cipriani in Mignon. She requested copies of the difficult parts of the role from Bizet but demurred when he offered to bring them to her in person. She stated that she would be traveling in September and needed the parts before rehearsals began and would sight-read the rest at that time. Rehearsals began on October 2, 1874, while Galli-Marié was performing Mignon at the Opéra-Comique at the same time. On October 5, she sang in the 344th performance of Thomas’s popular opera and on December 9, appeared as Rose Friquet in Les Dragons de Villars, another opera by Aimé Maillart. Turbulent rehearsals were held almost every weekday from November until the end of the year. For his part, du Locle upheld the reputation of French opera managers as a contemptible lot. Having become sole director, he presided over a steadily declining box office. Frustrated, he took out his pique on the cast and creators of Carmen. The only remaining outlet for du Locle was the upholding of his reputation as a prophet. Preferring omniscience to loyalty, he did not hesitate to indulge in derogatory remarks in the hearing of the authors and singers. He told all and sundry that Bizet’s music was “Cochin-Chinese and utterly incomprehensible.” The effect of the director’s attitude permeated the whole company, thereby rendering unbearably difficult the composer’s efforts to control the rebellious musicians and singers.5 The rehearsals in January 1875 continued to be chaotic. Bizet was forced to accompany them himself. The chorus, accustomed to standing in a row, staring at the conductor, declared the first two acts, where they were required to move about the stage in a realistic manner, unperformable and threatened to strike, while the orchestra proclaimed the score to be unplayable. Du Locle demanded that the ending be changed, but Galli-Marié refused to accept any changes whatsoever and threatened to resign if there were any. Ernest Guiraud (1837– 1892) was Bizet’s close friend who was born in New Orleans. He composed the recitatives for the grand opera version of Carmen and orchestrated the score of Les contes d’Hoffmann after the deaths of both composers. Guiraud stated that Bizet revised the habanera thirteen times before he and Galli-Marié were satisfied.6 The first performance of Carmen, which more than any other is identified with the alto voice, premiered on March 3, 1875. Du Locle, worried about the possibility of a scandal, discouraged the ordinary family parties from attending. The audience was made up of a mixture of professional musicians, the press, music publishers, and boulevardiers who were anxious to witness a scandal. Between the first two acts, friends went backstage to congratulate the composer. Gounod, ever true to his duplicitous form, praised Bizet to his face, but in private

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complained that Bizet had stolen the best music in the score from him. As the opera proceeded, a chill descended upon the theater, and it was evident that the premiere had been a failure. Only a few friends, their eyes sad, greeted the hapless composer after the final curtain. The second performance was a different story. Audience members who had enjoyed themselves were mystified by the reports of the failure of the premiere. Some laid the blame squarely at du Locle’s door. However, the damage had been done by the scathing reviews from a corrupt press between the first two performances. Carmen ran for forty-eight performances, seemingly a sign of success, but the houses were never full and the cost of production was never recouped. Oscar Comettant (1819–1898), in a venomous article, did not spare Galli-Marié. “This distinguished artist,” he felt, “could have corrected what was shocking and apathetic in the character of this heartless, faithless, lawless gypsy. She has, on the contrary, exaggerated Carmen’s vices by a realism that would at best be bearable in an operetta in a small theater. At the Opéra-Comique, a subsidized theater, a decent theater if there ever was one, Mlle Carmen should temper her passions.”7 There were unsubstantiated backstage assertions that Célestine Galli-Marié and Bizet had a romantic relationship that began during rehearsals of Carmen. Whether or not this was true, she is to be given great credit for the realization of Bizet’s masterpiece. “Throughout the embattled rehearsals of Carmen, it was not the composer’s wife who sustained him either as a man or as an artist. It was Galli-Marié, the woman of the theater, who became the embodiment of his creation by her own gifts, her faith in his talent, her fierce loyalty to his conception of the interpretation of her role, and her willingness to make sacrifices for it rather than compromise—it was she who gave him wholehearted support. How then must he have felt when he read the virulent personal attacks by Commetant and Achille de Lauzières (1800–1875) on the character she portrayed with such faithful adherence to his conception that she herself became Carmen? And if the singer’s interpretation represented the tangible, visual aspects of Bizet’s heroine, it is probable that spiritually and musically Carmen was the realization of Bizet’s own unconscious longing.”8 “On June 3, 1875, after a swim in the cold waters of the Seine, George Bizet died from ‘a cardiac complication of acute articular rheumatism. Without the febrile polyarthritis following a chill, he would not have died during a convalescence from a recurrent throat angina.’”9 One of the most intriguing legends in the history of opera is that on the thirty-third performance of Carmen, Célestine Galli-Marié had a premonition of the death of Bizet during the card scene in act 3. She managed to finish the scene and then fainted in the wings. The opera ended at approximately the same time that Bizet lost consciousness. The next performance was canceled due to Galli-Marié’s high fever. On the night of Bizet’s funeral, Carmen was presented onstage at the OpéraComique. The entire cast was crying. Galli-Marié was unable

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to sing the next two performances, which were canceled. Her final performance was on June 13, 1875. Before being forced out of the directorship, du Locle revived Carmen for a series of twelve performances with the original cast starting on November 15. Tchaikovsky attended one of the performances and was stirred by both the opera and Galli-Marié’s interpretation. After the close of that run, Carmen was absent from the Opéra-Comique for eight years, but Galli-Marié continued to sing it in theaters all around Europe, appearing in Brussels, Bordeaux, Barcelona, Lyon, Liège, Dieppe, Naples, and Genoa, where she was stabbed in the cheek by an overexcited tenor. During this period, Carvalho, now the director of the Opéra-Comique, was importuned on all sides to revive Carmen, but he still considered it to be immoral. Furthermore, when Galli-Marié was suggested to star in a revival, Halévy and Meilhac cried, “Don’t mention that woman to us,” said the librettists. “It was her fault that the piece failed. Her interpretation of the part was too realistic. . . . Mme Galli-Marié may perhaps have played Mérimeé’s Carmen. But she did not play ours.”10

On April 21, 1883, Carvalho, bowing to the pressure, presented a shabby, poorly cut, badly rehearsed Carmen, starring a bland, colorless soprano named Adèle Isaac (1854–1915). To provide an idea of her unsuitability for Carmen, consider that she sang Susanna and Zerlina at the Opèra-Comique and created the parts of Olympia and Antonia in Les contes d’Hoffmann in 1881. The other singers were incompetent and the last act was so under-rehearsed that the singers missed their cues and the staging was disastrous. The audience was outraged at this desecration of a great work of art, but Bizet’s music was appreciated at last and the rest of the season was a box-office success. Finally, on October 22 of the same year, Carvalho relented and revived the opera as it had been written, with the original sets and costumes. Galli-Marié was triumphant and the critics had a tasty French meal of crow. The deceitful critic, Oscar Comettant, reversed course with this learned comment: Mme Galli-Marié is the personification of Carmen as Mérimée conceived her. This incarnation at first seemed shocking to the decent audiences of the Opéra-Comique, which today accepts it without reservation. . . . Mme Galli-Marié was recalled as much as three times in rapid succession. Carmen, the most hairraising strumpet of Moorish blood . . . but also the most live and “thrilling” of creatures, has finally gained her naturalization papers at the bourgeois, prudish Salle-Favart. Bizet’s work has liberated it from all obstacles and it has definitely entered the repertory of the Opéra-Comique.11

The overwhelming success of Mignon and Carmen obscures the fact that Galli-Marié had quite a lot of experience in creating major roles in operas now largely forgotten. As a typical alto musico, she premiered several travesti parts—Lazarille in Don César de Bazan (1870) by Massenet, Vendredi (Friday) in Robinson Crusoé (1870), and the title role of Fantasia (1872), both by Offenbach. François Auguste Gevaert’s (1828–1908)

Le Capitaine Henriot (1864), Fior d’Aliza (1866) of Victor Massé (1822–1884), and Piccolino (1866) by Ernest Guiraud were other operas premiered by Galli-Marié. Célestine Galli-Marié continued to sing her great role of Carmen, appearing at Her Majesty’s Theater in London in 1886. She returned to the Opéra-Comique in December 1890 for her last performance with Nellie Melba (1861–1931), Jean de Reszke (1850–1925), and Jean Lassalle (1847–1909) in order to raise money for a memorial for Bizet. On November 25, 1892, when Emma Calvé first sang Carmen at the Opéra-Comique, Galli-Marié went backstage to congratulate her successor. “Bravo” she said, “The way you have played the part is highly interesting, very original, never trivial, although very bold. And what a lovely voice you have!” Then with a sigh: “This is the first time I have consented to be present at this opera which reminds me so poignantly of my youth.”12

The last composer of Pauline Viardot’s circle to consider was Jules Massenet, who wrote more than thirty operas, several of which have leading roles for the alto voice. It seems to me that Viardot had a way of encouraging appreciation for the lower female voice among her composer associates. Grout states that Massenet was the outstanding French composer of the late nineteenth century, attributing this to a gift for personalized melody and an individual style that took advantage of new devices without being a member of any particular “school.”13 I have already noted Massenet’s opéra-comique, Don César de Bazan, written for Célestine Galli-Marié in 1872, and MarieMagdeleine, the drame-sacré premiered by Pauline Viardot in 1873. The grand opera Le roi de Lahore (1877) was a great success and established Massenet as an outstanding young French composer. His next work, Hérodiade (1879), was rejected at the Opéra for the same reasons that Samson et Dalila was. The Théâtre de Monnaie in Brussels was much more adventurous in those days and Hérodiade received its premiere on December 19, 1881. The Hérodiade was Blanche Deschamps-Jéhin (1857–1923), who had made her debut there as Mignon in 1879. Deschamps-Jéhin possessed a wide-ranging contralto voice and was a mainstay at the Opéra-Comique for more than a decade in the 1880s. Her other Massenet premiere roles included Madame de la Haltière in Cendrillon (1899) and the baroness in Chérubin (1905). In 1891, she made her debut at the Paris Opéra as Léonor in La Favorite. Deschamps-Jéhin went on to star there as Fidès, Amneris, Dalila, Ortrud, Fricka, and Erda. Carmen, Azucena, and Brangäne in Tristan were among the other roles in her repertoire. Of course, Massenet is best known for Manon (1884), which has been a vehicle for high sopranos since it was written. Manon established Massenet as the leading composer of his generation in France, a position comparable to Verdi in Italy. Massenet’s other masterpiece was Werther, from the novel by Goethe. The idea for Werther went back to 1880 and took a long time to germinate. It was also turned down as too depressing by the unimaginative directors at the Opéra-Comique. The premiere



Altos in Opéra Lyrique and Opéra Comique

took place on February 16, 1892, in Vienna and was performed in German. Charlotte was sung by Marie Renard (1864–1939), an Austrian mezzo-soprano, born Marie Pötzl. Renard had made her debut in Graz as Azucena and already had Carmen and Mignon under her belt before the premiere of Werther. The versatility of the altos of the nineteenth century was amazing. Besides the alto roles mentioned, Renard sang the first performance of Manon in Vienna in 1890, as well as Ännchen in Weber’s Der Freischütz, Rosalinde in Die Fledermaus, Musetta in La Bohème, and Tatyana in the first Viennese performance of Tchaikovsky’s Eugene Onegin in 1897. Renard bade farewell to the stage in 1900 as Carmen. The enormous popularity of Cavalleria Rusticana by the young Pietro Mascagni (1863–1945) and the Italian genre called verismo prompted Massenet to compose La Navarraise, which he called an épisode lyrique, in 1894. The Anita (la Navarraise) of the original production at Covent Garden was Emma Calvé (1858–1942). Designated a soprano in all historical accounts, Calvé was a true model of a zwischen-fach (“between categories”) artist who defied classification. She was obviously just as interested in the dramatic aspects of a role as she was in the purely musical and

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vocal elements. On recordings, Calvé certainly sounds like a lyric soprano in the upper half of the voice, but her middle and chest voice have an undeniable power. I am including her in this study because of her celebrity as the most famous Carmen of her generation, as well as the other alto roles that she sang. Calvé came from a lower-middle-class family and had few educational advantages. She struggled for acceptance in Italy and France for ten years after her debut at the Monnaie as Marguerite in Faust in 1881. At the recommendation of François Gevaert, director of the Brussels Conservatoire, Calvé began studying with Mathilde Marchesi (1821–1913), whose strict methods were not compatible with Calvé’s free and earthy spirit. She learned much from Marie Miolan-Carvalho, the first Marguerite in Faust, and from her last voice teacher, Rosina Laborde (1824–1907). One of her secrets was her study with the elderly castrato, Domenico Mustafà (1829–1912), from whom she learned the use of the whistle register, which lies above the head voice and accounts for her ability to sing such disparate parts as Ophélie in Thomas’s Hamlet and Carmen, her signature role. This sound can be clearly heard in her recording of “Ma Lisette,” a folk song. Calvé was always identified as the quintessential French singer but she cut her eyeteeth on Italian verismo, having created Suzel in L’amico Fritz with Fernando de Lucia (1860–1925) in 1891. Santuzza was her first success and she was the first interpreter of the part at the Opéra-Comique in November 1891. Calvé prepared for the part by following the great actress Eleonora Duse (1858–1924) around Italy, studying gesture and stagecraft. She was always grateful to Victor Maurel (1848–1923), the first Iago and Falstaff in Verdi’s operas, who, sensing her potential, engaged her to appear with him at the Théâtre Italien in 1884 and gave her the benefit of his advice. Today, Calvé would probably be considered a method actress. She gave the following account of her preparation for the role of Santuzza: “My interpretation for the role of Santuzza,” she recalled, “astonished my comrades. My spontaneous and apparently unstudied gestures shocked them. Even the costume, which I had brought with me from Italy, the clothes of a real peasant woman, coarse shirt, worn sandals and all, was considered eccentric and ugly. I was unmercifully criticized and ridiculed. . . . Come what will,” I thought, “I shall act the part as I feel it. I went on the stage, and I was . . . the naïve and tragic Santuzza, the passionate, impulsive peasant girl of Italy. It was a triumph!”14

Figure 18.2.  

Emma Calvé as Carmen. Collection of the author.

On November 25, 1892, Emma Calvé sang her first Carmen at the Opéra-Comique. She prepared her signature part with no less attention to detail. As background, Calvé lived in Spain until the age of six and retained a lifelong fluency in Spanish.15 An inveterate traveler, and always a curious observer, Calvé had visited Granada and seen the gypsies and their dances. She had studied their dress, gestures, and movements, and she now strove for authenticity in her own interpretation.

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“I insisted,” she wrote in My Life, “on wearing the fringed shawl which is called in Spain the mantón de Manila instead of the bolero and short skirt in which the part had always been costumed. In the matter of the dance, also, my ideas and those of the director did not agree! They wanted me to learn the steps which had been danced with such grace and charm by GalleMarié. How do you expect me to imitate Galli?” I protested. “She was small, dainty, and an entirely different build. I am big. I have long arms. It is absurd for me to imitate anyone but the gypsies themselves.” Whereupon, I showed them the true dance of the gitanas, with its special use of the arms and hands—a manner of dancing for which the Spaniards have invented the expression el bracear.”16

With her overwhelming success as Carmen, Emma Calvé began her great international career, singing at Covent Garden from 1892 to 1894, from 1898 to 1902, and again in 1904. The alto repertoire she sang included Carmen, Mignon, La Navarraise, and Hérodiade. The soprano repertoire included Mefistofele by Arrigo Boito, Gounod’s Faust, and Thomas’s Hamlet. In 1893 she debuted as Santuzza at the Metropolitan and sang the first New York production of Carmen there on December 20, 1893. In her six seasons at the Met, she sang Carmen no less than 137 times. She then took Carmen to Boston, Chicago, and Montreal. The Don Josés included De Lucia, with whom she often partnered, and Jean de Reszke. On October 3, 1895, Calvé reached the apex of her career at the Opéra-Comique when she sang the Paris premiere of La Navarraise. Massenet was pleased and composed another opera for her, Sapho, which premiered on November 27, 1897. Calvé played Fanny Legrand, an artist’s model. The role is listed as soprano. Emma Calvé’s reputation was achieved mostly at the OpéraComique. She had to wait until 1899 to make her debut at the Paris Opéra as Ophélie in Thomas’s Hamlet. Even then, when she heard that the great Sarah Bernhardt (1844–1923) was going to appear in her first Hamlet on the same night as her debut, she postponed it for a few days until May 29, citing a conflict with the dress rehearsal of Massenet’s Cendrillon at the OpéraComique. She soon dropped Ophélie from her repertoire as being too high for her. In 1902, Calvé premiered La Carmélite, a soprano role by Reynaldo Hahn (1874–1947), who was a student of Massenet at the Conservatoire. From 1903 to 1904, Emma Calvé returned to the alto repertoire with Berlioz’s La damnation de Faust and Hérodiade. From 1906 to 1915, she traveled extensively around the world and in the United States and Germany. In 1916 during the war, Calvé gave concerts in France to benefit the Red Cross. She did not retire until 1925 after another tour in America. From 1899 to 1900, Calvé and others in her party traveled through the East with a man who had a profound effect on her life, Swami Vivekananda (1863–1902). Vivekananda has left a number of books about spiritual matters. He wrote the following about Emma Calvé: She was born poor but by her innate talents, prodigious labour and diligence, and after wrestling against much hardship, she is now enormously rich and commands respect from kings and

emperors. . . . The rare combination of beauty, youth, talents, and “divine” voice has assigned Calvé the highest place among the singers of the West. There is, indeed, no better teacher than misery and poverty. The constant fight against the dire poverty, misery, and hardship of her girlhood, which has led to her present triumph over them, has brought into her life a unique sympathy and a depth of thought with a wide outlook.17

After 1925, Emma Calvé took up teaching in Millau, in the south of France, where she died in 1942 at the age of eightythree. The mezzo-soprano who sang the greatest number of premieres for Massenet was Lucy Arbell (1882–1947), who collaborated with the composer after the turn of the new century. Arbell created the roles of Perséphone in Ariane (1906), the title role in Thérèse (1907), Queen Amahelli in Bacchus (1909), Dulcinée in Don Quichotte (1910) with the great bass Feodor Chaliapin, Postumia in Roma (1912), and Colombe in Panurge (1913). Arbell made her debut in 1903 at the Paris Opéra as Dalila and then sang Fricka (Die Walküre), Amneris in Aida and Maddelena in Rigoletto, both by Verdi, as well as Uta in Sigurd (1884) by Ernest Reyer (1823–1909), a French opera that tells the story of the Niebelungenlied in a single evening. Reyer’s music owes more to Berlioz than it does to Wagner. Arbell continued to sing Charlotte in Werther into the 1920s. There were rumors to suggest that Massenet was a womanizer, but Rodney Milnes suggests that “external evidence would suggest sex in the head rather than in the bed.” He says that “there is something rather sad about the aging Massenet’s relationship with the gold-digging Lucy Arbell, a relationship surely reflected in Don Quichotte.”18 According to eyewitnesses, Arbell’s demands on the composer tested even his infatuation and after his death, she pursued his widow with lawsuits over exclusive rights to his posthumous oeuvre, hence the long-delayed premières of Cléopâtre (1914) and Amadis (1922).19 Cléopâtre was not premiered until two years after the death of the composer due to the abovementioned lawsuits. The title role was not sung by Arbell, for whom it was written, but by the beautiful Russian soprano Maria Kuznetsova (1880–1966). Arbell and Kuznetsova had appeared together in the last opera premiered during Massenet’s lifetime, Roma (1912). Arbell had a subsidiary role, Postumia, while Kuznetsova sang the leading role of Fausta. Kuznetsova had a great career, mostly in Europe, after she escaped the Russian revolution after 1917. Her second husband was Jules Massenet’s nephew, Alfred Massenet. Margherita Grandi (1894–1972), an Australian mezzosoprano (later a soprano), attended the Royal Conservatory of Music in London and studied voice with Mathilde Marchesi, Jean de Reszke, and, later, Emma Calvé in Paris. She must have been quite taken by the vivacious Calvé, for she made her debut as Charlotte in Werther with the stage name of Djéma Vécla (an anagram of Calvé). Massenet had started to compose Amadis in 1895 but shelved it until the last years of his



Altos in Opéra Lyrique and Opéra Comique

life, when he secretly finished it. At the Opéra Monte Carlo, Grandi premiered the eponymous role of Amadis in 1922, almost ten years after the death of the composer. Grandi then moved to Italy, studied with Giannina Russ (1873–1951) and emerged almost ten years later as a dramatic soprano, singing the role of Aida under her real name. In 1948, she recorded the sleepwalking scene from her best role, Lady Macbeth, with Thomas Beecham (1879–1971), in which the high notes were sung by soprano Dorothy Bond (1921–1952). High notes are often a casualty when altos try to move up to the soprano repertoire. Grandi’s voice can be heard on the film The Red Shoes, also made in 1948. In the same year, the fifty-four-yearold Grandi made an impressive recording of “Tu che la vanita” from Don Carlo in which she displays her powerful middle and low notes. Stendhal’s earlier complaint that the French nation did not encourage the development of the contralto voice ceases to hold water, for there are some fine singers spanning the Belle Époque. We are now entering the era when some of these French alto singers can be heard on recordings. Blanche Deschamps-Jéhin had a prolific career from 1879 to 1905, first at the Monnaie in Brussels and then mostly at the OpéraComique. Deschamps-Jéhin created the role of Ufa in Ernest Reyer’s Sigurd in 1884, as well as the title role of Hérodiade in Massenet’s opera in 1888. While at the Opéra-Comique, she took part in the world premieres of Une Nuit de Cléopatre (posthumous) of Victor Massé, Gounod’s Le Médecin malgré lui (1886), Margared in Édouard Lalo’s (1823–1892) Le Roi d’Ys (1888), Madame de la Haltière in Massenet’s Cendrillon, and the mother in Charpentier’s Louise (1900). After a successful visit to London where she sang with the de Reszke brothers, Melba, and Pol Plançon (1854–1914), DeschampsJéhin joined the Paris Opéra, singing the first Dalila at the Palais Garnier. She received admiring notices for her Léonor in La Favorite, as well as for her interpretations of Fidès, Amneris, and Ortrud. Her last performance was as Marta in Boito’s Mefistofele with Chaliapin in 1909. Like Emma Calvé, Jeanne Gerville-Réache (1882–1915) was a pupil of Rosine Laborde. She also studied with Pauline Viardot, especially the role of Orphée, in which she made her debut at the Opéra-Comique in 1899. Gerville-Réache remained there until 1902, when she created two world premiere roles, that of Catherine in Camille Erlanger’s (1863– 1919) Le juif polonais (1900) and Geneviève in Debussy’s Pelleas et Mélisande (1902). After a falling-out with the management, she sang at the Monnaie for the next two seasons and then debuted at the Royal Opera House in London in 1905, where she reprised Orphée. In 1907, Gerville-Réache was engaged at the Manhattan Opera Company, the rival company to the Metropolitan Opera run by Oscar Hammerstein I (1847–1919). The Manhattan had many of the world’s greatest singers on the roster during its brief existence from 1906 to 1910. Gerville-Réache repeated her Pelleas role of Geneviève with Mary Garden (1874–1967) and was especially admired for her Dalila, which she had studied with

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Saint-Saëns. She also sang Clytemnestra in the American premiere of Elektra, a role she immediately renounced. After the Hammerstein company ceased operation, Gerville-Réache was engaged at the Chicago Lyric, where she moved into the Wagnerian repertoire with Brangäne and Fricka and was also heard as Carmen. With prospects for an even more brilliant career, Jeanne Gerville-Réache died of food poisoning in New York City at the age of thirty-two. Except for a tour of South America in 1911, the contralto Suzanne Brohly (1882–1943) remained in Paris at the OpéraComique for a career that lasted more than a quarter of a century. Brohly made her debut in 1906 with a triumph as Lehl in Rimsky-Korsakov’s Snegourotchka. Her repertoire included Carmen, Nicklausse in Les contes d’Hoffmann, Clytemestre in Iphigénie en Aulide, Catherine in Erlanger’s Le juif polonais, the mother in Louise, Geneviève in Pelleas et Mélisande, Mignon, Orphée, Charlotte in Werther, the title role in Massenet’s Thérèse, and Margared in Le Roi d’Ys, along with a host of lesser roles. Brohly participated in a number of world premieres— Erlanger’s Aphrodite with Mary Garden, Paul Dukas’s (1865– 1935) Ariane et Barbe Bleue, and Le Carillonneur by Xavier Leroux (1863–1919). She made a number of records that reveal a well-produced voice of good size and plenty of emotional intensity. Marie Charbonnel (1880–1962) was born in Lyon where she attended the conservatoire and debuted at the Opéra National there as Fidès in Le prophète in 1901. She remained in Lyon for the next six years building repertoire, which included Amneris, Carmen, Orphée, Azucena, Charlotte, and Margared in Le Roi d’Ys. Charbonnel was engaged by the Paris Opéra in 1907, where she debuted as Dalila, and then sang Erda in the Paris premiere of Wagner’s Ring. Charbonnel also created the part of Vanina in Saint-Saëns’s L’Ancêtre in 1905 at Monte Carlo. In 1910 she joined the Opéra-Comique, where she appeared as Carmen, the mother in Louise, Pygmalion in Massé’s Galathée, and created roles in Ernest Bloch’s (1880–1959) Macbeth (1910) and Lucien Magnard’s (1865–1914) Bérénice (1911). Charbonnel’s voice was resonant and equalized throughout the range without the pronounced “break” from the chest register that mars the singing of many altos of this period. When the eighty-one-year-old Camille Saint-Säens was invited to conduct his Samson et Dalila at the Teatro Colon in Buenos Aires in 1916, it was Jacqueline Royer (1884–19??) whom he brought along as his Dalila. Royer was the daughter of a music professor and began singing at an early age. Upon her graduation from the Paris Conservatoire in 1904, she was immediately engaged at the Paris Opéra, making her debut as Léonor in La favorite. Royer also sang at Monte Carlo and the Royal Opera in London. Besides Dalila, she sang Amneris, Gertrude in Thomas’s Hamlet with Tita Ruffo (1876–1953), Geneviève in Pelleas, and the principessa in the London premiere of Giacomo Puccini’s (1858–1924) Suor Angelica in 1920. She also created a number of roles in now-forgotten operas such as Carmine in Amilcare Ponchielli’s (1834–1886) posthumous I mori di Valenza. Royer’s recordings are extremely

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rare (she only made four). Her rendition of the first part of the Prison Scene from Le prophète shows a substantial voice, a good legato line, and tasteful expression.

NOTES 1.  Donald J. Grout, A Short History of Opera (New York: Columbia University Press, 1965), 425. 2. Grout, A Short History of Opera, 340. 3.  Mina Curtiss, Bizet and His World (New York: Vienna House, 1958), 358. Quoted from Charles Soubies and Charles Malherbe, Histoire du Théâtre-Lyrique, 1851–70 (Paris, 1899), passim. 4. Curtiss, Bizet and His World, 364. Quoted from an unpublished letter from Galli-Marié to du Locle, Bibliothèque de l’Opéra. 5. Curtiss, Bizet and His World, 379. Quoted from Pierre Berton, Souvenirs de la vie de théâtre (Paris, 1913), 239. 6. Curtiss, Bizet and His World, 383. 7. Curtiss, Bizet and His World, 404. Quoted from Oscar Commetant, Le Siècle, 8 March 1875. 8. Curtiss, Bizet and His World, 406.

9. Curtiss, Bizet and His World, 419. Quoted from Dr. Eugène Gelma, “La Mort du Musicien Georges Bizet,” Cahiers de Psychiatrie 2 (Strasbourg, 1949). 10. Curtiss, Bizet and His World, 431. Quoted from Maurice Lefèvre, Musica 117 (June 1912). 11. Curtiss, Bizet and His World, 435. Quoted from Oscar Commetant, Le Siècle, 8 October 1883. 12. Curtiss, Bizet and His World, 434. Quoted from Emma Calvé, “Souvenirs d’ une grande Cantatrice,” Le Figaro, 9 June 1939. 13. Grout, A Short History of Opera, 434–35. 14. Pleasants, The Great Singers, 306. 15. Victor Girard, Emma Calvé liner notes (West Chester, PA: Marston Records, 1998), 2. 16.  Henry Pleasants, The Great Singers: From the Dawn of Opera to Our Own Time (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1966), 306. 17.  Advaita Ashrama, The Life of Swami Vivekananda (Himalayas: Advaita Ashrama, 1915), 552. 18.  Rodney Milnes, “Jules Massenet,” The New Grove Dictionary of Opera, vol. 3, ed. Stanley Sedie (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997), 257. 19.  Milnes, “Jules Massenet,” The New Grove Dictionary of Opera, 257.

19 The Bel Canto Altos of Bellini and Donizetti

Vincenzo Bellini only lived for thirty-four years, but his life (1801–1835) spanned the fluid era when the high soprano voice began to supplant the alto as the romantic lead in opera. However, most of the singers that he chose for his operas, such as Pasta and Malibran, had rich, resonant voices that can be characterized as mezzo-sopranos with comfortable top notes. Considering Bellini’s volatility, I would imagine that he would have been incensed to have heard someone like Amelita Galli-Curci (1882–1963) piping his expansive vocal lines. Bellini described mezzo-soprano Adelaide Comelli-Rubini as “that witch, his [Rubini’s] asinine and ambitious wife”1 when informed that she wished to sing Imogene in his Il pirata in Vienna in 1828. As it turned out, Comelli-Rubini did a good job and Bellini was relieved. Il pirata established Bellini’s reputation. Other significant altos who sang Imogene were Giuditta Grisi (1805–1840), who was Giulia’s sister, Caroline Ungher, and Giuditta Pasta. La straniera first premiered on February 14, 1829, with Henriette Méric-LaLande (1798–1867), a soprano and a favorite of Bellini, as Alaide (la straniera). Included in the cast was alto Caroline Ungher as Isoletta, but she soon (1831) took on the title part of Alaide, as did Giuditta Grisi, both of whom sang it numerous times throughout Europe. Zaira was a failure in its premiere in Parma on May 16, 1829. The opera again featured Méric-LaLande in the title part and Luigi Lablache as Orosmane, sultan of Jerusalem. Teresa Cecconi, a mezzo-soprano, sang the musico role of Nerestano, whose rondo was one of the few musical numbers to receive warm applause.2 Felice Romani, Bellini’s principal librettist, then revised his Giulietta e Romeo (Vaccai, 1825) for the young composer as I Capuleti e I Montecchi, which premiered on March 11, 1830, at La Fenice, Venice. The part of Romeo was assigned to Giuditta Grisi, whose reputation has been eclipsed by her famous sister, but who was obviously esteemed by Bellini, who was choosy about the casting of his operas. There were also rumors about an amorous relationship between Grisi and Bellini during the run in Venice, which included his coaching her in

the part of Imogene in Il pirata. I Capuleti was a great success, both for Giuditta Grisi and Bellini. As we have seen, Romeo was a great vehicle for Maria Malibran but a poor fit for Pasta, who dropped it from her repertoire after only two repetitions. La sonnambula is an opera that illustrates that the rigid organization of vocal categories into Fächer sometimes leads to confusion. In our time, the Internet provides a unique opportunity to compare both alto and soprano voices singing “Ah! non credea mirarti” in the same key (A minor). Each has virtues to recommend it. There are many versions available on YouTube. Maria Callas, perhaps the best modern parallel to the original Amina, Giuditta Pasta, sings an emotional and introspective version, while Cecilia Bartoli, who might be channeling Pauline Viardot in the exuberant cabaletta “Ah! non giunge,” descends to a low B flat in her embellishments. Adelina Patti, who recorded “Ah! non giunge” in 1906, sings an exquisite trill. As we have seen, Pasta abandoned Amina after a few performances, and most altos have ceded the territory to the sopranos during the years since Patti and Sembrich claimed it for their own. During the course of studying the careers of Pasta, Malibran, and Viardot, we have dealt extensively with Norma, Bellini’s greatest work, from its premiere in 1831. There have been many performances over the years. One of the most interesting was that of January 18, 1834, at the Tratro Apollo in Rome. No doubt “spooked” by the druid theme of the opera, the pontifical censor insisted on changing the title to La foresta d’Irminsul and the title character to “Delia.” La foresta became quite popular at the papal court. In 1835 Caroline Ungher as “Delia” interpolated Rubini’s great aria from Pacini’s Niobe, “Il soave e bel content.” In 1859, the Marchisio sisters, Carlotta (1835–1872), a soprano, and Barbara (1833–1919), a contralto, were “Delia” and Adalgisa respectively. The Marchisio sisters are usually considered a duo because they often sang together. Had the Turanese sisters Barbara and Carlotta Marchisio been born at the turn of the century rather than 1833 and 1835, respectively, Rossini might even have been wooed back 149

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to the composition of opera after Guillaume Tell. They appeared too late for that, but they were to give a new generation the opportunity to hear several of Rossini’s operas sung as though the new manners of singing required by Halévy, Meyerbeer, and the middle-aged Verdi had not intervened— and they were to be one chief reason for the creation of his last large composition, the Petite Messe solennelle.3 The twenty-one-year-old Carlotta made her operatic debut in 1856 as Norma. Barbara, the contralto, made her first operatic appearance as Rosina in the same year. Thereafter, Barbara took on the roles of Azucena, Angelina in La Cenerentola, Pierotto in Donizetti’s Linda di Chamounix, and Maffio Orsini in Lucrezia Borgia. In the same year the sisters began their illustrious duo career with three Rossini operas: Matilde di Shabran, Semiramide, and Guglielmo Tell, Barbara singing the minor part of Jemmy. They added Otello, with Barbara as Desdemona. When they reached La Scala in 1858, they triumphed in a revival of Semiramide, for a remarkable total of thirty-three performances. News travels fast in the operatic world, and a report to the Paris Opéra stated that not since Malibran and Sontag had the famous second-act duet been sung with such perfection. The sisters were engaged for a French translation of Semiramide at the Opéra for the summer season of 1860. Rossini, who evidently had heard them during a rehearsal, greeted them when they called at the Chausseé d’Antin with the words: “My dear babies, you have brought a dead man to life!”4 Other operas that the sisters appeared in were Il trovatore and La forza del destino of Verdi, Donizetti’s Lucia di Lammermoor, Cimarosa’s Il matrimonio segreto, Rossini’s L’italiana in Algeri and Mosè in Egitto, Mozart’s Le nozze di Figaro, and Bellini’s I puritani. Carlotta passed away in 1872, and Barbara continued to sing until 1876, when she retired to teach. When she was being installed as a teacher at the illustrious San Pietro di Maiella conservatory in Naples in 1892, the great fifty-nineyear-old contralto sang the rondo finale of La Cenerentola and “Agnus Dei” from the Petite Messe Solennelle. Barbara Marchisio was the teacher of Toti dal Monte (1893–1975) and Rosa Raisa (1893–1963), the first Turandot. Elvira in I puritani was created by Giulia Grisi in 1835, and the original cast was called the Puritani quartet. Later, with the substitution of the tenor Mario for Rubini, they were called the vieille garde. They held sway over the production of opera in Paris and London for nearly twenty-five years and I puritani was produced almost every year during this time. Bellini’s opera was always the province of the sopranos and was popular from its inception in London and Paris, especially when Grisi was around to sing it. The altos did not invade this territory with one notable exception. In June 1833, Bellini was in London and was invited to hear Maria Malibran in an English translation of La sonnambula at the Drury Lane Theater. He was vexed by the performance in a language that he didn’t understand and complained that his music was “torn to shreds”—that is, until Malibran sang the words “Ah! M’abbracia!” Bellini wrote to Francesco Florimo (1800–1888):

All that I can say is that never in my life shall I be able to feel a greater emotion. From that moment I have become very close to Malibran. She shows me all the admiration she feels for my music, and I show the same for her immense talent. I have promised to write her an opera befitting her genius. That’s a thought which electrifies me, my dear Florimo.5

That would be the mezzo version of I puritani written for Naples, which neither of them lived to see. The fate of the Malibran version of I puritani was like a Greek tragedy. The outbreak of cholera prevented the score sent by Bellini from arriving before the deadline, and no amount of persuasion from Maria and her supporters could prevent the cancellation of the contract. Bellini vowed that he would never again come to Naples. The Naples version was written for a mezzo-soprano lead as noted, and Arturo was to have been sung by GilbertLouis Duprez. The role of Riccardo, originally sung by the baritone Antonio Tamburini, was altered to be sung by a tenor. Malibran would have a splendid role. For example, the beautiful largo of the third finale (“Credeasi misera”) is arranged to give her, and not the tenor, the predominant part (it starts with Elvira’s words, “Qual mai funera”).6 The Malibran Puritani lay undisturbed for 151 years until it was given as a “world premiere” in London in 1985. The Bellini repertoire, with the exception of Norma, began to die out when the artists who created it passed from the scene. For example, in the twentieth century, the Metropolitan produced forty-three different operas during the 1909–1910 season, but none by Bellini. Norma was revived at the Met only four times as vehicles for artists who could do it justice: Rosa Ponselle (1897–1981) in 1927, Zinka Milanov in 1943, Maria Callas in 1956, and Joan Sutherland in 1970. None of these singers could be called altos, but all had strong middle and chest voices. Ponselle sang Carmen and Callas recorded it but never sang it onstage. For some time, since the advent of the so-called coloratura sopranos such as Henriette Sontag, Jenny Lind, and Adelina Patti, the Bellini oeuvre was perceived by many as being rather delicate and, frankly, boring. The flights of fioratura by such as Galli-Curci, Maria Barrientos (1883–1946), and Lily Pons (1904–1976) seemed to be as devoid of meaning as the singing of a canary. Nowadays we are witnessing a resurgence of the bel canto repertoire, thanks to the scholarship of Rodolfo Celletti, Philip Gossett, and others, as well as the glorious singing of Callas, Horne, Sutherland, Bartoli, and lately, Joyce DiDonato, who have shown how much drama is inherent in this music. Gaetano Donizetti was the prolific composer of some seventy operas. His work still lives on in perennial favorites like Lucia di Lammermoor, Don Pasquale, and L’elisir d’amore, and others that are revived from time to time. Some are written for soprano voices, but following the lead of Rossini, he also composed many operas for the alto prima donnas. His use of the alto voice began with the melodramma Enrico di Borgogna. This was Donizetti’s first opera to be performed, which premiered at the Teatro San Luca in Venice on November 14, 1818. The role of Elisa was



The Bel Canto Altos of Bellini and Donizetti 151

sung by Adelaide (Adele) Catalani (fl. 1818–1832) (not Angelica Catalani). Donizetti made the distinction, calling her “la Catalani iuniore” in a letter to Mayr in which he declared that she had a “large beautiful voice” and was hoping for a better outcome than he had had with a previous prima donna who was unavailable.7 Weinstock says that Catalani had a secondary career in several theaters and was listed on the roster at La Scala as late as 1832. The musico role of Enrico was created by Fanny Eckerlin (1802–1842), a contralto whose career was decidedly not secondary. The sixteen-year-old Eckerlin had just made her debut the same year as Isabella in Rossini’s L’italiana in Algeri at the Teatro S Benedetto (also in Venice). According to Gerardo Casaglia,8 Enrico was followed a month later by an opera buffa (farsa) by Donizetti called Una follia, which featured the same cast, in the same roles, based on the same libretto as Enrico. The score has been lost, and one wonders whether this was an attempt to make up for the lack of success of Enrico di Borgogna by tweaking the original version to attract the public to a work in the popular buffo genre. During the Carnivale season of 1820 in Mantua, Eckerlin was also possibly in the cast of Le nozze in villa, a buffa opera.9 In 1822, Rossini wrote an aria for Fanny Eckerlin’s appearance in Zelmira in Vienna, and she went on to become one of his most successful interpreters. Eckerlin was compared favorably with Benedetta Pisaroni during this time and they shared a similar repertory. Her fluency in coloratura and her extensive range accounted for her acclaim in travesti musico roles. Donizetti’s next piece, the melodrama eroico Zoraida di Granata (1822), had a measure of notoriety when he was forced to replace the tenor Amerigo Sbigoli in the role of Abenamet with a musico contralto named Mazzanti. Sbigoli had attempted to emulate the stentorian tones of Domenico Donzelli in another opera and had burst a blood vessel and died.10 Zoraide di Granata11 was revived in 1824, and Abenamet was sung by Benedetta Pisaroni. Despite an inept libretto, the melodramma La zingara was a big hit with the audience at the Teatro Nuovo in Naples on May 11, 1822. The title role was sung by Giacinta Canonici (fl. 1812–1834). Stendhal (who mistakenly called her Graciata Canonici) thought her “beautiful” and stated that she was a “leading light of the Teatro dei Fiorentini in Naples.”12 Canonici created the role of Berenice in L’occasione fa il ladro for Rossini in 1812. In 1822 she replaced Isabella Colbran in Zelmira at the San Carlo. On June 29, 1822, La lettera anonima a drama per musica, Donizetti’s one-act farce, opened at the Teatro del Fondo. Teresa Cecconi (fl. 1822–1832), a young mezzo-soprano, appeared as Melita, and the twenty-seven-year-old Giovanni Battista Rubini, on the verge of a great career, sang Filinto. Donizetti complained that the performance “was half-ruined by a novice singer” (Cecconi).13 As noted, Cecconi survived the setback and went on to create Nerestano in Zaira by Bellini in 1829. William Ashbrook is at pains to point out that The characterization of Donizetti’s early career up to the time of his great success with Anna Bolena (1830), as anni di galera

(years spent turning out an embarrassing profusion of journeyman’s work) is as misleading in its way as is the application of that perjorative term to the first decade of Verdi’s output. There is hardly a score of Donizetti’s from the 1820’s that does not have some pages that anticipate his future achievements. La lettera anonima, in spite of the contretemps that marred its prima, managed to have a run of twenty performances.14

To this should be added that, because of his appointment at Naples, Donizetti had access to the best group of singers in Italy, which were assembled during Rossini’s tenure there. Many were cast in his early operas, both in Naples and elsewhere. La Scala was the scene for the next Donizetti opera, the semiserio melodramma Chiara e Serafina, which premiered October 26, 1822. Rosa Morandi, the famed Rossini mezzosoprano, sang Serafina to a libretto by the outstanding Felice Romani. The opera ran for twelve performances but was not considered enough of a success by the directors of the theater to offer Donizetti a new contract. Chastened but not discouraged, Donizetti returned to Naples, where he had a further series of disappointments. His next alto work was L’ajo nell’ imbarazzo (The Tutor Embarrassed), which he called a melodramma giocoso. It premiered at the Teatro Valle in Rome on February 4, 1824. L’ajo, which was revised for the taste of the Neapolitan audience two years later as Don Gregorio, was a huge success in Rome. Alto Maria Ester Mombelli, an old friend of Rossini, starred as Gilda. L’ajo nell’ imbarazzo continued for the rest of the season in Rome and was repeated many times throughout Italy and the rest of Europe. The next Donizetti opera to feature the alto voice in the lead role was Olivo e Pasquale, with a libretto by Jacopo Ferretti, again at the Teatro Valle on January 7, 1827. The travesti role of Camillo (later changed to a tenor) was sung by Anna Scudellari Cosselli (fl. 1820s), who was listed as prima donna for the Valle in 1826 and 1827.15 Anna was the wife of Domenico Cosselli (1801–1855), a fine baritone and Rossini specialist who later created Enrico in Lucia di Lammermoor (1835). Almost forgotten today, Olivo e Pasquale was staged all over Europe during Donizetti’s lifetime. Donizetti’s next opera was the first for his new position as music director for Barbaja in Naples. Titled Otto mesi in tre ore, ossia Gli esiliati in Siberia (Eight Months in Two Hours, or the Exiles in Siberia), the opera romantica has had quite a history of different versions and revisions. A species of “rescue” opera, the plot concerns a teenager, Elisabetta Potoski, and her efforts to free her father, unjustly exiled to Siberia. Caterina Liparini (1792–1855), a soprano, assumed the role of Elisabetta in the first performance on May 13, 1827. However, as previously mentioned, Donizetti revised the part for the great contralto Caroline Ungher in 1832.16 Ungher became one of Donizetti’s favorite singers, and he wrote several more operas for her in the ensuing years, including his next melodramma giocoso, Il borgomastro di Saardam, which premiered on August 19, 1827, at the Teatro del Fondo. Il borgomastro was carefully rehearsed, given a good production, and ran for thirty-five repetitions, but when Ungher attempted it at

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La Scala with an under-rehearsed and mediocre cast, it proved to be a fiasco and was withdrawn after only one performance. Alina, regina di Golconda, an opera buffa with Serafina Rubini, a soprano, in the title role, premiered on May 12, 1828, at the Teatro Carlo Felice in Genoa. As far as I can tell, Serafina Rubini, who was a prima donna at several theaters, was not related to Giovanni Battista Rubini. Alina was revised with Viennese prima donna Annetta Fischer (fl. 1830s) assuming the title role on October 29, 1833, at the Valle in Rome. As far as the tessitura of Alina is concerned, Pauline Viardot had great success in the part during a run at La Scala during the period from 1843 to 1846. Donizetti’s next opera that featured an alto in the leading part was Gianni di Calais, a melodramma semiserio that starred Giovanni Battista Rubini and his wife, mezzo-soprano Adelaide Comelli-Rubini. Gianni premiered on August 2, 1828, at the Teatro Fondo. The Rubini couple, along with baritone Antonio Tamburini, who was also in the cast, was largely responsible for the success of the opera, and prompted Barbaja to sign Donizetti as director of the Royal Theaters of Naples, a post he held for ten years. Rubini was always fond of Gianni and persuaded the Théâtre Italien in Paris to stage it in 1833 and 1834. The principal part of Matilde was sung by Caroline Ungher. The Rubini duo were the principals, along with Luigi Lablache, in Il giovedi grasso (Maundy Thursday), a farsa with

spoken dialogue, part of which was delivered in the Neapolitan dialect. The first staging was on February 26, 1829. Ashbrook states that the characters of this work have “beguiling charm,” which has been revealed in some modern stagings.17 The tragedia lirica Anna Bolena was the work that was critical for Donizetti’s career as a great composer and opened doors for him in all the great theaters of Europe, being the first Donizetti opera to be heard in Paris and London. It was repeated regularly for twenty-five years and has enjoyed a modern revival starting with Maria Callas at La Scala in 1957. I discussed Anna Bolena, which premiered at the Carcano Theater on December 26, 1830, in the chapter on Giuditta Pasta. I should mention Elisa Orlandi (1811–1834), the first Giovanna Seymour whose story was even more poignant than that of Maria Malibran. Orlandi, a mezzo-soprano, made her debut as Fiorillo in Il turco in Italia in Parma at the age of nineteen and seemed destined for a great career. She sang some soprano parts as well as alto roles. Orlandi apparently was a favorite of Donizetti because, besides Giovanna Seymour, she created the part of Eleonora in the world premiere of Il furioso all’isola di San Domingo at the Valle in Rome in 1833. She also portrayed Adina in L’elisir d’amore, Isabella in Olivo e Pasquale, and Matilde in Gianni di Calais. Besides those of Donizetti, Orlandi sang in operas by Rossini, Meyerbeer, Pacini, Joseph Weigl (1766–1846), Cesare Pugni (1802–1870), Pietro Antonio De Moyana (d. 1870), and Mercadante. In 1834 in Rovigo, just prior to her entrance as Adalgisa in Norma, the twenty-three-year-old Elisa Orlandi, so full of promise, collapsed and died. In 1832, Donizetti composed Fausta for Giuseppina Ronzi de Begnis, who is mostly listed as a soprano. Riggs calls her a soprano sfogato or assoluta and suggests that she has been unjustly neglected as “a crucial figure in the history of bel canto.”18 Some idea of her ability can be gathered by the fact that she sang Giulia in Spontini’s La vestale when she was only seventeen years old. Attesting to the fluid nature of vocal categories during this period, Ronzi de Begnis sang many alto parts in common with Pasta, Colbran, and Malibran, such as Rosina, Desdemona, Elena in La donna del lago, and the musico role of Bellini’s Romeo. Fausta was called an opera seria and the libretto, like that of Euripides’s Phaedra, is about the unhealthy lustful obsession of the protagonist for her stepson. Donizetti hoped that Fausta would build on the success of Anna Bolena, but William Ashbrook writes: The heroic tone and a certain striving to be grandiose make parts of the score of Fausta seem rather cold and monotonous, but in the great final scene of Fausta’s suicide Donizetti communicates real pathos and tragic immediacy, testifying in the aria “Tu che volli” and its cabaletta, “No, qui morir degg’io” to his innate understanding of the nuances of human suffering.19

Figure 19.1.  Giuseppina Ronzi de Begnis as Fatima in Pietro L’Ermita (an alternate version of Rossini’s Mosé in Egitto) by A. E. Chalon (1780–1860)

This scene, with its throbbing coupled sixteenth notes used by many composers to portray anguished palpitations, also awakened Donizetti to the potential of Ronzi de Begnis, both technically and expressively, to help him realize his destiny as a great musical dramatist. The two collaborated during a period



The Bel Canto Altos of Bellini and Donizetti 153

of seven years to produce five notable operas. Ronzi de Begnis became an important singer in the Donizetti canon, as we shall see. On December 26, 1832, Giuditta Pasta assumed the title role of Fausta at La Scala in which her supporting cast did not rise to Donizetti’s expectations. The opera generated little enthusiasm; nevertheless, Fausta achieved a run of thirty repetitions. Ugo, conte di Parigi, a tragedia lirica, premiered at La Scala on March 13, 1832, and featured the Norma pair, Giuditta Pasta as Bianca and Giulia Grisi as her sister Adelia, along with Donzelli in the title role. When Donizetti reached Milan, he was confronted with his score, which had been mutilated at the hands of the censors, so much so that Romani, the librettist, disavowed it. The great singers in the cast were demoralized and disorganized. Ugo was a failure and withdrawn after only five performances, but it was to prove to be a source of material in subsequent Donizetti operas. Donizetti’s season was not a total loss, for Pasta and Grisi (Giovanna Seymour) appeared together in the La Scala premiere of Anna Bolena for eight performances with great success. L’elisir d’amore, called a melodramma giocoso, the next Donizetti masterpiece, was composed in only two weeks. It has never been confused as an alto opera by anyone, but Pauline Viardot did sing Anina in Russia. The young composer continued his furious pace during the middle thirties with Sancia di Castiglia, another tragedia lirica composed for Giuseppina Ronzi de Begnis and premiered at the San Carlo on November 4, 1832. The eponymous role of Sancia, queen of Castille, was a Gothic tale of a mother persuaded to poison her son in order to secure the throne for her lover, only to relent at the last moment and drink the poison herself. The musico role of Garzia, the son, was sung by mezzo-soprano Diomilla Santolini (fl. 1830s) and Ircano, the Saracen lover, by Luigi Lablache. Amazingly, Naples welcomed Sancia warmly, but it soon disappeared from the repertory. In modern times, Monserrat Caballé made a CD of a concert performance in 1992. Donizetti’s next melodrama, Il furioso all’isola di Santo Domingo, had a libretto by Feretti and premiered at the Valle on January 2, 1833. It was his first opera to feature a baritone as the protagonist. The baritone voice was emerging during the early part of the nineteenth century as a separate category and was utilized to the fullest by Verdi and Wagner. Giorgio Ronconi (1810–1890), who portrayed the madman Cardenio, became one of the great artists in the category and appeared in seven premieres by Donizetti and in numerous other operas. Ten years later, Ronconi created the title role in Verdi’s Nabucco. Eleonora, the alto love interest, was sung by the ill-starred Elisa Orlandi. The impresario Giovanni Paterni (1779–1837) discovered that Orlandi was introducing the final rondo from Il furioso into other operas, not in their original version, but in a bastardized arrangement by Giacomo Panizza (1804–1860). Paterni promptly protested against this misuse of the aria by placing notices in several papers denouncing it as “contrary to the intentions of the composer and contrary to the sacred rights of property.”20 The next opera Parisina, a melodramma from a poem by Lord Byron, was Donizetti’s favorite for a long time and

starred the redoubtable Caroline Ungher with Gilbert-Louis Duprez as Ugo. Parisina premiered on March 17, 1833, at the Teatro della Pergola in Florence. Duprez modestly remarked in his Souvenirs d’un chanteur: Composed especially for me, it united the grace and elegance of the light genre, in which I had performed at the beginning of my career, with the elevated qualities of the opera seria which produced such good results for me after eighteen months, and it seemed to be the act of union between the two genres.21

Ashbrook remarks that Parisina foreshadows Lucia in many expressive details. Duprez was the first Edgardo. Perhaps he brought echoes of Parisina with him to the role. The great poet Torquato Tasso, was the subject of the next melodramma by the same name, which premiered on September 9, 1833, at the Teatro Valle in Rome. Tasso was the author of Gerusalemme liberata (1581), which was the source for many literary and musical works, including Rossini’s Armida and Handel’s Rinaldo. Donizetti originally conceived the opera as a vehicle for Rubini, whose lack of interest caused the composer to again center on the baritone Ronconi to create the title part. The mezzo-soprano Adelina Spech (1811–1866), whose repertoire included Norma and La sonnambula, was cast as Eleonora d’Este. Adelina Spech was a prima donna of some importance during the 1830s but she caused Donizetti trouble during the rehearsals of Tasso. He informed Ricordi that “La Spech, a contralto who has pulled herself up by the teeth to mezzo-soprano, has caused me to turn half my opera inside out.”22 Tasso was so well received (fifteen repetitions) that even the librettist, Ferretti, was given curtain calls. The opera had a certain amount of success in Italy and the German-speaking countries but not in London or Paris. The melodramma Lucrezia Borgia first met the footlights on December 26, 1833, at La Scala to a libretto by Felice Romani. The title role was created by soprano Henriette Meric-Lalande (1798–1867). Alto Marietta Brambilla was the original Maffeo Orsini. Lucrezia ran into trouble from the censors from the first and was produced in other theaters under a bevy of other titles and libretto changes. The impressarios were cowed by threats of lawsuits for plagiarism by Victor Hugo (1802–1885), the original author, and by Borgia descendants. In addition, on pain of her imminent departure, MericLalande insisted upon Donizetti composing aria finale for the last act as Lucrezia stands over the body of her son, whom she has poisoned. Donizetti reluctantly complied but revised the score twice in 1840 with new finales. Lucrezia was one of Donizetti’s most popular scores during the nineteenth century. As previously mentioned, Caroline Ungher created a sensation in Vienna in 1839 and became the leading Lucrezia in Europe. Ungher’s magnetism was described afar by Chorley: Madame Grisi has been surpassed, I have been told, by the original Lucrezia; a woman far less splendidly gifted by nature— Madame Ungher—whose serpentine and deep malevolence,

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subtly veiled at the moment when its most diabolical works were on foot, has been described as fearful.23

Donizetti’s next opera of interest to us was Maria Stuarda, another tragedia lirica, which was written for Ronzi de Begnis at the San Carlo in 1834 but finally premiered by Maria Malibran at La Scala on December 30, 1835. The circumstances of Maria Stuarda’s birth were curious and highlight the frustration of Italian composers of the early ottocento and the difficulty of divining the true intentions of the great composers of the period. Maria Stuarda, capitalizing on continental fascination of the bloody Tudor history, was based on Friedrich Schiller’s (1759–1805) play. The libretto was to have been written by Romani, who was beginning to disdain libretto writing, and it was turned over to Giuseppe Bardari (1817–1861), a seventeen-year-old law student. At the first orchestral rehearsal, Ronzi de Begnis had the following lines to address to Anna Del Serre, the Elisabetta: “Impure daughter of Boleyn, do you speak of dishonor? Obscene and unworthy prostitute, may my blush fall on you. Profaned is the English throne, vile bastard, by your foot!”24 Ronzi de Begnis delivered these lines with her customary vehemence and Del Serre took them personally. In a scene reminiscent of the fight between Francesca Cuzzoni and Faustina Bordoni a hundred years earlier, Del Serre attacked her rival—biting, hitting, and pulling her hair. Ronzi de Begnis, who was a heavyweight in more than voice, was surprised but counterattacked, and Del Serre fainted and had to be carried home, where she spent a few days in bed. A month later Donizetti wrote to Ferretti: You know about the battle between the women, and I do not know if you are aware that Ronzi spoke against me, believing me out of earshot. She said, “Donizetti protects that whore of a Del Serre.” And to her surprise, I answered, “I do not protect any of you, but those two queens were whores, and you two are whores.” She was convinced; either she was ashamed or decided to keep quiet. She spoke no more, the rehearsal went on, and then the opera was not performed.25

The opera not being performed was a reference to the king’s prohibition of a performance of Maria Stuarda after a successful dress rehearsal for an invited audience. There are several possible reasons for this action, mostly political. Be that as it may, Donizetti revised the plot, added more characters, and the bastard child of Maria Stuarda emerged as Buondelmonte, which premiered on October 18, 1834, with Ronzi de Begnis and Del Serre in the same roles with different names. This was the only staging of Buondelmonte, and Donizetti was determined to preserve his original vision of the opera, but he had to wait for a little more than a year until it was mounted at La Scala. In the meantime, he had to make a living. The amazingly prolific young composer had already finished the draft for the tragedia Marino Faliero for the Théâtre Italien when he submitted his next work to the censors in Milan for the production that took place on December 26, 1834.

This tragedia lirica was Gemma di Vergy, based upon Dumas’s Charles VII, and the eponymous heroine was Giuseppina Ronzi de Begnis. Gemma is one of the most difficult and rewarding roles ever written, and Ronzi de Begnis demonstrated her ability by completing a run of twenty-six performances without any obvious signs of fatigue. In an interview in 1976, Montserrat Caballé, the outstanding modern Gemma, quoted Lilli Lehmann’s (1848–1929) statement that one Norma was equivalent to three Brünnhildes. She went on to say that one Gemma was equal to three Normas.26 Especially beautiful (and difficult) is Gemma’s prayer, “Eccomi sola alfine,” in the first act and the finale to the last act, “Chi m’accusa.” Gemma di Vergy was very successful in Italy. In Palermo nearly fourteen years later, a performance of Gemma inspired a patriotic demonstration when the “faithful slave” sang the words: You took away my heart and soul, Country, gods, and liberty!27

The next two items along Donizetti’s trajectory were definitely soprano roles. Marino Faliero, which premiered on March 12, 1835, starred Giulia Grisi as Elena with other members of the Puritani quartet—Rubini, Tamburini, and Lablache. I Puritani premiered during the same season and garnered more attention than Marino Faliero because the latter had a less showy role for the prima donna. In London, both operas were the 1835 season’s most important events. Chorley clearly preferred Marino but he stated that the lack of interest in the female character and “on such occasions there is always a success and a failure. The public will not endure two favourites.”28 The other masterpiece that will endure as long as opera is performed is Lucia di Lammermoor, which has been the vehicle for countless soprano prima donnas since it was created by Fanny Tacchinardi-Persiani on September 26, 1835, at the San Carlo. The Edgardo was Duprez, a small-voiced tenor at the time, who, it was said, could be heard only if one were no farther away than the prompter’s box. His development of the voix sombrée and the ut de poitrine changed the technique of many male singers since his time (not necessarily for the better). Maria Stuarda was given a production under its original title for the first time at La Scala on December 30, 1835. Maria Malibran, who was ill, took on the title role while Giacinta Puzzi-Toso (1807–1889) sang Elisabetta. Alexander Weatherson informs me that Toso was very tall and made Malibran look like a dwarf. Toso, married to the great hornist Giovanni Puzzi (1792–1876), was a mezzo-soprano who had an important career in London during the 1820s and 1830s. In 1827 she appeared in the musico role of Aeneas opposite Pasta in Mercadante’s Didone abbandonata (1823) and as Elisabetta in Carlo Coccia’s opera Maria Stuarda, regina di Scozia, with Pasta as Maria. There seems to be quite a divergence of opinion about Puzzi-Toso, a London student of Coccia, but she was only twenty years old and must have been thoroughly frightened to be singing opposite the great Pasta. Lord Mount Edgcumbe stated that



The Bel Canto Altos of Bellini and Donizetti 155 she has the recommendation not only of a brilliant voice, but of extraordinary beauty: but this was her first appearance on any stage, and she is extremely young; consequently she cannot yet be a finished prima donna, whatever promise of future excellence she may hold out.29

On the other hand, Stern quotes a review of Coccia’s Maria Stuarda, which “found her exceedingly stupid and inanimate.”30 Maria Malibran could always be counted on to deliver excitement whenever she sang, be it positive or negative. While she was in Naples, she had heard of the debacle of Buondelmonte, and “developed a passionate desire to perform it [Maria Stuarda] in its original form.”31 When Donizetti arrived in Milan in early December 1835, he found chaos of a different order than the one in Naples. The censors had approved the libretto all right, but the Elisabetta, Sophia dall’ Occa Schoberlechner (1807–1864), refused to sing her truncated part, which was the reason Puzzi-Toso was engaged. In the premiere on December 30, Donizetti reported that Malibran was “voiceless” and the evening was “painful from start to finish.”32 Maria improved in later performances, but after the third, the censors demanded changes. They would not tolerate the word “bastard” or kneeling in the confession scene. Maria refused to perform this watered-down version, rightly believing that the changes weakened the drama. Consequently, on four additional evenings, the first act of Stuarda, in which Mary Stuart does not appear, was followed by the last two acts of Otello, in which La Malibran scored further triumphs. And thus ended the history of Maria Stuarda at La Scala for 130 years.33 Eugène Delacroix, a great painter but a pedantic critic, in a conversation with Manuel Garcia II described in his journal, left an indelible impression of the kind of performance that Maria Malibran gave. It sounded remarkably modern. Madame Malibran, in Maria Stuarda, was brought before her rival, Elizabeth, by Leicester, who implored her to humiliate herself before her rival. She finally consented to do so and, falling to her knees, gave way to the most profound supplication. But, outraged by Elizabeth’s inflexible hardness, she would rise up impetuously and fly into a rage that, he said, produced the greatest effect. She ripped her handkerchief, and even her gloves, to tatters. That, again, is one of those effects to which a great artist never will descend; they are of the sort that delights people in the loges and wins an ephemeral reputation for those willing to indulge themselves that way. . . . People whose minds do not rise very high and who are not at all demanding in matters of taste—that is to say, unfortunately the majority— always will prefer [to Pasta] talents of the sort possessed by La Malibran.34

One of Donizetti’s favorite prima donnas, Caroline Ungher, created the part of Antonina in his next tragedia, Belisario, on February 4, 1836, at La Fenice in Venice. Donizetti described the mezzo-soprano Antonietta Vial, who was cast as Irene, as “both a bastard soprano and a veiled contralto.” He set to work to revise Vial’s part to such good effect that the audience was reduced to tears after her duet with the tenor in the second

act.35 Ungher obviously scored a triumph judging from the following review from the Gazzetta Privilegiata di Venezia: No first performance in memory has recorded a more splendid, fuller, more solemn success. . . . The numbers that were most enthusiastically judged were the donna’s [Ungher’s] cavatina, with its sublime cabaletta, a tenor-bass duet. . . . The handling of the finale and the scena and grand aria of the donna were other imaginative and graceful conceptions, and they will be enjoyed even more in time, when “our ear, conquered by so much novelty, will have become a little accustomed [to it].”36

Belisario racked up a total of twenty-eight consecutive performances, and Ashbrook states that there would have certainly been more, had the opening performance not occurred late in the season.37 In Naples of 1836, ravaged by a cholera epidemic, the theaters, with the exception of the Nuovo, were shut down. The alto Amalie Schütz-Oldosi, whom we last encountered in 1822 as an eighteen-year-old beginner in Vienna, was the reigning prima donna. The one-act farsa Il campanello was a welcome diversion from the devastation and political strife that enveloped the city. The opera, which starred Ronconi and SchützOldosi, premiered June 1, 1836. The warm reception accorded Il campanello encouraged Donizetti to compose a dramma giocoso, Betly o La capanna svizzera, to his own libretto, which he later revised into a two-act version. The role of Betley was sung by Adelaide D’Anvers Toldi (fl. 1830s), a soprano. In May 1836 Domenico Barbaja again assumed control of the Neapolitan theaters. He engaged Donizetti to compose a dramatic opera, L’assedio di Calais. L’assedio was the story of the attack on Calais during the Hundred Years’ War. Donizetti wrote the male lead role for a contralto, as would have been done in the 18th century. This was because Barbaja had been unable to produce a creditable tenor for Donizetti to work with—the composer described the three available tenors as “almost useless.”38

The musico cast as Aurelio was Almerinda Manzzochi (1804–1869), a contralto who had sung supporting roles in the premieres of Elvida (1826) and Il Borgomastro di Saardam (1827). The role of Eleonora was sung by soprano Caterina Barilli-Patti (d. 1870), mother of the famous Adelina. Donizetti had hoped that L’assedio would be a suitable work for the Opéra in Paris and he wrote Duprez that he would write a new version for him to star in and would compose dances that would convince the Parisians that the opera had been written expressly for their city. Unfortunately, there were no performances outside Naples, which had a total of thirty-eight repetitions after its prima on November 19, 1836. Both Weinstock and Ashbrook had high opinions of L’assedio di Calais and suggest that a modern staging would be repaid with success. Donizetti thought so, too; his letter to Duprez contained the following line: “And, by God, if it [L’assedio] does not produce an effect, I would give you leave to castrate me.”39

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The composition of Pia de’ Tolomei, Donizetti’s next opera, a tragedia lirica based on canto 5 of Dante’s Purgatorio, commenced before he was finished with L’assedio di Calais. Originally slated to be produced at La Fenice in Venice, which had burned down, its prima was on February 18, 1837, at the Teatro Apollo. Originally conceived as a vehicle for Fanny Tacchinardi-Persiani and the tenor Antonio Poggi (1808–1875), Donizetti was coerced by the management into falling back on the old musico tradition by composing a part for the young inexperienced contralto Rosina Mazzarelli (b. 1822). Mazzarelli created the role of Pia’s brother, Rodrigo. In a short career, she stood out as Maffeo Orsini in Lucrezia Borgia and was engaged at La Scala in 1839. Pia de’ Tolomei was revised twice and in the second revision, sung at the San Carlo in 1838, Giuseppina Ronzi de Begnis assumed the role of Pia and contralto Eloisa Buccini ( fl. 1837– 1847) sang Rodrigo. Buccini created parts in Saffo by Pacini and La vestale by Mercadante in 1840. She also participated in Il dono a Partenope (1840), a pasticcio based on the poetry of Giovanni Schmidt (c. 1775–c. 1855) for the name day of King Ferdinand II (1810–1859) of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies. In 1841 she also sang the role of Cuniza in Oberto, Verdi’s first opera, at the San Carlo. In the summer of 1837, Donizetti’s wife Virginia died soon after the death of their infant son. The young composer was devastated. He was bedridden for a time and could not bring himself to mention or write Virginia’s name again. Gradually he pulled himself together and in August began to work again. He was contracted for two operas—one for Barbaja in Naples in October and the other for La Fenice in January 1838. The Neapolitan opera was Roberto Devereux with Ronzi de Begnis in the role of Elisabetta, which opened on October 28, 1837. Roberto Devereux is the third opera, along with Anna Bolena and Maria Stuarda, in the trio called “the three queens,” which represents the apex of Donizetti’s development as a dramatic composer. In 1845 in St. Petersburg, Pauline Viardot, along with Rubini, presented Roberto Devereux, but the opera failed to please. In the 1970s Beverly Sills (1929–2007) undertook the roles of the three queens onstage and in the recording studio. Although Sills was a consummate artist and musician, her assumption of these roles aroused a controversy that persists to this day. Some critics suggest that these parts, written for the sumptuous voices of Pasta and Ronzi de Begnis, were too dramatic for the light-voiced Sills and led to the shortening of her career. “I read the newspapers,” said Sills, whose husband, Peter Greenough, was associate editor of the Cleveland Plain Dealer. All singers read their reviews, whether they say so or not. And of course it hurts when they say something cruel. But I knew my voice better than anyone, and “Devereux” was Donizetti, the orchestration was light. It was exactly right for my voice. Did it take a toll? Sure. But that was because dramatically the role called for me to push down the voice a lot. That was my choice. I went into it with eyes wide open. I would do it all over again.40

Sill’s statement reveals the difficulty a lyric soprano has in taking on roles composed for wide-ranging alto (Riggs calls them assolute) voices like Ronzi’s or Pasta’s. Even Monserrat

Caballé, whose opulent sound was more appropriate to these roles, had some deficiency in the lower reaches of these wideranging parts. The voice of the late Leyla Gencer (1928–2008) was probably the most like Pasta’s or Ronzi’s. Her 1965 recording of “Vive ingrato” with the RAI orchestra of Milan is truly outstanding. Gencer was often associated with Donizetti’s music and several little-performed Donizetti masterpieces such as Belisario, Lucrezia Borgia, and Les Martyrs were revived for her. Gencer had a repertoire of more than seventy operas. Donizetti’s other commission, a dramma tragico for La Fenice, was Maria de Rudenz. The librettist was Salvatore Cammarano (1801–1852), who based the book on a French gothic horror story, La nonne sanglante. Caroline Ungher created the title role and Georgio Ronconi, baritone, sang the part of Corrado Waldorf. The usually fast-working Donizetti was drowning in depression due to the recent loss of his family. Nevertheless, he finished it on time and the premiere came on January 30, 1838. The Venetians loved Ungher but hated the violence of the plot in which Maria kills her rival in love and then dies. The opera was withdrawn after only two repetitions but received sporadic performances during the next thirty years. After the premiere of Roberto Devereux in 1837, the tide of the casting in Italian opera began to float upward. Altos who could handle both mezzo and soprano parts began to be replaced by high sopranos whose middle and lower voices were significantly weaker. At the forefront of this trend were Giulia Grisi and Eugenia Tadolini, whom we encountered earlier in Grisi’s attempts to vanquish Pauline Viardot and Verdi’s rejection of Tadolini as Lady Macbeth. Both were beautiful women and no doubt great artists, but neither had the vocal heft in the middle and bottom necessary for some of these roles. Grisi’s most conspicuous failure was when she tried to sing Fidès in Le prophète in 1852.41 Tadolini was cast as Paolina in the first Italian performance of Poliuto on November 30, 1848, at the San Carlo a few months after Donizetti’s death. The original production, scheduled for September 1838, was prohibited by the king on religious grounds. Disgusted, Donizetti then left Naples for Paris, and Poliuto was produced under the title Les martyrs on April 10, 1840, with soprano Julie Dorus-Gras (1805–1896) as Pauline. La fille du regiment (1840), Rita (1841), Maria Padilla (1841), Linda di Chamounix (1842), Don Pasquale (1843), and Maria di Rohan (1843) were all written for lyric sopranos and premiered by such as Tadolini and Grisi. Adelia, written for the Teatro Apollo in Rome in 1841, is notable because it was written for Giuseppina Strepponi (1815–1897), a renowned soprano who became the second wife of Giuseppe Verdi. Strepponi helped establish the composer’s early career and was the first Abigialle in Nabucco in 1842. As previously mentioned, La Favorite (a reworking of the semiseria opera L’ange de Nisida) was premiered in 1840 as a grand opera with alto Rosine Stoltz as Léonor. Stoltz also created Zaïda in Dom Sébastien in 1843, causing the turbulent rehearsal period already described. Caterina Cornaro, the last opera that Donizetti completed, had its premiere at the San Carlo on January 12, 1844. Donizetti did not prepare Caterina



The Bel Canto Altos of Bellini and Donizetti 157

himself or attend the premiere, which proved to be a fiasco. An interesting point to our study is contained in a letter Donizetti wrote to his brother-in-law: I am awaiting with anxiety the news of the fiasco of Caterina Cornaro at Naples. La [Fanny] Goldberg [b. c. 1820] as the prima donna is, without being aware of it, my first ruination. I wrote for a soprano—they give me a mezzo!42

Hèléne in Le duc d’Albe was written for Rosine Stoltz in 1840, but she refused to sing it, so Donizetti put it aside to revise L’ange de Nisida into La Favorite for her. Le duc d’Albe was never finished until after Donizetti’s death, when it finally reappeared as Il duca d’Alba on March 22, 1882, at the Teatro Apollo in Rome. The completion of the score was overseen by Matteo Salvi (1816–1887), together with a panel from the Milan Conservatory. The now renamed Amelia was Abigaille Bruschi Chiatti (fl. 1840s). At the time of Dom Sébastien, Donizetti began to show signs of the syphilis, which would tragically destroy his mind and eventually kill him on April 8, 1848.

NOTES 1.  Herbert Weinstock, Vincenzo Bellini: His Life and His Operas (New York: Knopf, 1971), 43. 2. Simon McGuire and Elizabeth Forbes, “Zaira,” The New Grove Dictionary of Opera, vol. 4, ed. Stanley Sedie (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997), 1202. 3.  Herbert Weinstock, Rossini: A Biography (New York: Knopf, 1968), 280. 4. Weinstock, Rossini, 281. 5. Howard Bushnell, Maria Malibran: A Biography of a Singer (University Park, PA: Penn State University Press, 1979), 152. 6. Weinstock, Vincenzo Bellini, 448. Weinstock quotes from Francesco Pastura, Vincenzo Bellini (Catania, 1959), 591–85. 7.  Herbert Weinstock, Donizetti and the World of Opera in Italy, Paris, and Vienna in the First Half of the Nineteenth Century (New York: Pantheon Books, 1963), 21. 8.  Gerardo Casaglia, “Donizetti,” www.amadeusonline.eu/almanac co.php. 9. Weinstock, Donizetti and the World of Opera, 316. 10. William Ashbrook, Donizetti and His Operas (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), 23. 11.  The first version was spelled Zoraida and the second Zoraide. (Alexander Weatherson, “Puntitura for Pauline Viardot,” Atti del convegno della celebrazioni del Bicentario, La vocalit’ e i cantanti, Bergamo, Italy, September 25–27, 1997.)

12.  Stendhal [Marie-Henri Beyle], Life of Rossini, trans. Richard N. Coe (1823; repr., London: Calder, 1956), 496. 13.  Charles Osbourne, The Bel Canto Operas of Rossini, Donizetti, and Bellini (Portland, OR: Amadeus Press, 1994), 149–50. 14. Ashbrook, Donizetti and His Operas, 27. 15.  Anonymous, “Foreign Musical Report, Rome,” The Harmonicon, ed. W. Pinnock, vol. 4 (London: Samuel Leigh, 1826), 96. 16.  Donizetti wrote a late version of this opera for Pauline Viardot called Elisabeth. Weatherson, “Puntitura for Pauline Viardot,” 197–213. 17.  William Ashbrook, Donizetti and His Operas, 53. 18.  Geoffrey S. Riggs, The Assoluta Voice in Opera (Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2003), 137. 19. Ashbrook, Donizetti and His Operas, 71. 20. Ashbrook, Donizetti and His Operas, 76. 21.  Gilbert-Louis Duprez, Souvenirs d’un chanteur, trans. Herbert Weinstock (Paris: Michel Levy Frères, 1860), 92–93. 22. Ashbrook, Donizetti and His Operas, n. 624. 23. Henry F. Chorley, Thirty Years’ Musical Recollections (New York: Knopf, 1926), 79. 24. Ashbrook, Donizetti and His Operas, 85. 25. Ashbrook, Donizetti and His Operas, 85. From a letter to Guido Zavadini. 26. Riggs, The Assoluta Voice in Opera, 142. 27. Weinstock, Donizetti and the World of Opera, 103. 28. Chorley, Thirty Years’ Musical Recollections, 65. 29. Richard Edgcumbe, Musical Reminiscences of an Old Amateur Chiefly Respecting Italian Opera in England for Fifty Years, from 1773–1823 (London: John Andrews, 1834), 174. 30.  Kenneth Stern, Giuditta Pasta: A Life on the Lyric Stage (Palm Springs, CA: Operaphile Press, 2013), 246. The quote is from The Examiner, 17 June 1827. 31. Bushnell, Maria Malibran, 203. Bushnell bases this opinion on Guillaume Cottrau, Lettres d’un Mélomane (Naples, 1885), 30. 32. Bushnell, Maria Malibran, 203. From Guido Zavadini, Donizetti (Bergamo, 1948). 33. Bushnell, Maria Malibran, 203–4. The opera had a few nineteenth-century revivals elsewhere. 34. Weinstock, Donizetti and the World of Opera, 117. 35. Ashbrook, Donizetti and His Operas, 106. From a letter to Giulio Recordi on 14 January 1836. 36. Weinstock, Donizetti and the World of Opera, 350. 37. Ashbrook, Donizetti and His Operas, n. 637. 38.  Philip Eisenbeiss, Bel Canto Bully (London: Haus Publishing, 2013), 207. 39. Ashbrook, Donizetti and His Operas, 112. 40.  Octavia Roco, “Sills Relives Her Finest Hour,” San Francisco Chronicle, September 2000. My italics. 41.  Elizabeth Forbes, Mario and Grisi: A Biography (London: Victor Gollanz, 1985), 118. 42. Weinstock, Donizetti and the World of Opera, 213.

20 Verdi and Verismo Altos

When Giuseppe Fortunino Francesco Verdi began to compose his operas in 1839, the conquest of the prima donna position by the sopranos was complete. However, as he moved toward integrating the music and drama as a cohesive whole, integrating the recitativo, gradually eliminating the older forms such as the cavatina, and exerting more control over the singers and orchestra, he created a number of parts for the lower female voice. Although not the protagonists of the operas, they were highly important and have to be considered major roles. In Oberto, Conte di San Bonifacio, his first opera, which premiered on November 17, 1839, at La Scala, the role of Cuniza was sung by Mary Shaw (1814–1876), an English contralto best known for her concert and oratorio performances. She made her operatic debut earlier the same year as Arsace in Rossini’s Semiramide and also sang Malcom Groeme in La donna del lago. After the premiere, she returned to England singing Verdi’s praises. She attracted the attention of Henry Chorley, an old-school critic who failed to be impressed, although he admired Verdi’s “earnestness in attempting dramatic expression”: “In Signor Verdi’s operas, the hysterical element is as sure to have a large place as are incitements for the singer to use the utmost force of his voice.”1 Chorley was really lamenting the death of bel canto and hated the intemperate screaming that began to take over the opera in his day and that, even now, is the norm that repels many reasonable people. “In truth, the impression that must be forced on everyone the deeper the examination goes amounts to this—Italian connoisseurship is defunct; the necessity for excitement, which in music has been growing up for the past thirty years with the rapidity of the fairy beanstalk, has brought the public into that state in which good and bad no longer have a meaning or a distinction.”2 As for Mary Shaw, her career was cut short when her husband became insane. The stress caused her to be unable to sing on pitch, which is as good an excuse as any, I suppose. Verdi’s next work was Un giorno di regno, a comedy that received a solitary performance at La Scala on September 5,

1840. Verdi was at the lowest point in his life, having lost his wife and his two children in the preceding three years. The part of Giulietta die Kelbar was sung by Luigia Abbadia (1821–1896), an excellent Italian mezzo-soprano who also created the role of Ines in Donizetti’s Maria Padilla (1841). Abbadia had a wide range and sang a variety of leading parts. “She had a fine voice, a secure technique, and a strong temperament.”3 Nabucco (Nabucodonosor), Verdi’s third opera, was a “colossal” success from the very start after its premiere on March 9, 1842, again at La Scala. Coming at the end of the season, it had only eight repetitions, but in the new season starting in August 1842, it had a phenomenal sixty performances. Because of the enormous impact of the title character and, especially, Abigaille, the alto role of Fenena gets overlooked. However, Fenena is usually sung by leading singers and her last act prayer, “Oh, dischiuso è il firmamento!” is lovely. The premiere was sung by Giovannina Bellinzaghi (b. c. 1820), a mezzo-soprano. For the following season, Verdi adjusted the part upward for a soprano, Amalia Zecchini (181?–188?). The reason for this is not clear, but Zecchini went on to become a prima donna at La Scala and Naples, so perhaps she was the best singer available. Modern performances of Nabucco invariably use the original version. Verdi’s self-described “galley years” (1842–1851) were dominated by the sopranos in leading roles. Only Macbeth, which premiered on March 14, 1847, at the Teatro della Pergola in Florence offered the alto voice the possibility of playing the leading role of Lady Macbeth. We have seen how Pauline Viardot, who premiered the part in the British Isles in 1859, made extensive revisions to the score. The original Lady Macbeth was the soprano Marianna Barbieri-Nini (1818–1887), who had studied with Pasta and premiered two other operas for Verdi, I due Foscari (1844) and Il Corsaro (1848). Geoffrey S. Riggs states that Lady Macbeth is the last opera role that fills his criteria for the designation of assoluta. As composed, the upward range of Lady Macbeth’s cavatina “Vieni! t’affretta!” is up to high C with copious B flats—definitely a dramatic soprano 159

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aria. Viardot transposed it down a minor third, other arias were lowered a whole step. She also advised the conductor, Luigi Arditi, that “the second act cabaletta ‘Trionfai’ is not sung.”4 Verdi’s revision of 1865 was written in French for the Théâtre Lyrique in Paris. He inserted a new aria, “La luce langue,” into the second act in place of “Trionfai.” “La luce langue” has a low tessitura down to low B, but occasionally rockets up two octaves to the high B. The sleepwalking scene is written with a low tessitura, entirely in keeping with the range of the alto voice. The Lady Macbeth for the Paris version was Agnès Rey-Balla (1836–1889). Joseph Ortigue, a critic for the Journal de Débats, wrote, “The event of the evening was Mme. Rey-Balla’s debut in the role of Lady Macbeth. This singer is experienced; she knows the stage; she possesses a voice having considerable range and power, a little fatigued, but thoroughly dramatic. Her success was very great.” Other critics were less convinced. Verdi himself blamed her for the opera’s muted success in Paris, claiming that the sonnambulismo (sleepwalking scene) did not create the proper effect.5 Closer to our day, notable mezzo-sopranos who have taken on Verdi’s monstrous Lady are Shirley Verrett (1931–2010), Grace Bumbry (b. 1937), Fiorenza Cossotto (b. 1935), Agnes Baltsa (b. 1944), Dolora Zajick (b. 1952), and Jennifer Larmore (b. 1958). La maledizione (The Curse), which became Rigoletto only a month before its premiere on March 11, 1851, ended Verdi’s “galley years” and ushered in his “middle period.” Rigoletto has always been a very popular opera and a great temptation to stage directors to “improve” on Verdi in productions that range from “The Planet of the Apes” (Munich) to the “Rat Pack in Las Vegas” (The Met). The role of Maddelena is not pivotal, but she adds color and helps to underline the duke’s licentious nature. The premiere was sung by contralto Annetta Casaloni (1826–1915), who was the teacher of the “Divine Claudia” Muzio (1889–1936). Azucena was the title Verdi first envisioned for the opera he was preparing at the same time that Rigoletto, La traviata, and Les vêpres Sicilienne were in various stages of development. Azucena in Il trovatore became one of the most important roles in the alto repertoire after the opera’s premiere at the Teatro Apollo on January 19, 1853. Mozart’s remark that he tailored his music for the singer “as perfectly as a well-made suit of clothes” is familiar.6 It is sometimes assumed that later composers, notably Beethoven and Wagner, composed the music and then tried to find singers who could cope with it. However, a letter illustrates the care that Verdi used in following Mozart’s example in choosing Emilia Goggi (1817–1857) for the role of the old gypsy. It must have been sometime in the summer of 1852 that Emilia Goggi was first suggested to Verdi for the role of Azucena. On August 24, Verdi replied to a letter from Josef Poniatowski (1814–1873), a Polish nobleman and composer: Thank you for having given me news of the ability and voice of Madame Goggi. I notice that there are some difficulties but that does not frighten me. With ability and good will one can succeed. The part I intend for her is strange, original, difficult,

and impossible, for someone who has no ability, but easy for one who understands. And since you had the kindness to write me a first time, it may not annoy you to write me a second, providing me with a musical scale, an abstract of her voice, writing under each note, good, bad, weak, strong, etc. . . . If this bothers you Madame Goggi can do it herself without fear of confessing her sins; it is under the seal of confession and will benefit both her and me.7

Emilia Goggi was born in Prato, Tuscany, and enrolled in the Conservatorio di Santa Caterina at the age of six. In 1841 she made her debut at La Fenice as Adalgisa in Norma and was then engaged in leading roles in several theaters in Northern Italy. Her extensive range enabled her to sing dramatic soprano roles such as Abigaille in Nabucco and Elvira in Ernani, which she performed in Spain from 1845 to 1846. However, the increasingly powerful middle and bottom of her voice darkened considerably, so she began to embrace the mezzo-soprano repertoire. Besides Azucena, Goggi created parts in other lesserknown operas. While preparing for a tour of England, Goggi suddenly died in 1857 at the age of thirty-nine, four years after the premiere of Il trovatore. Il trovatore became an immense success; only three years after its premiere, it had received 229 productions worldwide, including 190 performances in Naples in six theaters.8 Il trovatore was first produced in Paris on December 23, 1854, by the Théâtre Italien at the Salle Ventadour with Adelaide Borghi-Mamo as Azucena. I previously described how Pauline Viardot “jumped in,” with no rehearsal, while Borghi-Mamo was confined after having a baby. While Verdi was in Paris, the director of the Paris Opéra, François-Louis Crosnier (1792–1867) suggested that Verdi revise Il trovatore as a French Grand Opera, adding a ballet and expanding some of Azucena’s music for the fourth act to accommodate Borghi-Mamo, who sang the Paris Opéra premiere on January 12, 1857. Adelaide Borghi-Mamo had a significant forty-year career and was known as a passionate singer with a big voice. Julian Budden called her the chief star of the Théâtre Italien. She created many roles in lesser-known operas by such composers as Pacini, Lauro Rossi, Halévy, Felicién David (1810–1876), Gaetano Braga (1829–1907), Achille Peri (1812–1880), and Emilio Usiglio (1841–1910). She could display a lighter side and was admired for her performances of Rossini’s Il barbiere and La Cenerentola. More dramatic repertoire included Léonore Guzman in La favorita, Urbino in Mercadante’s Il giuramento, Desdemona in Rossini’s Otello, and Fidès in Meyerbeer’s Le prophète. Besides Azucena, her other Verdi roles included Federica in Luisa Miller and Preziosilla in La forza del destino. Il Trovatore is supremely important in our study of the lower female voice as the “voice of bel canto.” Julian Budden is eloquent on the subject of the trajectory of the alto voice in the Verdi oeuvre. “Again, though Rigoletto, the duke, Gilda, and Sparafucile are all specific characters, Leonora, Manrico, and the count are the merest vocal archetypes; Ferrando, for whom Verdi had specified a ‘rather baritonal bass,’ is not even that. Only one



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character is sculpted in depth: Azucena, a figure entirely new in Verdi’s female gallery. So far he had made no significant use of the mezzo-soprano or contralto voice in a principal role. Cuniza in Oberto is distinguishable from her colleagues merely by her range. Federica (Luisa Miller) and Maddelena (Rigoletto) exploit the contralto color, but both are comprimaria roles and not particularly grateful to the singer (especially Federica). But Azucena is the first of a glorious line that includes Ulrica (Un Ballo in maschera), Eboli (Don Carlos), Amneris (Aida), and in a different vein Preziosilla (La Forza del destino).”9 The composition of Un ballo in maschera was Verdi’s most frustrating experience and the story of his battles with the censors and the consequent alteration of the titles and locales of the opera from Stockholm, to Stettin (Szecezcin), and finally to Boston are well known. Ulrica is the next stop on the arc of memorable alto characters in the Verdi canon. Ulrica was based on an actual person, Ulrica Arfvidsson (1734–1801), who was a fortune-teller for the aristocracy. She mostly divined by reading tea leaves and had a reputation for never being wrong. Her lair was located in a nondescript alley in order to guard the privacy of her aristocratic customers. The premiere of Ballo finally reached the stage of the Teatro Apollo in Rome on February 17, 1859. The role of Ulrica, which calls for a real contralto, was sung by Zelina Sbriscia ( fl. 1850–1870). Hilary Poriss writes: She was educated in Rome, where she made her operatic debut in a production of Mercadante’s I Normanni a Parigi. She created the role of Ulrica in the premiere of Un ballo in maschera at the Teatro Apollo in Rome in 1859, but was not Verdi’s first choice: he lamented (5 April 1858) to the impresario Vincenzo Jacovacci: “You were wrong to rush Sbriscia’s contract in this way. I hear she is bad, very bad indeed!” Even though the premiere of Un ballo in maschera was a success, Sbriscia was not well received: the critic for the Gazzetta Musicale di Milano commented that “the arias for all the actors were loudly applauded, except for those sung by [Pamela] Scotti and Sbriscia.”10

We don’t know whether this lack of enthusiasm for Ulrica was because Sbriscia was really so terrible or because the audience was repelled by the character and her music’s strangeness. Sbriscia did not seem to make much of an impact elsewhere. In modern times, Ulrica was the role in which the great contralto Marian Anderson (1897–1993) finally broke the “color barrier” at the Metropolitan Opera on January 7, 1955. It was the only time she sang an operatic role on stage, because she had had no theatrical training. Verdi continued his bent toward exotic characters and locales in La forza del destino, set in Seville with Don Alvaro, the tenor, portrayed as a Peruvian of mixed Indian parentage. The premiere of Forza, which also underwent several revisions, was in St. Petersburg on November 10, 1862. La forza del destino has a further bizarre reputation among some superstitious Italian singers as being a “cursed” opera. Luciano Pavarotti (1935– 2007) purportedly refused to sing it for that reason. The great American baritone Leonard Warren (1911–1960) collapsed and died on the stage of the Met during a performance of Forza in 1960 after beginning the aria “Morir, tremenda cosa” (To Die Is a Momentous Thing”).

To be sure, the alto role in Forza, Preziosilla, the young gypsy, is not the major interest of the opera. It serves the same function as Siebel in Faust and Stéphano in Roméo et Juliette, adding variety and color. In keeping with the bizarre nature of Forza, the original Preziosilla, Constance Nantier-Didiée (1831–1867), was trying to prevent the engagement of the lead soprano, Carolina Barbot-Douvry (1830–d. after 1875). Hearing this, he [Verdi] protested to the director of the Imperial Theaters: “This is really too much! I know that if I were director, I would set fire to the four corners of the theater rather than put up with such demands!”11

Nantier-Didiée had studied with Gilbert-Louis Duprez and won the premier-prix for opera at the Paris Conservatoire in 1849. She made her debut in Turin as Emilia in Mercadante’s La vestale in 1850. She appeared at the Théâtre Italien and at Covent Garden until 1864, where she was in the English premieres of Rigoletto and Benvenuto Cellini. She had an extensive repertory of dramatic, comic, and musico roles. Don Carlos is the longest and most revised of the Verdi operas. It was based on Friedrich Schiller’s dramatic poem Don Carlos, Infant von Spanien, with a libretto by Joseph Méry (1797–1866) and Camille du Locle. It premiered on March 11, 1867, at the Académie de Musique in Paris. It features one of the greatest (and most difficult) roles in the dramatic mezzosoprano repertoire, Princess Eboli. “Here is the kind of ambivalent character that since Il trovatore Verdi had learned to embody in the mezzo-soprano voice, the female equivalent of the baritone. After Philip, he told Franco Faccio (1840–1891), the most important part in the opera was that of Eboli.”12 “Of Schiller’s two women, Elisabeth is little more than a plaster saint, the traditional image of wifely and womanly virtue, who springs to life only when defending herself against King Philip’s false accusations. Princess Eboli, on the other hand, is three dimensional—proud, willful, passionate, and capable of great charm in the pursuit of her own ends.”13 In casting Eboli, the director of the Opéra, Èmile Perrin (1814–1885), had originally chosen a young contralto, Rosine Bloch (1844–1891), who had a beautiful and powerful voice and was also a beautiful woman—a requirement for Eboli, who has reason to lament her own beauty. In order to rest her voice for the stress of creating the part of Eboli, Perrin removed her from the part of Fidès and replaced her with Pauline GueymardLauters. Gueymard-Lauters was a Belgian soprano sfogato whose wide range enabled her to sing such disparate roles as Donna Anna, Valentine, Léonor (La Favorite), and Fidès. She had created the part of Leonora in Le Trouvère in 1857. GueymardLauters did such a great job with Fidès in rehearsals that Perrin wrote Verdi that he should use her for Eboli instead of Bloch. Verdi ultimately did so, but this caused problems that have persisted for singers who have assumed the role to this very day. The original “Song of the Veil” was in G major, and Verdi transposed it up a whole step for Gueymard-Lauters. Because of this, Julian Budden states that Ebolis who are effective in the “Song of the Veil” are lacking in “O don fatal” and vice versa.14 Verdi

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was also forced to make copious cuts and changes to the score, and Don Carlos was not considered a success, despite a record of forty-three performances. Only Rossini recognized the true extent of Verdi’s genius. “Tell [Verdi] from me,” Rossini wrote to Tito Ricordi, “that if he returns to Paris he must get himself very well paid for it, since—may my other colleagues forgive me for saying so—he is the only composer capable of writing grand opera.”15

The first performance of Don Carlos in Italian was not in Italy, but in London’s Royal Opera House at Covent Garden on June 4, 1867, under the baton of Sir Michael Costa. The score was further cut (the first act was removed completely) and revised. All of this was done without Verdi’s permission, but the revisions resemble those made by Verdi himself in 1883. The two female leads, Pauline (Paolina) Lucca (1841–1908) as Elisabetta Valois and Antonietta Fricci (1840–1912) as Eboli, were imported from Vienna. Each singer sang both soprano and mezzo-soprano repertoire. Fricci (born Antonie Fritsche) created several roles for lesser-known composers. Fricci, who had a dramatic voice, was also the first Italian Eboli at Bologna on October 27 of the same year. She had an outstanding career at La Scala from 1865 to 1873, where she sang Lady Macbeth and Lucrezia Borgia. The Italian premiere of the uncut Don Carlos was on October 27 in Bologna under the baton of Angelo Mariani (1821–1873), a longtime collaborator of Verdi. Eboli was again Antonietta Fricci, who was the recipient of Verdi’s special invitation to sing the part. Fricci was a student of Mathilde Marchesi in Vienna. The Elisabetta was Teresa Stolz (1834–1902), a Bohemian soprano who would become very important to Verdi, both musically and personally. After the failure of the first performance of Don Carlos in Naples in 1871, Verdi took matters into his own hands and made further revisions, which he also supervised himself. The premiere of the new version was during Carnival in 1872, with the pairing of Teresa Stolz and Maria Waldmann (1842–1920), which would be very important in the years to come. Both Stolz and Waldmann were students of Francesco Lamperti (1813–1892), a great teacher of singing at the Milan Conservatory. But still the fortunes of Don Carlos disappointed the composer’s hopes. When given at all, it was liable to the kind of disfiguration against which he had been campaigning for years. A letter to Ricordi’s agent Tornaghi tells us that in Reggio Emilia in 1874, Antonietta Fricci had replaced some of her part with music from Les Huguenots and Macbeth.16 Verdi continued to revise the opera, and a new four-act version was given at La Scala on January 10, 1884. The title part was sung by the great Francesco Tamagno (1850–1905), the first Otello. On this occasion, Eboli was Giuseppina Pasqua (1851–1930), who went on to create the part of Mistress Quickly in Falstaff in 1893. Pasqua began her career, surely misclassified by her teachers, as a coloratura soprano, making

her debut in 1868 as Oscar in Un ballo in maschera. In 1872, still singing the soprano repertoire, her La Scala debut came as Ännchen in Weber’s Der Freischütz. In Milan, she studied with Luigia Abbadia to retrain her voice as a mezzo-soprano. Pasqua then assumed the role of Preziosilla in the first performance of La forza del destino at the San Carlo in 1876. In 1877 she scored a triumph as Amneris at the Teatro Comunale in Bologna’s first Aida, a result that she repeated at La Scala the following year. Pasqua sang leading roles all over Europe, including the Bol’shoy in Moscow in 1878 and 1879. She was the prima donna contralto in Barcelona spanning the years 1881 to 1887. She must have been an excellent actress, for she was particularly admired for her portrayal of Carmen in Madrid from 1879 to 1897. When asked, by a person who does not know opera, which work I recommend for a first hearing, I invariably suggest Verdi’s Aida. The sheer scale of the stage scene, the pageantry, and, above all, the beauty of the music are usually enough to ensure the creation of a lifelong fan. What is often overlooked is that the elements of the drama between the four principal characters are on an intimate scale and the plot line is straightforward, with none of the complications of operas like Don Carlos. The character of Amneris is one of Verdi’s most powerful creations, and only the alto voice is suitable to fulfill its demands. The casting for Amneris, like that of Don Carlos, presented problems. Verdi’s original conception of the role was of a soprano with good low notes. He originally wanted Marietta Antonietta as Aida and Teresa Stolz as Amneris for the La Scala premiere, but he was bound by his original contract to engage singers from the resident company for the original performance in the Cairo Opera House on December 24, 1871. After misgivings on Verdi’s part, Eleonora Grossi (fl. 1860–1870s) was engaged for Amneris. It was reported that Grossi was singing both Fidès in Le prophète and Léonor Guzman in La Favorite with the Cairo Company, but Verdi was still not convinced. However, he received encouraging reports from a conductor whom he trusted, Franco Faccio, about Grossi’s singing and finally agreed to her engagement as Amneris. Not much is known about Grossi. She sang at Covent Garden in 1868 and 1869 as Nancy in Martha, Urbain in Les Huguenots, and Pippo in La gazza ladra. On the basis of this information, Elizabeth Forbes judged that “she had a flexible voice of considerable dramatic weight.”17 The ruler of Egypt was anxious to have Verdi compose the opera and paid all the artists handsomely. Verdi, fearing an inadequate performance, did not travel to Cairo for the opening. For him, the true premiere was at La Scala on February 8, 1872, and he lavished a great deal of care on its preparation. Since Antonietta Fricci was not available for Aida, Verdi switched Teresa Stolz to the title part and engaged the relatively inexperienced Austrian mezzo-soprano, Maria Waldmann, for Amneris. She had made her debut in Moscow as Pierotto in Linda di Chamounix of Donizetti in 1865 and had sung Eboli in Trieste with Stoltz in 1869. During the rehearsal period, La Scala presented La forza del destino with Waldmann



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as Preziosilla because Verdi wanted to hear her in the theater before offering her a contract for Amneris. In a letter to Giulio Recordi Verdi described Amneris: “Bear in mind that this Amneris has a bit of a devil in her, needs a powerful voice, is very emotional and very, very dramatic.”18 Maria Waldmann was a beautiful woman and had a resonant dark quality in her lower register. Verdi always insisted that she was a contralto. She became Verdi’s favorite Amneris. The premiere at La Scala was a huge success and Verdi was called out thirty-two times during the evening. Stolz and Waldmann remained in the cast when the opera was produced in Parma and then in Naples. It was a triumph there despite the chaotic atmosphere at the San Carlo. From 1874 to 1876 Waldmann was engaged in Cairo, where she appeared in La forza del destino, La favorita, Aida, and Un ballo in maschera. The story of Maria Waldmann in Aida during this period becomes intertwined with Verdi’s great Messa da Requiem because the two works were often performed together in the same season. Two years after the premiere of Aida, on May 22, 1874, at the church of San Marco in Milan, Verdi conducted his great Messa da Requiem in memory of Alessandro Manzoni (1785–1873), with Waldmann and Stolz among the soloists. After the Milan performances, the work was given seven performances at the Opéra Comique in Paris in June. The only other authorized performance of Aida was in New York. Emanuele Muzio (1821–1890), Verdi’s pupil, lifelong friend, and amanuensis, conducted the first performance of Aida in America at the Academy of Music in New York City on November 26, 1873, utilizing the scenery and costumes by the great Girolamo Magnani (1815–1889) from the Naples production. The Amneris was Annie Louise Cary (1841–1921), a popular American contralto from Connecticut. A student of Pauline Viardot, Cary had one of the first American international careers in opera, concert, and oratorio in Europe and America. Cary was the alto soloist in the first performance of the Manzoni Requiem on American soil. She also sang the first Wagner role in the United States (Ortrud) and the American premieres of Bach’s Christmas Oratorio and Magnificat, as well. In 1875 Verdi embarked on a tour of Paris, London, and Vienna. He planned to conduct his Requiem alternating with Aida. The original Requiem was as it is performed today except for the “Liber scriptus,” which was originally a four-part fugue for chorus and orchestra. On November 21, 1874, Verdi informed Maria Waldmann that he had composed the piece anew as an alto solo for her. This version was given for the first time in London’s Royal Albert Hall on May 15, 1874. In Vienna in June, Verdi was elated by the reception and was decorated by the Emperor Franz Joseph (1830–1916). The tour concluded in Venice with five performances of Requiem. Stolz wrote to Verdi from St. Petersburg in 1875 that the Russian audiences, including the czar and his family, filled the theater, which “seemed like a holy temple,” for Aida and Requiem. Stolz reported on Annie Louise Cary, who sang Amneris and the alto solos in the Requiem:

[she sang] very well; with that rich even voice she brought forward certain effects that even Waldmann could not do because of her voice [which was] not even and was sometimes unmanageable; while this American woman, with her calmness and unspoiled voice, was more effective in the Messa than in the Aida. . . . When the Messa ended the public seemed to have gone mad.19

Waldmann wrote to Verdi from Cairo that she was retiring from the theater soon to marry Count Galeazzo Massari of Ferrara. She was only thirty-one. Verdi wrote his congratulations and said he would see her in Paris. Most of the original cast of Aida convened in Paris at the Théâtre Italien on April 22, 1876. Muzio took over the baton from Verdi after the first week and wrote: The success of Aida was immense, unprecedented; Stolz and Waldmann were better received yesterday (the second performance) than on the first night; and they really sang like angels.20

The Théâtre Italien was then forced to close despite the popularity of Aida, and the management defaulted on its payment to Verdi. Several years later, Verdi reluctantly agreed to

Figure 20.1.  Maria Waldmann by Mondel and Jacob, Wiesbaden

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have the opera translated into French and conducted the first five performances at the Palais Garnier on March 22, 1880. Rosine Bloch who, it may be remembered, was originally scheduled as Princess Eboli in Don Carlos, was Amneris. Maria Waldmann (Countess Massari) remained a lifelong friend and correspondent of Verdi and his wife. Verdi had revised his Simon Boccanegra, Don Carlos, and a French translation of La forza del destino in the intervening years, but Otello, premiered at La Scala on February 5, 1887, was his first new work since Aida in 1871. The only alto role in the towering masterpiece was the comprimaria Emilia, wife of Iago and Desdemona’s maid, which was sung by Genevra Petrovich (fl. 1887). Petrovich was hooted at during the run at La Scala and apparently had pitch problems brought on by anxiety. “At the end of 1890, the seventy-seven-year-old Verdi wrote to that indefatigable scribbler on matters theatrical, Gino Monaldi. ‘What can I tell you? I’ve wanted to write a comic opera for forty years, and I’ve known The Merry Wives of Windsor for fifty; however, the usual “buts” which are everywhere always prevented me from satisfying this wish of mine.’21 Verdi’s wish came true with a wonderful libretto by his collaborator on Otello, Arrigo Boito. Falstaff was born on February 9, 1893, at La Scala. It was truly a masterpiece and the crowning achievement of Verdi’s career, which blazed new paths in the history of Italian opera. In Falstaff, with the exception of the title character, there is no real star of the show and few arias that slow down the action. Verdi had been stung by criticism that he had been influenced by Wagner and “The Music of the Future,” but the concept of the unified drama was inexorable. The characters are sharply drawn and were carefully cast. Guerrina Fabbri (1866–1946) had been considered for the part of Dane Quickly, but Boito reported that she had no feeling for the Rossini style in a performance of La Cenerentola. Verdi was very precise in his assessment of the part. La Fabbri with her fine voice could be successful with melodies based on agility, as in Cenerentola, etc. But the part of Quickly is something quite different. You need to sing and to act, to move with complete assurance on stage, and to put the right stress on the main syllable. She hasn’t these qualities; and so we run the risk of sacrificing a part which is the most original and colorful of the four.

Indeed, the coloring of Dame Quickly’s character—so slippery and deceitful in The Merry Wives that Meg and Alice refer to her as “this carrion”—is one of Verdi’s most delightful transformations.22 But Verdi already had his Quickly—Giuseppina Pasqua, who sang Princess Eboli in the four-act revision of Don Carlos at La Scala in 1884. Apparently, Pasqua was quite temperamental, as Giacomo Puccini had reported to Ricordi about her behavior in Madrid while she sang Tigrana, a part that recalls the character of Carmen, in his Edgar in 1890. Verdi was having none of it. He wrote to Ricordi that “there would be no

place for tantrums and high emotional drama in Falstaff. ‘This is comedy—music, notes and words; no cantabile; mobility on stage and plenty of dash.’” Later: “In her heart of hearts perhaps she would have liked a part which would stand out on its own; but she’s intelligent and she understands what it’s all about; she will be happy to do her part and do it well.”23 Giuseppina Pasqua, along with Teresa Stolz and Maria Waldmann, became a valued member of Verdi’s inner circle at Montecatini in Tuscany. Julian Budden takes time out from his monumental study of Verdi to devote a chapter to “A Problem of Identity (Italian Opera 1870–1890).” This is the period that saw the rise of the genre of Italian opera called verismo. Verdi stated that “the age of Verismo did not have a scrap of verity in it.”24 During this period, Italian opera lost its way, overwhelmed by the Teutonic and Gallic influences. In addition, there was a recession that forced many Italian opera houses to close or to offer curtailed seasons. When the recession was over, Italian opera houses reopened, now subsidized by big business. However, they offered mostly works by foreign composers. In the 1880s the most popular works were Carmen, Lakmé, Die Königen von Saba, and the early works of Wagner. Later Wagnerian music dramas, The Ring, Tristan und Isolde, Die Meistersinger, and Parsifal were perceived as being too anti-vocal and harmonically turgid, with too much emphasis on the orchestra. In a letter to Franco Faccio, Verdi summed up the essence of this antithetic view of the subject: If the Germans, proceeding from Bach, have come to Wagner, they do so as good Germans and all is well. But when we, as descendants of Palestrina, imitate Wagner, we are committing a musical crime, and are doing a useless, nay harmful thing.25

Not counting Verdi, Amilcare Ponchielli was the most important composer in the interim period before verismo. He was influential in developing the style of Puccini, Umberto Giordano (1867–1948), and Pietro Mascagni (1863–1945). Ponchielli’s La Gioconda, with a libretto by Arrigo Boito, which premiered at La Scala on April 8, 1876, was revised several times. The final version of 1880 is the one used today. There are roles for all of the six principal voice types, but that of the alto, Laura Adorno, most concerns us here. The creator of the role, Marietta Biancolini Rodriguez (1846–1905), made her debut in 1864 at Novara as Bellini’s Romeo. She then appeared in Florence, Genoa, the San Carlo in Naples, Lisbon, and Buenos Aires. She also sang Fidès at La Scala. She was a versatile artist whose vocal flexibility enabled her to have success as a Rossini singer. There is another alto role in La Gioconda—that of the blind mother of Gioconda, La Cieca, which was premiered by Eufemia Barlani Dini (fl. 1870–1880). La Cieca’s aria “Voce di Donna” is a well-known excerpt for the alto voice. Barlani Dini also sang Signora di Monza in Ponchielli’s I promessi sposi (1873) and Nancy in Friedrich von Flotow’s Marta, as well as Vania in Glinka’s Life for the Czar in Milan in 1874.



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Perhaps this is the place to discuss an operatic convention that composers have used for centuries as the basis for conflict (the very stuff of drama) in their operas. It is the struggle between the soprano character and her alto counterpart for the love of the hero. The classic battle is between Aida and Amneris. We also have Laura and La Gioconda, Norma and Adalgisa, Elisabetta and Eboli, Carmen and Micaela, Maria Stuarda and Elisabetta, Sara, Duchess of Nottingham, and Elisabetta, Anna Bolena and Giovanna Seymour, Elsa and Ortrud, and, in a stranger way, Fricka and Brünnhilde, among many others. Besides the inherent dramatic situation, this arrangement is fertile ground for beautiful and dramatic duets and ensembles. In 1890, Italian opera found a new way out of the gloom of Nibelheim when Mascagni’s Cavalleria rusticana burst upon the operatic scene on May 17, 1890, at the Teatro Costanzi in Rome. The new genre called verismo could be seen as the logical extension of the move away from classical subjects toward the melodrama that began some hundred years earlier. It was musically and dramatically direct, economical, and vivid. It also did away with florid singing as a medium of expression and paved the way for a generation who lost sight of this important aspect of singing. Julian Budden credits, not an Italian for the inspiration for verismo, but Bizet and his Carmen. I cannot claim that Santuzza was written for the alto voice, but the role was often sung by artists at the Metropolitan who were famous Carmens, such as Emma Calvé, Margarete Matzenauer (1881–1963), Bruna Castagna (1905–1983), Nell Rankin (1924–2005), Giulietta Simionato, Rita Gorr (1926–2012), Irene Dalis (1925– 2014), Fiorenza Cossotto (b. 1935), Grace Bumbry (b. 1937), Mignon Dunn (b. 1931), and Tatiana Troyanos (1938–1993). Mascagni spent the rest of his life trying to re-create the sensation of Cavalleria. His next opera, L’amico Fritz (1891), is rarely performed today but contains some lovely music. Suzel, the female lead mostly sung by sopranos, was created by Emma Calvé, the era’s most famous Carmen. There is a supporting alto trouser role, Beppe, who has a charming aria. Zanetto is a forty-minute curtain raiser described as a scena lyrica by its composer. The eponymous role of Zanetto is an alto travesti part. Jennifer Larmore recorded the opera in 2007. The other composer most associated with verismo is Ruggero Leoncavallo (1857–1919), whose I Pagliacci (1892) is most often paired with Cavalleria. Like Mascagni, Leoncavallo’s fame rests with this single work. Unlike him, Leoncavallo wrote no works that featured the alto voice in a leading role. The other Italian composers of the period starting with Arrigo Boito, including Umberto Giordano, Alfredo Catalani (1854–1893), Alberto Franchetti (1860–1942), Francesco Cilèa (1866–1950), and even Giacomo Puccini (1858–1924) failed to avail themselves of the melodic and dramatic potential of the lower female voice. There were several fine Italian altos of this period who were excellent interpreters of the great roles but not necessarily their creators. Sofia Scalchi (1850–1922) was a robust contralto with a wide range who could also sing mezzo-soprano roles. Scalchi made her debut as Ulrica in Un ballo in maschera at

Mantua in 1866. In 1868 she debuted as Azucena at Covent Garden, where she remained a member of the company until 1889. She also visited St. Petersburg annually from 1872 to 1881 and 1889 to 1890. Scalchi was also proficient as a coloratura alto, for she debuted in New York at the Academy of Music as Arsace in Semiramide in 1882 and sang Angelina in La Cenerentola in Florence in 1886. Scalchi became a valuable member of the Metropolitan Opera in 1883 and went on to sing 242 performances of eighteen roles in only five seasons. She was in the inaugural performance at the Metropolitan, singing the role of Siebel in Faust on October 22, 1883, along with Italo Campanini (1845–1896) and Christine Nilsson (1843–1921), her longtime colleagues in Mapleson’s company in London. Scalchi was the first Emilia in Otello (1888), the first Mistress Quickly in Falstaff (1895) in America, and the first Vanya in Glinka’s A Life for the Tsar in London (1887). The career of mezzo-soprano Giulia Ravogli (1866–1941) can hardly be separated from that of her sister Sofia (1865– 1910), a soprano who appeared in tandem with her sister in such operas as Orfeo ed Euridice, Aida, Carmen, Trovatore, Lucrezia, and Norma. Giulia was the finer singer of the two, but she always deferred to her sister, and when Sofia decided to retire, so did Giulia. Giulia’s performance of Orfeo at Covent Garden in 1890 had a tremendous impact. What Berlioz wrote of Madame Viardot-Garcia, the great Orpheus of thirty years ago, may be applied word-for-word to her successor of today, Giulia Ravogli: “She has all the special qualities that the part demands; through mastery of the music, a simple and severe style, an organ puissant and noble, profound sensibility, expressive features, natural beauty of gesture.”26 George Bernard Shaw, during his years as a music critic, could be merciless to someone he didn’t like, but he was an enthusiastic admirer of Giulia Ravogli, especially her Orfeo. He was also a connoisseur of Carmen and especially liked Ravogli’s portrayal because she was very musical, in contrast to Calvé’s version, which he praised for its realism but complained that she was always out of time with the orchestra.27 Giulia Ravogli, along with her sister, was engaged at the Metropolitan in 1891, where they were heard in Orfeo, which opened in Chicago. Giulia was praised lavishly, the critic stating that the expectations raised by her London success were “in no wise disappointed.” Vocally and dramatically her treatment of the part is admirable. She is in everything the thorough, intelligent artist, and there is no feature of her work which does not reveal this. . . . Her voice is one of beauty, containing tones whose quality is that of a mezzo-soprano, rather than contralto, but full, pure, and warm. She sings with splendid finish, her phrasing and shading of Gluck’s trying music being in the highest degree artistic and praise-meriting.28

While in Chicago, Giulia sang Ortrud in Lohengrin in an all-star cast that included Jean and Èdouard de Reszke

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(1853–1917) and Emma Ames (1865–1952). Jean de Reszke and Ames were judged to be praiseworthy but not up to expectations. “Giulia Ravogli, as Ortrud, displayed histrionic ability of an exceptionally high order and a mezzo-soprano voice of extensive compass and considerable power.”29 Giulia Ravogli only remained one season at the Met, where she sang ten roles in thirty-two performances, which included Azucena, Amneris, Ortrud, Orfeo, Fidès, and Urbain in Les Huguenots. With all her success, it is possible that she decided to leave America because Sofia, whom she idolized, failed to achieve much appreciation for her work. Gabriella Besanzoni (1890–1962) made her debut in Viterbo in 1911 as Adalgisa in Norma. Besanzoni’s voice was a rich and full contralto, with a smooth transition between registers and a strong top voice. She was in great demand in Italy within a few seasons and sang with many of the great artists of the period—soprano Ester Mazzoleni (1883–1982), baritones Riccardo Stracciari (1875–1955) and Mattia Battistini (1857–1928), tenors Enrico Caruso and Aureliano Pertile (1885–1952), basso Ezio Pinza (1892–1957), and conductors Pietro Mascagni and Arturo Toscanini (1867–1957). Besanzoni’s repertoire was extensive and covered the usual roles—Amneris, Dalila, Marina, Carmen, Mignon, Leonora (La favorita), Santuzza, Adalgisa, Preziosilla, Isabella, and Orfeo. She guested in Mexico City, Havana, Berlin, and was a great favorite at the Colón in Buenos Aires, where she was reengaged six times. Besanzoni was engaged at the Metropolitan in 1919 for a single season, where she sang Amneris, Preziosilla, Marina, Dalila, and Isabella in the first Met performance of L’italiana in Algeri, “where she demonstrated that her skill for florid music was limited.”30 Michael Scott lists three other Italian altos of this period— Armida Parsi-Pettinella (1868–1944), the Spaniard Maria Gay (1879–1943), and the Portuguese alto Eugenia Mantelli (1860–1926).31 All had substantial European careers and both Mantelli and Gay had Met careers without arousing much enthusiasm. Since we are now in the era of recorded performance, it is possible to hear these singers on records. In my opinion, none are up to modern standards of performance, despite having impressive career credentials.

NOTES 1.  Henry F. Chorley, Thirty Years’ Musical Recollections (New York: Knopf, 1926), 185. 2. Chorley, Thirty Years’ Musical Recollections, 377. 3.  Elizabeth Forbes, The New Grove Dictionary of Opera, vol. 1, ed. Stanley Sedie (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997), 1–2.

4.  Philip Gossett, Divas and Scholars: Performing Italian Opera (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2007), 288. From Viardot’s letter to Arditi, 15 March 1859. 5.  Susan Rutherford, The Cambridge Verdi Encyclopedia, ed. Roberta Montemorra Marvin (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014), 359. 6.  Henry Pleasants, The Great Singers: From the Dawn of Opera to Our Own Time (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1966), 126. 7.  Martin Chusid, Verdi’s Il trovatore: The Quintessential Italian Melodrama (Rochester, NY: University of Rochester Press, 2012), 28–29. 8.  George Whitney Martin, “Verdi Onstage in the United States: Le trouvère,” The Opera Quarterly 21 (spring 2005): 285–302. 9.  Julian Budden, The Operas of Verdi, vol. 2 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1992), 67–68. 10. Hilary Poriss, The Cambridge Verdi Encyclopedia, ed. Roberta Montemorra Marvin (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014), 384. 11.  Mary Jane Phillips-Matz, Verdi: A Biography (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993), 447. From a letter from Verdi to General Sabouroff, 19 March 1862. 12. Budden, The Operas of Verdi, vol. 3, 14. 13. Budden, The Operas of Verdi, vol. 3, 13. 14. Budden, The Operas of Verdi, vol. 3, 22. 15. Budden, The Operas of Verdi, vol. 3, 26. From a letter to T. Ricordi, 21 April 1868. 16. Budden, The Operas of Verdi, vol. 3, 29. The letter to Tornaghi was dated 9 August 1874. 17.  Elizabeth Forbes, “Eleonora Grossi,” The New Grove Dictionary of Opera, vol. 2, 532. 18. Budden, The Operas of Verdi, vol. 3, n. 192. Letter dated 24 May 1871. Recordi’s description of her in the production book is: “Amneris—20; very lively, impetuous, susceptible.” 19. Phillips-Matz, Verdi, 626. From a letter from Stolz to Verdi and Strepponi, 2 January 1876. 20. Phillips-Matz, Verdi, 629. 21. Budden, The Operas of Verdi, vol. 3, 417. 22. Budden, The Operas of Verdi, vol. 3, 431. 23. Budden, The Operas of Verdi, vol. 3, 433. 24. Budden, The Operas of Verdi, vol. 3, 29. 25.  Franz Werfel and Paul Stefan, Verdi: The Man in His Letters (New York: Vienna House, 1973), 392. 26.  F. Foster Buffen, ed., Musical Celebrities (London: Chapman & Hall, 1893), 228. 27.  James Huneker, ed., Dramatic Opinions and Essays by G. Bernard Shaw (New York: Brentanos, 1922), 12–13. 28.  Anonymous, “Orfeo ed Euridice,” review, Chicago Tribune, 11 November 1891. 29. Anonymous, “Lohengrin,” review, Chicago Tribune, 14 November 1891. 30.  Michael Scott, The Record of Singing, vol. 2, 1914–1925 (London: Duckworth, 1979), 96–97. 31.  Michael Scott, The Record of Singing, vol. 1, to 1914 (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1977), 163–67.

21 German Romanticism, Wagner, Strauss, and the Alto Voice

In the beginning of the nineteenth century, German opera composers were dominated by the influence of the Italians and, to a lesser extent, the French. Even Beethoven was intimidated by the success of the Rossini seasons in Vienna. Fidelio (1805) was modeled on a French rescue opera with spoken dialogue. The roots for the mighty tree that became the Wagnerian canon were planted by Beethoven in Fidelio, which required heroic voices to compensate for the wall of orchestral sound. The first truly German Romantic opera was Der Freischütz by Carl Maria von Weber, which premiered on June 18, 1821, at the Schauspielhaus in Berlin. The opera was a great success and played all over Germany. Although it contains no music for the alto voice, it is important to understand that, with its mixture of fantasy, piety, superstition, and battle between good and evil, it was a forerunner of the fantastic Teutonic world of the music dramas of Richard Wagner. Oberon, written to an English libretto, was premiered in London on April 12, 1826, shortly before the death of the composer on June 4. The character of Puck was written for a mezzo-soprano, one Harriet Cawse (c. 1812–1889), who apparently was a child of fourteen. Richard Wagner towered over the middle and late nineteenth century like a colossus. Oesterlein’s Katalog, published in 1927, lists ten thousand books about Wagner published in his lifetime alone.1 Only Verdi stood his ground against the Wagnerian onslaught, and even he was forced to admit to the greatness of Tristan und Isolde. “An Italian of the Italians, faithful to the instincts of his race, a clear-sighted and indomitable artist, Verdi maintained, almost singlehanded, the cause of Italian opera against the tide of enthusiasm for Wagner and, in the end, vindicated the tradition of Scarlatti and Rossini alongside that of Reinhard Keiser (1674–1739) and Weber. The old struggle between Latin and German, southern and northern music in opera—the singer against the orchestra, melody against polyphony, simplicity against complexity—was incarnate in the nineteenth century in the works of Verdi and Wagner, who represented the two ideals in all their irreconcilable perfection.”2

Indeed, we are at a great crossroads where the singer becomes less important, the orchestra dominates, and the conductor and stage director ascend their thrones. Harmony overcomes melody and coloratura disappears. The recitative is replaced by sprechgesang, and set numbers (with opportunities for applause) give way to a more or less continuous flow of drama and music. In Wagner’s earlier works, the libretti were not so different from Italian or French models. However, in the later music dramas, the characters began to represent not real human beings, but cosmic and philosophical forces. As in other branches of the arts, the “concept” overcomes the content. Because of the size and makeup of the orchestra (large numbers of brass instruments), Wagner was compelled to invent another category of voice, the “helden,” or heroic voice, which represents the human limit of loudness and endurance. To be sure, Wagner recognized the problems to come and designed a cover for the orchestra at the Bayreuth Festspielhaus, where his works were to be performed. Following the trend of the times, all of Wagner’s female leads were sopranos, although most were of the type called hoch-dramatisch sopran, which would correspond to the Italian soprano sfogato, having a powerful middle and low voice with stentorian high notes. Unlike the sfogato, however, an ability to sing florid music was not required—only amazing endurance and the ability to sustain a high tessitura. Wagner’s early inspiration and model of heroines to come was Wilhelmine Schröder-Devrient, whom he had seen performing the eponymous role of Fidelio in 1829. “Toward the end of her (Schröder-Devrient’s) career, when vocal limitations, if nothing else, forced her to become a pioneer in the public performance of songs by Beethoven, Schubert, and Schumann, even German critics were to complain of lieder more acted and declaimed than sung.” “To say that she was predestined for German opera is not to suggest that Germans cannot sing or that German opera cannot be well sung, but rather that the declamatory predilection of German composers and the emphatic inflection of the German language favor a kind of singer for whom the wide 167

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range and the plastic melodic line of the older Italian operas offer only merciless exposure. Wilhelmine Schröder-Devrient became the first Adriano in Rienzi, Senta in The Flying Dutchman, and the first Venus in Tannhäuser, but while she was still young, German opera had little to offer beyond Fidelio, Weber’s operas, Mozart’s two German operas, and Gluck’s in German translation.”3 Wagner’s alto characters, although few, are interesting both musically and dramatically. In Der Fliegende Holländer, the supporting role of Mary, Senta’s nurse, was created by Thérèse Wächter-Wittman (b. 1802), who was the wife of Johann Michael Wächter (1794–1853), the first Dutchman. Both were longtime members of the Dresden Hofoper. Tannhäuser was problematic from the very first performance in Dresden on October 19, 1845. It was not as popular as Rienzi and Wagner continued to revise it until its 1860 publication known as the Dresden Version. The first Elisabeth was Wagner’s niece, Johanna Wagner (1826–1894), a mezzo-soprano of wide range who had studied with Pauline Viardot and Manuel Garcia II. Wagner mentioned that he had conducted her in Dresden as Léonor in Donizetti’s La Favorite, a part that fitted her voice perfectly, although he hated the opera himself.4 He described her as a high priestess, played by a young girl, whose exceptional beauty could not be concealed. This was my niece, Johanna Wagner, then seventeen years old, whose voice was exceptionally beautiful at this stage; this, in addition to her looks, and allied with her superb acting talent, made everybody wish the roles reversed [with Schröder-Devrient].5

This opinion was, by no means, shared by all. Henry Chorley, who did not understand the new direction that the Wagnerian music drama was taking anyway and stung by news that Johanna’s father had stated “that one only could go to London to get money,” wrote that She was one of the many who sing without having learned to sing. Her voice—an originally limited one, robust rather than rich in tone—was already strained and uncertain [in 1852] delivered after a bad method, and incapable of moderate flexibility, as was to be felt when she toiled through Mozart’s air, “Parto” from La Clemenza, with its clarinet obbligato.6

Chorley’s opinion notwithstanding, Johanna Wagner went on to a sterling career. After her engagement in Dresden, she sang in Hamburg as Valentine, Leonore, and Fidès. Meyerbeer heard her there and engaged her for Fidès in Berlin, as well as Bellini’s Romeo, Donna Anna, and Reiza in Weber’s Oberon. In 1856 in London she was heard as Romeo as well as Tancredi, Gluck’s Orfeo, and Donizetti’s Lucrezia Borgia. She also sang the same roles in Weimar under Liszt’s direction. Johanna Wagner was the first Berlin Ortrud, as well. The Venus in the premiere of Tannhäuser on October 19, 1845, was Wilhelmine Schröder-Devrient. Wagner wanted to conquer the musical world of Paris after his miserable time

there from 1839 until 1842. He arranged for a performance of Tannhäuser at the Opéra on March 13, 1861, and revised the part of Venus for a contralto, Fortunata Tedesco (1826–1866). The performance was a fiasco brought on by members of the Jockey Club, who were more interested in ogling the girls in the ballet, which Wagner was forced to add because of the rules of the Opéra. The eighteen-year-old Tedesco made her debut at La Scala in 1844 in Gugliemo Tell and Roberto il diavolo. She was engaged in Vienna, where she had a brilliant success, and then traveled to the United States and Havana, where she also triumphed. Her Paris debut was at the Opéra as Catarina in Halévy’s La reine de Chypre, and she subsequently sang Fidès, Azucena, Léonor, and created the part of Theodora in Halévy’s Le juif errant (The Wandering Jew) on April 23, 1852. After the Paris Tannhäuser, Tedesco had successful seasons in Lisbon and Madrid, finally retiring in 1866, the year of her death. Lohengrin was the last of Wagner’s three “Romantic” operas and was premiered in Weimar, with Franz Liszt conducting, on August 28, 1850. Because of his political exile, it was eleven years before Wagner heard a complete performance in Vienna. Based upon medieval Teutonic tales, Lohengrin was immediately popular and captivated the young King Ludwig II (1845–1886) of Bavaria, who bankrupted the kingdom’s treasury in support of Wagner’s grandiose dreams. The part of Ortrud, a pagan witch, recalls the character of Medea and is the most interesting character in the opera. These days, Ortrud is most often sung by a mezzo-soprano. Liszt had assembled a cast of obscure singers and directed an unprecedented forty-six rehearsals for the premiere. The original Ortrud was dramatic soprano Josephine Fastlinger (b. 1823?–?), who was, even in Weimar, completely unknown. After training in Munich, she was engaged at the Hoftheater Stuttgart and then in Munich for Agathe in Der Freischütz. She joined the company in Weimar in 1849. After the premiere of Lohengrin, Fastlinger went on to Leipzig, Munich, and then to Freiburg. Among other roles, she sang Romeo in I Capuleti e Montecchi, Donna Anna, Venus in Tannhäuser, and the title role in Fidelio. The Vienna premiere of Lohengrin was in the Burgtheater on August 19, 1859, with Róza Csillag (1832–1892) as Ortrud. Csillag’s father, Moritz Goldstein, was a hazzan (cantor) in Irsa, Hungary. Especially noted for the beauty of her mezzosoprano voice, Róza’s debut was as Fidès in Le prophète in 1858 in the court opera of Vienna, where she remained until 1873. Her roles included Bellini’s Romeo and the eponymous role in Donizetti’s Lucrezia Borgia. The first performance of Lohengrin in Italy was conducted by Verdi’s erstwhile friend Angelo Mariani on November 1, 1871, in Bologna. Eight days later, Verdi himself attended what was assuredly his first exposure to Wagnerian opera. The Ortrud was Marie Löwe-Destinn (fl. 1870s), a Bohemian mezzo-soprano. She had been singing in Italy for five years, including La Scala from 1866 to 1868, before the Lohengrin performance. Verdi had considered her for Amneris for Cairo’s premiere of Aida. On June 7, 1871, Giulio Recordi reported to Verdi:



German Romanticism, Wagner, Strauss, and the Alto Voice 169 Illustrious Maestro, While Brunello is negotiating with la Waldmann, I am trying again to find out if there is some other good artist; two names come to mind: La Destinn and La Giovanone. The first is a great actress, a fascinating person of most distinguished ability. Her voice has some strong notes in the middle register (B, C, E, and F); but her upper register is a bit awkward, and her low notes are not very sturdy. She has many defects, then, which are somewhat compensated for by the above-mentioned qualities. She was liked very much as Eboli at La Scala, however, and had great success during the last carnival season at La Scala and is now singing in Budapest with excellent success. The general word is excellent, but, as I said, I have never heard her.7

Verdi ultimately decided that he needed a stronger lower voice for Amneris and settled on Maria Waldmann. LöweDestinn ultimately became the teacher of Emílie Pavlína Věnceslava Kittlová, who adopted the surname of her teacher in tribute and became the great Emmy Destinn (1878–1930). Wagner composed his monumental tetralogy Der Ring des Nibelungen during a period of twenty years. His other mature music dramas, Tristan und Isolde (1865) and Die Meistersinger (1868), occupied him during hiatuses in the composition of the third of these operas, Siegfried. There is no question that the hoch dramatisch sopran is the lead voice in The Ring as well as Tristan, but the alto voice has a part to play as well. However, there is a problem. All of the creators of the parts chosen by Wagner that we are accustomed to hearing as mezzo-sopranos were actually sopranos. For example, the first Fricka in 1869 was Sophia Stehle (1838–1921), who was also the first Brünnhilde in Die Walküre. In the first complete Ring in 1876, the Rheingold Fricka was sung by soprano Friederike Grün (1836–1917), who also sang Elisabeth in the first Italian performance of Tannhäuser, Norma, Leonore in Fidelio, Rachel in La Juive, Valentine in Les Huguenots, and Agathe in Der Freischütz. The Walküre Fricka was Anna Kaufman (fl. 1869–1872), who also sang Eva, Elisabeth, and Elsa at the Bavarian State Opera. Das Rheingold, a vorspiel, or introduction to the rest of The Ring, was completed in 1854. Erda, a small but extremely important part whose gravitas could only be portrayed by the contralto voice was sung by Emma Seehofer (d. 1912) at the first performance on September 22, 1869. Luise Jaide (1842–1914) played Erda in Das Rheingold and Siegfried, as well as Waltraute in Götterdämmerung in the first complete Ring cycle in 1876. The First Norn in Götterdämmerung and Schwertleite in Die Walküre were sung by Wagner’s niece, Johanna Jachmann-Wagner. Wagner at first conceived the roles of Brünnhilde for her, but her voice was on the wane, perhaps vindicating Chorley’s opinion, and she changed careers and became a dramatic actress. She continued to sing, however, and in May 1872, she was alto soloist in the performance of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony at the laying of the cornerstone of the Festspielhaus in Bayreuth. It is impossible to overestimate the impact, both positive and negative, that Tristan und Isolde has had on the musical

world. Giuseppe Verdi, who was piqued at the charges that he was an imitator of Wagner, nevertheless said in a late interview that he “stood in wonder and terror” before Wagner’s Tristan.8 There is so much legend about Tristan. For example, there were assertions that the heldentenor who created the title role, Ludwig Schnorr von Carolsfeld (1836–1865), had been so overworked by Wagner that he suffered a stroke and died after a paroxysm of song, murmuring, “Farewell, Siegfried! Console my Richard!”9 Wagner, along with Meyerbeer and Verdi, with the larger orchestras, was blamed for the ruin of young voices, which were also forced to deal with the rise in pitch of a whole tone from the beginning of the century. Wagner himself did not condone the screaming and barking of inadequate voices trying to penetrate the orchestral screen and treasured the sustained vocal line and sprezzatura that had been the hallmark of bel canto for more than two hundred years. However, he recognized that the German language needed an idiom that was more suited to its characteristics. As Alice observed, “It gets curiouser and curiouser!” Why, then, did he cast Anna Deinet (1843–1919) as the first Brangäne? Deinet was a coloratura soprano, most of whose career was spent at the Bavarian State Opera from 1863 to 1878. Some of the roles she sang were Konstanze in Die Entfürung aus dem Serail, Susanna in Le nozze de Figaro, and the queen of the night in Die Zauberflöte by Mozart, Marie in La Fille du Regiment by Donizetti, and, remarkably, Leonora in Il trovatore and Venus in Tannhäuser. She was also the first Helmwige in Die Walküre on June 26, 1870, a part that was taken by the great Lilli Lehmann at the first performance of the complete Ring in 1876. Apparently Wagner and conductor Hans von Bülow (1830– 1892) had wanted Sophie Stehle, whose more powerful voice was better suited for the part of Brangäne, but she refused, probably because she thought Brangäne was a secondary role, which it is not. Brangäne is Isolde’s nurse who accompanies her throughout the opera, provides the love potion, and is “the watcher” during the long love scene, “O sink’ hernieder, Nacht der Liebe.” The premiere of Tristan was on June 10, 1865. Bülow considered Deinet “very capable.”10 Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg (1868) is Richard Wagner’s only comedy (he repudiated the 1836 Das Liebesverbot) and one of the longest operas still performed today. Only the role of Magdalena, Eva’s nurse, concerns us here. Magdalena is a secondary role, designated soprano in the score, but it is as long as many a leading role in other operas and most often sung by a mezzo-soprano these days. She is beloved by David, Hans Sachs’s apprentice, who is awarded her hand in marriage upon his graduation from apprenticeship. The Magdalena at the premiere on June 21, 1868, was Sophie Dietz (1820–1887), whom Wagner designated as Ortrud in 1867. Dietz was no comprimaria; she was a veteran of the Munich Hofoper in a career that spanned forty years. A versatile performer, by 1867 she had sung 122 roles in ninety-four operas, including all the female roles in Figaro except Marcellina and all six female roles in Die Zauberflöte. Dietz was designated Kammersängerin by

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Figure 21.1.  Marianne Brandt by A. Erlich, repro. Albert H. Payne, 1902.

Prince Luitpold (1821–1912), the prince regent of Bavaria in 1866. She also did gastspiele in the important opera houses of Stuttgart, Hamburg, Dresden, and Cologne. Wagner met the contralto who would go on to sing all of his major alto parts to great renown in the summer of 1875. Marianne Brandt sang some excerpts from the role of Ortrud for him. He was only mildly impressed and offered her the role of Waltraute in Götterdämmerung, which she politely declined as being “too small” and beneath her dignity. From her August 1874 letter to Liszt, we gather that she did not greatly care for a “narrative” part like this; she felt that her strength lay in dramatic changes of passion. But Wagner had no use for singers who wanted only to be their usual selves in the Ring.11 Marianne Brandt was born as Marie Bischof in Vienna, studied at the conservatory there, and became a student of Pauline Viardot-Garcia. Her debut was as Rachel in La Juive in 1867 and she was engaged for the Graz opera. She was then an outstanding member of the Royal Opera of Berlin from 1868 to 1886. Like Pisaroni and Viardot, whose pupil she was, Brandt was almost as celebrated for her lack of physical beauty as for the beauty of her voice and the compelling quality of her art. Wagner was supposed to have called her the ugliest woman he had ever seen walk across the stage, and she was discarded for the role of Sieglinde at Bayreuth in 1876 because it was

feared that her homeliness would inhibit the ardor of Albert Niemann’s (1831–1917) Sigmund. Wagner may not have put his opinion in those words, but whatever he said, his comment got back to Brandt, and there was persistent bad feeling between them. She was not invited back for the performances of Parsifal planned for 1883.12 Marianne Brandt’s great role was Kundry in Parsifal, but she did not sing the premiere or the first performance outside Bayreuth at the Metropolitan in 1903. Amalie Materna (1845–1918) was the first Brünnhilde in the complete Ring as well as the first Kundry. Milka Ternina (1863–1941), the great Croatian dramatic soprano, sang the first Kundry at the Metropolitan, as well as the first Tosca in America. Marianne Brandt was in the second cast of Parsifal at Bayreuth in 1882 and, despite the personal animosity between her and Wagner, he grudgingly respected her art and probably considered her the best Kundry. “‘I have been in great trouble with regard to my Kundry,’ he told the king (Ludwig II of Bavaria) in June. ‘None of my former singers is right for the part: none of them has the deep notes that are indispensable for the demonic character of this woman. Lately I have been driven to thinking of Marianne Brandt, who, indeed, is the only woman I know with the stuff in her for Kundry. . . . She has “le diable au corps,” and will do her best. Still, I will not give up Materna just yet.’” “After Wagner’s death, Marianne Brandt confessed to Ludwig Schemann that although his sudden end had shaken her, his personality, as distinct from his art, had never been ‘sympathetic’ to her.”13 The Metropolitan Opera, which opened in 1883, the year of Wagner’s death, became a German house in 1884 under the general manager and music director Leopold Damrosch (1832–1885), who had a long friendship with both Wagner and Liszt. Damrosch and his sons, Walter and Frank, were pioneers in the musical life of New York. Directly from Bayreuth, Marianne Brandt, Amelie Materna, and Lilli Lehmann were great stars of the Met during its German period from 1884 until 1891. In four seasons from 1884 until 1888, Brandt sang 189 performances of twenty works, including thirty-two Ortruds, fourteen Magdalenas, twenty-six Fidèses, twelve Adrianos (Rienzi), twenty-seven Frickas and two Brünnhildes (Walküre), eleven Erdas (Siegfried), ten Brangänes, ten Fidelios, as well as Amneris, Donna Elvira, and several other roles. The critic W. J. Henderson, who could be quite caustic at times, filed the following review of Marianne Brandt’s debut in Fidelio at the Met: Fräulein Amelia [sic] Brandt, a mezzo soprano and contralto, who has long been a favorite with audiences in Germany, effected her first appearance as Leonore, and wrought an immediate and decisive impression. Her voice is brilliant and powerful, her method eclectic, by which we would imply that she has the vigorous enunciation and accent of the German school of song, and no little of the fluency and taste of the Italian, and as an actress she is intelligent, impassioned, and forceful. Three recalls followed the rendering of “Abscheulicher.”14



German Romanticism, Wagner, Strauss, and the Alto Voice 171

Almost all of the participants in the Bayreuth festivals were devoted to Wagner, but Franz Strauss (1822–1905), whom Bülow called “the Joachim of the horn,” hated “the music of the future,” although he played the Wagner operas magnificently. Irascible and incorruptible, upon Wagner’s death, he was the only one in the orchestra who refused to stand in silence. However, when Bülow began to show an interest in the compositions of his son, the hard-nosed old Münchner relented somewhat. That son was Richard Strauss (1864–1949), who was brought up by his conservative father to revere the works of Mozart and Beethoven. It was not until later that Richard began to break away from the traditional path and become the greatest exponent of what is often called post-Wagnerism. Strauss is famous for his compositions for the soprano voice, both in opera and in song, but he also wrote significant roles for the alto voice as well. Fuersnot (1901), Strauss’s second opera, contains three roles for the alto, although none is the romantic lead. The third opera, Salome, which premiered on December 9, 1905, at the Hofoper in Dresden, shocked and intrigued the world with its mixture of the sacred and profane. The same subject was treated by Massenet in 1881. In Salome Herodias, the mezzosoprano part, is important and was created by the Austrian Irene von Chavanne (1868–1938). Von Chavanne attended the Vienna Konservatorium and also studied in Paris. Her debut came in 1885 at the Hofoper in Dresden, where she

spent most of her career. Other roles for von Chavanne include Fidès, Azucena, Dalila, Amneris, and Adriano (Rienzi). Strauss’s next shocker was Elektra, which began the long collaboration between Strauss and Hugo von Hofmannstahl (1874– 1929), and first saw the boards in Dresden on January 25, 1909. Perhaps the most noticeable feature of the score is the contrast between the dissonant idiom and the occasional stretches of lush, late-Romantic sentimentality, with cloying sevenths, ninths, chromatic alterations, and suspensions. Whatever the composer’s intentions may have been, these portions give the final dreadful touch of spiritual abnormality to the action, like something familiar suddenly seen in a ghastly, strange light.15 The first Klytämnestra was, of all people, the great German-Bohemian contralto Ernestine Schumann-Heink (1861– 1936). The amiable Schumann-Heink had a great career spanning fifty years, but apparently Strauss did not care for her voice all that much. Is it progress to use the human voice as Strauss does? Madame Schumann-Heink, who is noted for her big, robust voice, found the strain of singing Klytämnestra in Dresden so great that she resigned after the first performance. She has related how, at the rehearsals, when Conductor Schuch, out of regard for the singers, moderated the orchestral din, Strauss declared: “But my dear Schuch, louder, louder the orchestra. I can still hear the voice of Frau Heink!” (I have this from Madame SchumannHeink herself.)16

Figure 21.2.  Ernestine Schumann-Heink as Waltraute in Götterdämmerung, Metropolitan Opera, 1902

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Ernestine Schumann-Heink was a student of G. B. Lamperti and made her debut as Azucena in Dresden where she remained for four seasons, starting in 1878. She married Ernst Heink and was engaged at Hamburg, where she showed her mettle by performing Carmen, Fidès, and Ortrud without rehearsal, replacing a temperamental star. On a trip to London she had great success as Erda, Waltraute, Brangäne, and Fricka under the baton of the young Gustav Mahler (1860–1911). After a divorce from Heink, with whom she had four children, she married Paul Schumann and bore him three more babies. She then assumed her familiar hyphenated name and in 1896 she began a long and rewarding relationship in Bayreuth, where Cosima Wagner always called her “Erda.” From 1897 to 1903 she was a regular at both Covent Garden and the Met, returning for single seasons for years to come. She became a naturalized American citizen and for the rest of her long career, she became an American institution on long cross-country tours as the motherly Austrian Hausfrau with the great voice. World War I was an agony for Schumann-Heink, since she had sons on both sides of the conflict. She supported the American war effort, raising money and singing for the troops, even though her German son, Ernst, was killed in the war. From 1926 to 1935, as a weekly radio pioneer, SchumannHeink sang “Silent Night” in both German and English, which became a U.S. Christmas tradition. In 1929 she lost most of her considerable assets in the stock market crash and was forced to resume her singing career at the age of sixty-nine. Her last performance at the Metropolitan was as Erda in 1932, when she was seventy-one. This is now the era in which we can hear the actual voices of our subjects. “Silent Night,” “Weiche Wotan” from Das Rheingold, and a recording of “Parto, parto” from La clemenza di Tito in which Schumann-Heink displays the technical virtuosity she must have learned from G. B. Lamperti can be heard on YouTube. Ernestine Schumann-Heink died of leukemia on November 17, 1936, in Hollywood, California. Strauss’s next opera, Der Rosenkavalier, occupies a different world from the horrors of Salome and Elektra. Set in the Vienna of the 1740s during the first years of the reign of Empress Maria Theresa, Der Rosenkavalier, which premiered on January 26, 1911, in Dresden, is labeled a comedy, but there are serious issues of young love, lust, and the bittersweet prospect of aging and loss. Some critics have caviled about Strauss’s use of the waltz in an eighteenth-century setting, but this material contributes to the atmosphere of the story and never bothers most listeners. The central character is the Marschallin, of course, a soprano role created by the astonishing Margarethe Siems (1879–1952), a student of Aglaja Orgeni of the Garcia-Viardot line, who also created the roles of Chrysothemis in Elektra and Zerbinetta in Ariadne auf Naxos. The eponymous alto character is young Count Octavian Rofrano, a Hosenrolle modeled on Cherubino, who is the young lover of the Marschallin as the opera opens but who falls in love with Sophie von Faninal after the magical scene of “The Presentation of the Rose.” The part of Octavian has been sung by many of the great alto singers

over the years and some have even ventured to undertake all three principal female roles. Evelyn Lear (1926–2012), Elizabeth Söderström (1927–2009), Lotte Lehmann (1888–1976), Lisa Della Casa (1919–2012), and Sena Jurinac (1921–2011) have all accomplished this unusual feat. The first Octavian was Eva von der Osten (1881–1936), a German soprano whose career was anchored at the Dresden Hofoper and was well known for her interpretation of Wagnerian parts, notably Isolde. Her career spanned twenty-five years and included twenty-five hundred operatic performances. Osten came from a theatrical family, and she also became a stage director, responsible for the premiere of Strauss’s Arabella (1933). There is a YouTube excerpt of her and Minnie Nast (1874–1956), the original Sophie, in “Mir ist die Ehre.” This is interesting because both artists sing with the straight instrumental tone so characteristic of German sopranos of this period. Osten’s nephew, Wolfgang Windgassen (1914–1974), was an important heldentenor during the postwar period. These days Octavian is generally sung by mezzo-sopranos. Since the premiere, many of the world’s great alto singers have excelled in the role. Risë Stevens (1913–2013), the only mezzo-soprano to command prima donna fees and publicity during her time at the Metropolitan, was acclaimed for her Octavian and made a TV film of the opera in 1949. Margarethe Arndt-Ober (1885–1971), contralto, was the first Octavian at the Met in 1913 and had a great international career, which was interrupted by the Metropolitan’s cancellation of her contract on the eve of World War I. Ober sued the Met for $50,000, lost the case, and was detained in the United States until the end of the war. Other international alto stars in the role of Octavian over the years have been Maria Olszewska (1882–1969), Kerstin Thorborg (1896–1970), Mildred Miller (b. 1924), Christa Ludwig, Rosalind Elias (b. 1929), Yvonne Minton (b. 1938), Brigitte Fassbaender (b. 1939), Tatiana Troyanos, Agnes Baltsa (b. 1944), Frederica von Stade, Anne Sofie von Otter (b. 1955), Susan Graham (b. 1960), and Joyce DiDonato. The ink was hardly dry on Der Rosenkavalier when Strauss and von Hofmannstahl were hard at work on their next offering, Ariadne auf Naxos. This strange artwork was originally conceived as a thirty-minute divertissement at the end of von Hofmannstahl’s adaptation of Moliere’s play, Le Bourgois gentilhomme, which also had incidental music by Strauss. The entire entertainment, in its original version ran for more than six hours on October 25, 1912, with the opera alone accounting for ninety minutes. A restive public and production problems mandated a revision, which produced the version we are accustomed to today. Ariadne’s second premiere took place in Vienna on October 4, 1916, at the height of World War I. The idealistic young composer, one of the greatest hosenrollen, was designated by Strauss as a soprano and was premiered by the great Lotte Lehmann, but like Octavian, it is mostly sung by mezzo-sopranos today. Perhaps following the path set out by his father many years before, Strauss utilized a Mozartean stylistic purity and, indeed, the composer’s rapturous paean



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“Musik ist eine heilige Kunst” could be no greater tribute to his great Austrian predecessor. Ariadne was not performed at the Met until 1962, when the composer was sung by Kerstin Meyer (b. 1928). Most of the altos we mentioned in Der Rosenkavalier were also well known as the composer in Ariadne. The part of the nurse in Die Frau ohne Schatten requires a different type of voice—a dramatic mezzo-soprano. Steeped in magic and hating humans, she has much in common with Medea. Written during the great conflagration of World War I, Die Frau ohne Schatten had to wait until October 10, 1919, for its premiere in Vienna, where it was received with little enthusiasm. Requiring five top dramatic singers and excellent secondary singers, a large orchestra, elaborate scenic effects, and composed upon a complex libretto, it was not a work that the average operagoer would immediately appreciate. The original nurse was Lucie (Lucy) Weidt (1876–1940), a dramatic soprano who had a substantial career in Paris, Milan, Amsterdam, Brussels, Buenos Aries, and during the 1910–1911 season at the Metropolitan. However, the Met did not get around to mounting Die Frau ohne Schatten until October 2, 1966, but it was a sterling production and Irene Dalis (1925–2014) was the menacing nurse. Irene Dalis (born Yvonne Patricia) had a great international career at the highest levels of operatic performance. Trained first as a pianist, she began her singing career in Germany, first in Oldenburg, debuting in what became one of her signature roles, Princess Eboli, and then in the Berlin Stadtische Oper, where her performance in Leosˆ Janáček’s (1854–1928) Jenufa led to a contract from the Metropolitan Opera, where she debuted in 1957 again as Eboli. Dalis had a twenty-year career at the Met, singing 274 performances in such dramatic roles as Amneris, Kundry (the first American to sing the role at Bayreuth), Brangäne, Herodias in Salome, Ulrica, Lady Macbeth, Azucena, Ortrud, and Fricka. Upon her debut as Eboli, Raymond Erickson wrote the following in Musical America: Her expert vocalism and musicianship were immediately apparent in the “Veil Song,” which Dalis sang better than I have ever heard it sung. In the tricky ensemble with Carlo and Rodrigo in the Queen’s gardens, she was just as impressive, and her sweeping, almost torrential handling of “O don fatale” won her a genuine ovation from the capacity audience. Everywhere Dalis’s acting went hand-in-glove with her singing. Erickson concluded that Dalis’s debut was “one of the most exciting in recent seasons.”17

Other engagements were as principal artist at the San Francisco Opera, Covent Garden, Chicago Lyric Opera, and in Berlin, Rome, Naples, and many others. In 1984, upon retirement, Irene Dalis founded Opera San Jose at her alma mater, which offers professional contracts to young singers for major roles. The company is modeled on German regional companies that give the young singers the opportunity to work under professional conditions. The recipient of many awards and honors, Irene Dalis passed away on December 14, 2014.

Strauss and von Hofmannstahl collaborated on several more operas, all of which starred sopranos. None were as successful as those we have studied. Before leaving the Strausses, let us visit the world of Viennese operetta and Johann Strauss the Younger (1825–1899), “the waltz king.” His operetta Die Fledermaus (The Bat) has been a staple repertory item in opera companies since its inaugural performance on April 5, 1874, at the historic Theater an der Wien in Vienna. Twenty years after its premiere, Gustav Mahler elevated its artistic status by conducting it at the Hamburg Opera. One of the most famous trouser roles in all opera is that of Prince Orlofsky, which is usually sung by an alto. Many famous mezzos (and some sopranos and tenors) such as Risë Stevens, Jarmila Novotná (1907–1994), and Wolfgang Windgassen (1914–1974) have enjoyed playing the role, which was created by Irma Nittinger ( fl. 1870s). I already mentioned Margarethe Arndt-Ober in connection to the Met’s first representation of Der Rosenkavalier. However, her career was much more extensive than that, for she sang nineteen roles there during four seasons, totaling 182 performances. Ober’s stage debut came in 1906 as Azucena in Der Troubadour. She became a member of the Berlin Imperial Opera ensemble within a year and remained a member of that company, with interruptions, until she retired in 1945. She performed most of the leading mezzo-soprano and contralto roles in Berlin, as well as a number of comprimaria parts. At the Met, Ober sang an Italian Marina in Boris Godunov, Erda in Siegfried, and doubling Flosshilde and Erda in Das Rheingold and Flosshilde and Waltraute in Götterdämmerung. She also sang Laura in La Gioconda, Amneris, Nancy in Marta, Azucena, and the witch in Königskinder. A year after the end of World War I, she attempted to return to the United States in a season of German opera at the Lexington Theater, but feelings were still too high and the venture failed. She continued to sing in Germany until 1945. One of the outstanding German altos born in the latter quarter of the nineteenth century was Ottilie MetzgerLattermann (1878–1943). Metzger-Lattermann’s voice was a strong and colorful contralto, and she became famous for her interpretations of the Wagner alto parts. She made her debut in Hamburg in 1898 and was a member of the Cologne opera from 1900 to 1903, returning frequently thereafter, where she gained experience and built her repertory, including The Ring cycle. From 1901 to 1904 and again in 1912, she was acclaimed for her interpretations of Erda, Flosshilde, Waltraute, and a norn at Bayreuth. Metzger-Lattermann was the principal contralto at Hamburg from 1903 to 1915, where she sang in Italian as well as German. She was Amneris in 1912 when Caruso visited Hamburg as a guest in Aida. During these years she also guested in London with Beecham’s Covent Garden seasons, where she was the Clytemnestra in the first London performances of Elektra. In her second season there she sang Herodias in Salome and a very successful Carmen. Before the war Metzger-Lattermann also visited

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Berlin, St. Petersburg, Brussels, Munich, and Frankfurt. In 1915, she moved to Dresden, where she remained until 1923. From 1922 to 1923, she toured the United States with a German opera company where she sang Brangäne in Tristan with Eva von der Osten (1881–1936), Jacque Urlus (1867–1935), and Alexander Kipnis (1891–1978). Throughout her career, Metzger-Lattermann was also a concert artist as well. After her retirement, Ottilie Metzger-Lattermann taught in Berlin until Hitler came to power. Being Jewish, she fled to Brussels but was engulfed by the Nazi occupation. One of the great artists of the German nation was sent to Auschwitz, where she perished in 1943. Sabine Kalter (1890–1957) was a contralto born in Jaroslaw, Galicia. She studied at the Vienna Musical Academy and made her debut at the Volksoper in 1911. In 1913, Kalter replaced Ottilie Metzger-Lattermann as principal contralto of the Hamburg State Opera. Her roles included Ortrud, Fricka, Waltraute, Brangäne, Herodias, Amneris, Lady Macbeth, Dalila, Orfeo, Marina, Fidès, and Carmen. Kalter was one of the most popular singers at the Hamburg Stadttheater and was an accomplished recitalist appearing in the Netherlands, Spain, Belgium, and Austria. When the Nazis came to power, Kalter and her husband Max Aufrichtig, both Jews, moved to London and changed their name to Andrews. Sabine Kalter then embarked on a successful career at Covent Garden, where she sang her familiar Wagnerian repertoire, along with Hálta in Bedřich Smetana’s (1824–1884) The Bartered Bride and Hérodiade. In 1939, no doubt due to prejudice against her beloved Wagnerian music, Sabine Kalter left the operatic stage and concentrated on concert and recital work. She also became a fine voice teacher. Sabine Kalter had a big, beautiful, individual voice. She sang Brangäne in a historic recording of Tristan und Isolde with Kirsten Flagstad (1895–1962) and Lauritz Melchior (1890–1973), conducted by Fritz Reiner, which was recorded

live in 1936. There are also beautiful recordings of Verdi duets with the great tenor, Richard Tauber (1892–1948), also a Jewish expatriate. These singers manage to combine bel canto vocalism with German musicality. In such wonderful artists, Hitler lost more than the war.

NOTES 1.  Donald J. Grout, A Short History of Opera (New York: Columbia University Press, 1965), n. 302. 2. Grout, A Short History of Opera, 362. 3.  Henry Pleasants, The Great Singers: From the Dawn of Opera to Our Own Time (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1966), 155. 4.  Richard Wagner, My Life, trans. Andrew Gray (New York: Da Capo, 1992), 383. 5. Wagner, My Life, 285. 6. Henry F. Chorley, Thirty Years’ Musical Recollections (New York: Knopf, 1926), 313. 7.  Hans Busch, trans., Verdi’s Aida: The History of an Opera in Letters and Documents (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1978), 169. 8.  Barry Millington, ed., The Wagner Compendium: A Guide to Wagner’s Life and Music (London: Thames and Hudson, 1992), 382. 9. Pleasants, The Great Singers, 229. 10.  Ernest Newman, The Life of Richard Wagner, vol. 3 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1976), 367. 11. Newman, The Life of Richard Wagner, vol. 4, 430–31. 12. Pleasants, The Great Singers, 279–80. 13. Newman, The Life of Richard Wagner, vol. 4, 660. 14. W. J. Henderson, “Fidelio, Metropolitan Opera House Premiere,” 19 November 1884, http://archives.metoperafamily.org. 15. Grout, A Short History of Opera, 516. 16.  Henry Theophilus Finck, Richard Strauss: The Man and His Works (New York: Little, Brown, 1917), 250. 17. Raymond Erickson, “Review,” Musical America, 16 March 1957.

22 The Russian Altos

In the nineteenth century, the rise of nationalism saw the development of indigenous opera in many countries that had depended solely upon importing works from the main European countries. With the exception of Russia, none of these operas, however deserving, achieved much popularity outside their own borders.1 Italian opera in Russia dates from 1731 in the court of Catherine the Great (1729–1796), and many Italian composers and visiting artists carted home huge fortunes from St. Petersburg. In addition, composers of lighter fare such as the German singspiel and the French opéra comique were well attended. By 1770, operas written to Russian librettos began to appear, but they were largely ignored by the titled class, which was the main audience for the lyric theater. Where the Italian tradition tended to glorify the high voices of sopranos and tenors, especially in dramas about the complications of love, the Russian repertory brought out the potential of the lower voices, both the bass and alto, to project gravitas and darker emotions, such as conflicts over political power. Often considered the very foundation of Russian opera, A Life for the Tsar (Ivan Susanin) by Mikhail Glinka, was first produced on November 27, 1836 (Old Style). The alto role of Vanya, the adopted son of Susanin, a trouser part, was sung by Anna Vorobieva-Petrova (1816–1901). Vorobieva-Petrova was the wife of Osip A. Petrov (1806–1878), a great bass-baritone who created Susanin, as well as characters in many of the one hundred roles he sang by such composers as Alexander S. Dargomyzhsky (1813–1869), Modest P. Musorgsky (1839–1881), Nikolai A. Rimsky-Korsakov (1844–1908), Anton G. Rubinstein (1829–1894), Pyotr I. Tchaikovsky (1840–1893), and others. Vorobieva-Petrova was a great singer on her own merits and, with her husband, could be said to have developed a distinctly Russian style of singing. The Petrovs were great friends of Musorgsky. Osip Afanasievitch Petrov was sixty-seven when he created the part of the drunken friar Varlaam in Boris. He had a brilliant stage career; on the day memorable in the history of Russian opera, the great first performance of Glinka’s A Life for the Tsar on November 27, 1836, he appeared on the stage

of the Marie Theater in the part of Susanin. The equally distinguished singer Anna Yakovlevna Vorobieva, who afterward became his wife, soon rivalled him in this opera as an unsurpassed and unequalled Vania. In Glinka’s second opera, Russlan and Ludmilla (1842), which was almost more important for the development of Russian operatic art than his first work, the chief parts (Russlan and Ratmir) were entrusted to the two Petrovs. Petrov’s “mighty bass,” which Glinka cannot praise enough in his Recollections, and his wife’s “wonder voice,” a magnificent contralto whose rich, soft tone, in the opinion of contemporaries, had no equal in all Europe, vied successfully with the most remarkable voices of the Italian opera in St. Petersburg. But the other artistic qualities of this exceptional pair of singers far surpassed even the wonderful tone of their voices. The great dramatic talent possessed by both artists, which was far beyond the average operatic standard—rising to thrilling heights of tragic pathos, then expressing itself in brilliant, irresistible humor—enabled them to make such memorable and impressive figures in all the parts they played that Petersburg theatrical gossip lived on them for many years. “The Petrovs” passed into legend in the history of Russian opera.2 The next most important opera for the development of the Russian oeuvre was the unfinished The Stone Guest (1872) by Dargomyzhsky, finished and orchestrated by Cesar Cui (1835–1918) and Rimsky-Korsakov. Guest is a retelling of Don Juan, which was written entirely in recitative style with the exception of two ariettas sung by the mezzo-soprano character, Laura. The alto Mariya Ilyina (fl. 1870–1880) created the role. Mariya Ilyina was a member of the Imperial Opera Company at the Mariinsky Theatre in Saint Petersburg from January to May 1871 before transferring to the Kiev Opera and later to Kazan. Tchaikovsky described her as “a singer with a tremendous, strong, and yet at the same time incredibly pleasant mezzo-soprano voice,” when in 1874 she sang the role of Boyarina Morozova in his opera The Oprichnik (The Guardsman) in Kiev.3 Alexander N. Serov (1820–1871) composed only three operas, but he was a popular composer in Imperial Russia. Serov was an 175

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advocate for the music drama theories of Richard Wagner, which were rejected by the other young contemporary composers. His second opera, Rogneda (1865), was originally written for a Swiss soprano, Valentina Bianchi (1833–?), in the title role. However, for some reason Bianchi was not available, so Serov was obliged to use a substitute who disappointed him. After a year, he revised the part for his favorite mezzo-soprano, Dar’ya Leonova (1829– 1896), who had created the part of the witch Skulda in the premiere. Leonova also sang Spiridonovna in Serov’s posthumous The Power of the Fiend (1871). Leonova had an extensive career that began with Vanya in Life for the Tsar in 1852 in which she was prepared by Glinka himself. Leonova had a powerful ringing contralto voice and was a magnetic actress. She was especially praised for Azucena and Ortrud and campaigned all over Europe, Japan, China, and the United States. Leonova was a champion of Russian music and toured with Musorgsky and even gave him a haven, for a time, allowing him to compose in her dacha. She also provided him with employment as a supervisor of musical studies in her private singing academy founded in 1880. From the middle of the nineteenth century, Russian opera composers were divided into two camps: those who, like Glinka and Dargomyzhsky, were interested in developing a distinctly Russian style using the Russian language and folk idioms, and those who were international composers intent on developing trans-European careers. Anton Rubinstein, founder of the Imperial Conservatory and a great pianist, was the leader of the internationalist movement. He composed nineteen operas, of which The Demon (1875) is the best known, but none featured an alto in a leading part. Pyotr I. Tchaikovsky, the greatest of the Russian internationalists, did compose several outstanding roles for the alto voice. One of his favorite singers was mezzo-soprano Aleksandra Krutikova (1851–1919), who created the part of Boyarina Morozova in his early The Oprichnik, which premiered in 1874. Krutikova sang the part of Olga in the Bol’shoy premiere of Tchaikovsky’s masterpiece Eugene Onegin in 1881 and was also in the original cast of Mazeppa (1884). The original Olga (1879) was Aleksandra Levitskaya (fl. 1880s), who, along with the other cast members, was a student at the Moscow Conservatory. The performance was conducted by Nicholai Rubinstein (1885–1931), the younger brother of Anton. Tchaikovsky’s next opera was The Maid of Orleans, which premiered at the Mariinsky Theatre on February 13 (Old Style), 1881. The eponymous heroine, Joan of Arc, was sung by mezzosoprano Mariya Kaménskaya (1854–1925). The work was a success, but it ran for only three performances because of the assassination of Tsar Nicholas II on March 1, 1881. Kaménskaya coped successfully with the part originally written for a soprano, but was forbidden to sing it again until it was transposed into her natural alto range. In the autumn of 1882 The Maid had to be postponed again because Kaménskaya was not well and ultimately had only sixteen performances. The aria “Adieu, forets” is still a favorite solo for alto singers. Tchaikovsky cast both the roles of Solokha the witch in Vakula the Smith (1876, revised as Cherivichki in 1885) and

Princess Yevpraksiya Romanovna in The Sorceress (1887) for alto voices. His second most popular opera was The Queen of Spades, which premiered on December 7, 1890 (Old Style). The contralto character of the old countess has an impact far beyond its length. The production by the Met in 1965 starred Jon Vickers and Regina Resnik in the never-to-be-forgotten confrontation scene. The original countess was Mariya Slavina (1858–1951), who was Russia’s first Carmen. Slavina made her debut in 1879 at the Mariinsky Theater as Amneris. She remained a member of the Mariinsky Opera Company for almost forty years, where she was called “the queen of the Mariinsky” by fans in the audience. In her unpublished autobiography, Slavina claimed to have sung “fifty-six roles of the most diverse character.”4 Besides the countess, she created the roles of Hanna in Rimsky-Korsakov’s May Night (1880), Konchakovna in Borodin’s Prince Igor (1890), and Clytemnestra in Sergey Taneyev’s (1856–1918) Oresteia (1895). Slavina was a notable Olga, Fidès, Ortrud, Fricka, and Waltraute. She was one of the first to recognize the need to improve the acting skills of the opera singer. Whether this entailed the occasional departure from the singing line in favor of spoken declamation that can be clearly heard in the work of Feodor Chaliapin, I do not know. Slavina was known after her marriage as Baroness Mariya Aleksandrovna Medem and fled to Paris at the time of the revolution, where she became a singing teacher.

Figure 22.1.  Yulina Platonova



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Mily A. Balakirev (1837–1910), Cèsar Cui, Musorgsky, Alexander Borodin (1833–1877), and Rimsky-Korsakov were amateur (not trained in a German conservatory) musicians often called “the five” or “the powerful coterie.” Of these, the most original genius was Modest Petrovitch Musorgsky, whose monumental Boris Godunov premiered in its entire first version on January 27, 1874. As originally conceived in 1869, Boris had no female characters to speak of and was rejected by the board of directors of the Imperial Theaters. Musorgsky then made alterations in the score, the most important of which was the addition of the powerful alto role of the haughty Polish aristocrat, Marina Mniszek. Although there is no question that the male roles dominate Boris, without Yulina Platonova (1841–1892), the original Marina, perhaps the opera would never have been staged at all. Platonova was one of the most popular singers at the Mariinsky. She created Mary in Cui’s William Ratcliff (1869), Donna Anna in Dargomyzhsky’s The Stone Guest (1872), Olga in Rimsky-Korsakov’s The Maid of Pskov (1873), and Dasha in Serov’s The Power of the Fiend (1871). In the spring of 1873, a performance of three scenes from Boris, including the Polish set, was given as a benefit for the manager of the Mariinsky Theatre. After the performance, at a reception at the home of Rimsky-Korsakov, it was agreed by all present that the entire opera should be produced. Yulina Platonova was the most popular singer in Petersburg at the time and had great influence over Stepan Gedeonov (1816–1878), the powerful director of the Imperial Theaters. Platonova refused to renew her contract with the Mariinsky unless he would mount Boris as the opera produced for her benefit. Having little choice except capitulating, Gedeonov submitted the proposal to the production committee, who turned him down. In a letter to Stassov dated 1886, Platonova gives a lively account of how she got around Gedeonov: On receiving the committee’s refusal Gedeonov sent for Ferrero, the former bass-viol player, now the chairman of the committee. When he arrived Gedeonov, pale with anger, met him in the antechamber. “Why have you turned this opera down?” “By your leave, Excellency—the opera is no good!” “Why not? I have heard excellent accounts of it!” “By your leave Excellency—another reason: the composer’s friend Cui is always abusing us in the Petersburg News; only the day before yesterday . . .” and he drew a crumpled copy from his pocket. “Well, your committee can go to blazes, do you hear? I shall produce this opera without their permission!” shrieked Gedeonov, beside himself with rage. The next day his Omnipotence sends for me again. “Now, my good madam, just see what you have brought me to! I’m likely to lose my place on account of this Boris of yours! I can’t for the life of me see what you find in it—and let me tell you I have no sympathy whatever with these new-fangled fellows, for whom I shall probably have to suffer!”

“All the more honor to your Excellency,” I replied, “for interesting yourself so energetically on behalf of these young Russian composers, with whom you are quite unable to sympathize!”5

Musorgsky’s second towering masterpiece was Khovanshchina, which has a tortured history that perhaps reflects the anguished life of the composer. Musorgsky completed the opera in piano score only, which Rimsky-Korsakov orchestrated and ultimately revised during 1879 and 1880. The first performance of this version did not take place until 1886, five years after Musorgsky’s death. Khovanshchina was further revised by Maurice Ravel and Igor Stravinsky (1882–1971) in 1913 for Sergey Diaghilev’s (1872–1929) Paris production. Because of the cuts and alterations in the score, Dmitry Shostakovich (1906–1975) revised Khovanshchina again in 1960 based on the original sources. The story concerns the struggle between the reforms instituted by Peter the Great and a sect of the Russian Orthodox Church called the Old Believers, who resisted all change. The title of the opera comes from a supposed retort from Peter when informed that Prince Khovansky and his son, members of the sect, were planning a revolt. The pejorative shchina means something like “down with him.” The Khovanskys ended up losing their heads. Although Dosifey (bass), the leader of the sect, seemed to be the chief character in the drama, Musorgsky did not think that Dosifey, the old religious fanatic, would offer enough interest for audiences through five long acts. Instead, he wove a love story into the drama that would strike a chord of sympathy from the audience. Marfa, a young widow and member of the Old Believers, has ample precedent as a woman torn between religious ecstasy and that of forbidden love. Norma, Giulia (La vestale), and Thais, all sopranos, suffer from the same conflicts. Musorgsky, however, seized on the power of the contralto voice to express these emotions, utilizing the special coloristic qualities of the Russian language. There are excellent recordings of Marfa’s aria by Elena Obraztsova (1939–2015) and Irina Arkhipova (1925–2010) on YouTube. The vocal style of Boris Godunov is a declamatory recitative that is undeniably powerful but not memorably melodic. Kovanshchina is constructed on a broad flowing melody as a means of expression that Musorgsky had been searching for all his life. In a letter to Stassov on December 25, 1876, he wrote: I am now deep in the study of human speech; I have come to recognize the melodic element in ordinary speech and have succeeded in turning recitative into melody. I might call it “melody justified by the meaning”; diametrically opposed as it is to the much beloved classical forms, it will one day perhaps be understood by each and all. I should consider that a new conquest for the field of art if I could only attain it—and attained it must be. . . . I have already made a start in Khovanstchina.”6

How far we are from the craze for the Italian opera of Rossini and Donizetti, which swept St. Petersburg only twentyfive years before! The wonder of music is that we can appreciate the kaleidoscopic variety of the different styles for the very

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special qualities that each possesses. The Italian vocal tradition made a big impact on Russian singing that persists to this very day and, since the end of the cold war, we in the West are being exposed to the Russian repertoire and singers as never before. The first Marfa (November 12, 1897) was Serafima SelyukRoznatovskaya (1870–1923). Selyuk-Roznatovskaya also sang Fyokla Ivanova in the first professional performance of Musorgsky’s Zhenit’ba (Marriage) (1868), an unfinished comic opera based on a story by Gogol. The performance of Khovanshchina that was produced at the Mariinsky Theatre in 1911 featured Feodor Chaliapin as Dosifey and Evgenia Zbrujeva (1869–1936) as Marfa. Zbrujeva had perhaps the finest contralto voice in Imperial Russia during this period. She made her debut at the Bol’shoy as Vanya in A Life for the Tsar in 1894. The Mariinsky became her home base after 1905, where she sang Carmen, Siebel, Hansel, Lehl in Snegúrochka (The Snow Maiden), and Svoyatchenitsa in May Night, and she created Alkonost, Bird of Paradise in The Golden Cockerel by Rimsky-Korsakov, Ratmir in Russlan and Ludmilla, Khonchakovna in Prince Igor by Borodin, Avra in Serov’s Judith, and Anne Boleyn in Saint-Saëns’s Henry VIII. Zbrujeva made several concert tours of Europe with such luminaries as Chaliapin, Sergey Rachmaninoff (1873–1943), and Alexander Glazunov (1865–1936). From 1915 she was a professor of singing in Petrograd and Moscow. It is a pity that Musorgsky never finished his return to comic opera, The Fair at Soróchintsi, during his descent into despair and alcoholism. The character Khivria, past her prime but always ready for an amorous adventure, was conceived for the mezzo-soprano voice and would have provided a rich opportunity for a great singing actress like Regina Resnik (1922–2013). The Fair was completed by various other composers but has not found its way into the international repertory. Musorgsky passed away on March 16, 1881, the morning of his forty-second birthday. After Musorgsky’s death, all of his manuscripts passed into the hands of Rimsky-Korsakov, who spent the better part of two years reconstructing, arranging, and completing his works. Nowadays the tendency is to revert to the original versions, which do not strike our modern ears as “incorrect.” One of the revisions that most interests us is the transposition of the part of Marfa in Khovanshchina a whole tone higher, which takes away the earthy quality of the contralto voice. Prince Igor by Alexander Borodin, a fellow member of “the powerful coterie,” was also unfinished at Borodin’s death and completed by Alexander Glazounov and orchestrated by Rimsky-Korsakov. Prince Igor has received a number of productions recently. I mentioned that the alto part of Khonchakovna was created by Mariya Slavina in the posthumous premiere on November 4, 1890, in St. Petersburg. Nicholai Rimsky-Korsakov was a prolific and highly skilled composer in his own right and, musically, the best educated of the members of the “powerful coterie.” His interests in Russian folk legends and fairy tales led him to compose fifteen

operas, many on esoteric librettos. He made liberal use of the lower female voice in many of these works. Snegúrochka (The Snow Maiden) had its initial performance on January 29, 1882, at the Mariinsky Theatre in St. Petersburg. The trouser part of Lehl was sung by contralto Anna Bichurina (1852–1888). Lehl sings three songs with clarinet obligato, which is reminiscent of the Jewish klezmer tradition. Bichurina, with a wonderful voice and outstanding acting skills, had an extensive repertoire, especially Russian domestic and comic roles. She made her debut in 1875 as Vania in A Life for the Tsar and subsequently sang Ratmir in Russlan and Ludmilla, Izyaslav in Rogneda, Spiridonova in The Power of the Fiend, and many other lesser parts. She also successfully portrayed such formidable foreign parts as Ortrud in Lohengrin and Fidès in Le prophète. Bichurina also sang the mayor’s sister-inlaw in Rimsky-Korsakov’s May Night (1880). Snegúrochka was subsequently revised in 1898 and remained Rimsky-Korsakov’s favorite work. There are two other alto roles in the score— Spring Beauty and Bobylika. Gathering information about singers who were entrusted with creating major roles in early Russian operas is sometimes difficult. Because of the domination of the Russian operatic landscape by the Italian repertory for most of the nineteenth century, Russian composers did not have access to the great stars of the operatic firmament and sometimes had to “make do” with lesser lights. The sharp inequity in the financial resources available to Italian and Russian opera troupes during the nineteenth century also made the notion of a “Russian prima donna” seem oxymoronic. For much of the nineteenth century, Russian female vocalists employed by the Imperial Theater directorate were generally young women of limited means who had graduated from the state’s Theater Institute. Singers under contract played the roles that the directorate chose for them, often performing in multiple theaters during the course of a single day. Russian female vocalists needed official permission to leave town for brief periods, to marry, or to change their names. A social abyss separated these early female stage professionals from the genteel young ladies who could acquit themselves creditably if asked to sing, play the piano, or pluck a harp before company.7 Mezzo-soprano Maria-Vilgelmina Piltz (fl. 1890s) premiered the role of Tsaritsa in Rimsky-Korsakov’s Christmas Eve on December 10, 1895, while contralto Mariya Kaménskaya (Tchaikovsky’s Joan of Arc) portrayed Solokha, rumored to be a witch. Piltz also created the part of Morena, goddess of the underworld, in Rimsky-Korsakov’s opera-ballet Mlada (1892). Sadko premiered in Mamotov’s Private Theater in Moscow on January 7, 1898. The story is a fanciful tale and the score is full of the colorful orchestration for which Rimsky-Korsakov is famous. The role of Lyubava Buslayevna, the young wife of Sadko, was created by Aleksandra Rostovtseva (fl. 1890– 1910), a contralto, who was a favorite of Rimsky-Korsakov’s, for she created parts in four of his operas: Lyubasha in The



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Tsar’s Bride (1898), Tkachikha in The Tale of Tsar Saltan (1899–1900), and Amelfa in his best-known work, The Golden Cockerel (1906–1907). The contralto Varvara Strakova (fl. 1890–1910) was also a frequent first interpreter of Rimsky-Korsakov’s operas. She created Nezhata in Sadko, Babarika in The Tale of Tsar Saltan, and Dunyasha in The Tsar’s Bride. Vera Petrova-Zvantseva (1876–1944) portrayed the beautiful daughter of Kaschey in Kaschey the Deathless, another fantastic opera by RimskyKorsakov, which premiered in Moscow at the Solodovnikov Theater on December 12, 1902. Petrova-Zvantseva made her debut in 1897 as Vania in A Life for the Tsar. She had an extensive career and sang Lyubava in Sadko, and Lyubasha in The Tsar’s Bride. She also portrayed Tchaikovsky’s Joan of Arc and Lyubov in Mazeppa. Other foreign roles were Dalila, Amneris, and Carmen. Petrova-Zvantseva can be heard on early recordings, but the results are disappointing. Rimsky-Korsakov’s final two operas, The Legend of the Invisible City of Kitezh and the Maiden Fevroniya (1903–1904) and The Golden Cockerel

(1906–1907) are great works but do not contain rewarding parts for the alto voice.

NOTES 1.  One of the difficulties of writing about Russian music is the transliteration of Russian names from the Cyrillic to the Western alphabet. For example, we have Mussorgsky, Moussorgsky, and Musorgsky (or -ski). I have used the spellings in the Merriam-Webster Biographical Dictionary in the text but have retained the spellings as given in quotes from other works. 2.  Oskar von Riesemann, Moussorgsky (New York: Knopf, 1929), 293–94. 3.  “The Kiev Opera,” Tchaikovsky-research.net. 4.  Julie A. Buckler, The Literary Lorgnette: Attending Opera in Imperial Russia (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2000), 204–5. 5. Riesemann, Moussorgsky, 196–97. 6. Riesemann, Moussorgsky, 266. 7. Buckler, The Literary Lorgnette, 70–71.

23 Altos in the English-Speaking World

As we have seen, the national opera in England after 1700 was extinguished by the taste for Italian opera. There was one native master, Henry Purcell (1658 or 1659–1695), whose untimely death “is symbolic of its own fate—‘a spring never followed by summer.’”1 His only true opera, (i.e., sung throughout) Dido and Aeneas, was composed for a performance in a girls’ school in 1689. The story of Dido, Queen of Carthage, was set in Metastasio’s libretto more than fifty times by Italian composers, but none is perhaps more touching than Dido’s lament, “When I Am Laid in Earth,” which has been sung by alto singers for more than three hundred years. The dialogue in the parting scene between Dido and Aeneas (act 3) and the beautiful arioso phrase that introduces Dido’s last aria show what can be done by way of dramatic musical setting of the English language, that despised tongue that has been so often condemned as “unsuitable for opera.”2 No one knows who created the roles in the first performance of Dido, but there are four other alto parts (witches and handmaidens) besides that of Dido. Opera in England in the nineteenth century meant mainly Italian opera, which was both idolized and ridiculed by such as Joseph Addison (1672–1719) many years before, who wrote in the Spectator, “nothing is capable of being well set to Musik, that is not Nonsense.3 The only British composers who made any headway in England at this time were composers of lighter fare, such as Michael Balfe and Arthur Sullivan (1842–1900), who wrote fourteen operas with the collaboration of W. S. Gilbert (1836–1911) that endure to this very day. Balfe composed twenty-eight operas during his career and was a fine baritone and conductor as well. He composed The Maid of Artois (1836) for his friend, Maria Malibran, based on the story of Manon Lescaut by Eugène Scribe. Balfe’s most popular work was The Bohemian Girl (1843), in which the great Marietta Alboni undertook a very successful run in London as the gypsy queen in 1858 and Celestine Galli-Marie starred in a French version conducted by Jules Massenet in 1862. The Bohemian Girl has played all over the world in various translations since its inception. The notorious Rosine Stoltz

created the part of Estrella in L’étoile de Séville in the premiere on December 17, 1845, at the Théâtre de l’Académie Royale de Musique in Paris. The Gilbert and Sullivan operas remain popular to the present day and offer a fertile field of repertoire for the alto voice. In H.M.S. Pinafore (1878), Little Buttercup (Mrs. Cripps), a “bumboat woman,” or vendor, is “the rosiest, roundest, and reddest beauty in all Spithead.” Ruth (contralto), a “Piratical Maid of all work,” is a central character in The Pirates of Penzance (1879). She had been a nursemaid to young Frederic long ago, and being hard of hearing, had mistakenly apprenticed him to a pirate instead of a pilot. Two of the daughters of General Stanley, Edith and Kate, are mezzo-sopranos. The role of Lady Jane, the oldest and plainest of the “twenty lovesick maidens” who pine for the poet Ned Bunthorne in Patience (1881) was created by Alice Barnett (1846–1901). Barnett was best known for her creation of the contralto roles in Gilbert and Sullivan operas, such as Ruth in Pirates, Lady Jane, and the fairy queen in Iolanthe (1882). Barnett left the D’Oyly Carte Opera Company for a while, which gave Rosina Brandram (1845–1907) the opportunity to become the principal contralto of the company. Brandram then created the part of Lady Blanche in Princess Ida (1884), which had a run of 246 performances. She then went on to originate no less than seven Gilbert and Sullivan operas and was the only company member to appear in every original Sullivan production at the Savoy Theater. She also sang contralto roles that were created by others. After Princess Ida, Brandram was the first Katisha in The Mikado (1885–1887), Dame Hannah in Ruddigore (1887), Dame Caruthers in The Yeomen of the Guard (1888), The Duchess of Plaza-Toro in The Gondoliers (1888), Baroness von Krekenfeld in The Grand Duke (1896), and Lady Sophy in Utopia Unlimited (1893). She also created contralto roles in operas Sullivan composed with other librettists: Lady Vernon in Haddon Hall (1892), Inez de Roxas in The Chieftan (1894), Joan (the weaver’s wife) in The Beauty Stone (1898), “Dancing Sunbeam” in The Rose of Persia (1899), and the Countess of Newtown in The Emerald Isle (1901), which was finished by 181

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Edward German (1862–1936) after Arthur Sullivan’s death in 1900. In 1906, W. S. Gilbert gallantly paid tribute to Rosina Brandram, who was too ill to attend a dinner in which she was scheduled to speak: Rosina of the glorious voice that rolled out as full-bodied Burgundy rolls down—Rosina whose dismal doom it was to represent undesirable old ladies of sixty-five, but who, with all the resources of the perruquier and the make-up box, could never succeed in looking more than an attractive eight-and-twenty— it was her only failure.4

Antoinette Sterling Mackinlay was an Anglo-American contralto student of Pauline Viardot and her brother, Manuel Garcia II. Although she did not star in opera, Mackinlay was very popular in America and Victorian England in concert and oratorio. She found her signature hit with Arthur Sullivan’s “The Lost Chord,” which she sang in countless festivals and concerts. Sir Edward Elgar (1857–1934) was a Victorian composer whose works epitomized the musical image of the British Empire before World War I. Elgar composed no operas but his oratorios and vocal works with orchestra have reserved a special place for him in the repertory for the alto voice. The Dream of Gerontius (1900) was premiered at the Birmingham Music Festival under the baton of Hans Richter (1843–1916), who had conducted several premieres for Wagner. The role of the angel was created by Marie Brema (1856–1925). The premiere was under-rehearsed and not very successful, but Brema reprised the part in 1902 under Elgar’s direction and the work prospered thereafter. Brema was the first English singer to sing at Bayreuth, where she sang Ortrud and Kundry. In 1894, established as a Wagnerian singer, she visited the United States, where she added Brangäne and Brünnhilde in Die Walküure to the two previous roles. Returning to Bayreuth, she sang the Götterdämmerung Brünnhilde and Fricka in Das Rheingold. At the Metropolitan, Brema had sixty-two performances of these roles plus Amneris, Orfeo, and Fidès. In Europe, Brema was especially applauded for her Dalila in Berlin, Paris, and Brussels. Another early interpreter of Elgar’s works was Louise Kirkby (pronounced Kirby) Lunn (1873–1930). Kirkby Lunn was a contralto who began her career in small parts at Covent Garden then took leading roles such as Mignon and Carmen for the Carl Rosa Opera Company. She then assumed leading roles at Covent Garden and the Metropolitan Opera. At the Royal Opera, Kirkby Lunn premiered the London performances of Saint-Saëns’s Helene, Massenet’s Hérodiade, Gluck’s Armide, and Tchaikovsky’s Eugene Onegin. She was also famous for Gluck’s Orfeo. Kirkby Lunn was the principal alto soloist in the Elgar Festival at Covent Garden in 1904. On the first night, she sang Gerontius and the second, Mary Magdalene in The Apostles. In 1909, she was the soloist in Sea Pictures with Elgar conducting. With these performances, she effectively replaced Marie Brema

in this repertoire. Formerly in great demand for oratorio performances on the continent before World War I, she bade farewell to the opera world as Kundry at Covent Garden in 1922, although she continued to sing in concerts and recitals for a few more years. Elena Gerhardt (1883–1961) was an outstanding German alto lieder singer who began her career in Leipzig collaborating with the great conductor Arthur Nikisch (1825–1922) at the piano. Gerhardt’s career was almost exclusively concert repertoire and was particularly associated with Schubert’s Winterreise, unusual for a woman in those days. Gerhardt gave recitals in all the great capitals of Europe, usually with Nikisch as accompanist. To highlight the difference in interpretation of some of the lieder repertoire, Gerhardt’s and Nikisch’s recording of An Die Musik of Schubert runs a full forty-five seconds longer than that of Elisabeth Schwarzkopf (1915–2006). Elena Gerhardt made her American debut in Carnegie Hall in 1912 and performed Wesendonck Lieder with Leopold Stokowski (1882–1977) in Philadelphia and Cincinnati and with Max Fiedler (1859–1939) with the Boston Symphony Orchestra. The same year was her first performance of The Dream of Gerontius in London and other British locations, which became a staple of her repertoire. Another well-known interpreter of the angel in Gerontius during the same period was Elena Gerhardt’s friend and rival, Julia Culp (1880–1970), a mezzo-soprano called the “Dutch nightingale” during the first twenty years of the twentieth century. Culp never sang in opera and did not have a large voice but was an impeccable vocalist and sensitive musician. Culp’s

Figure 23.1.  Clara Butt as Brittania



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career began to blossom in 1901 and soon she was sharing the stage with many of the notables of music of the time, including Caruso, Richard Strauss, and Camille Saint-Saëns. Culp premiered Frederick Delius’s (1862–1934) Songs of Sunset in 1911 at the Queens Hall in London with Thomas Beecham conducting. Julia Culp was born into a Jewish family but later converted to Catholicism. However, when the Nazis came to power in Vienna in 1938, Culp fled to Amsterdam, where she survived the war in hiding. Who has not marched to Elgar’s Pomp and Circumstance at the high school graduation ceremony? But it was Dame Clara Butt (1873–1936) who persuaded Elgar to fit the words “Land of Hope and Glory” to the trio of the first march, thereby transforming it into a British institution. Dame Clara would dress in red, white, and blue, as Britannia herself, with helmet, shield, and spear and hurl her mighty contralto voice out over the combined bands of grenadiers and a chorus of ten thousand in Hyde Park. One could be forgiven for calling Clara Butt a “lady baritone,” for she had an easy range of C below middle C to high B flat. Clara’s audition for the Royal College of Music has passed into the realm of legend. “At her audition for the open scholarship at the Royal College of Music, her singing of Hatton’s song ‘The Enchantress’ created such a stir among the examiners that she mistook their genuine astonishment for amusement. Funny, was she? She’d show ’em! And, pulling out all the stops, she fairly hurled her great voice at them—‘Kings have trembled when I came, reading doom upon my face’—letting out a low E like a tolling bell. ‘I don’t know about kings,’ she remarked afterward, ‘but those examiners they certainly trembled.’ When they asked her to sing something else, quieter, she chose the solo from Elijah, ‘Woe unto Them.’ They got the message; she got the scholarship.”5 In her fourth year at the school, Clara spent three months studying in Paris, Berlin, and Italy under the sponsorship of Queen Victoria. Clara Butt made her professional debut on December 7, 1892, as Ursula in Sullivan’s The Golden Legend. Three days later, while still in school, she appeared in her only operatic role, Orfeo. Later, while in Paris, she studied with Jacques Bouhy (1846–1929), the baritone who created the role of Escamillo in Carmen. Bouhy was a fine teacher, especially of alto voices. He also taught Kirkby Lunn and Louise Homer (1871–1947). While Butt was in Paris, Saint-Saëns expressed an interest in her singing Dalila, and preparations were begun at Covent Garden in 1893 but nothing came of it due to a prohibition of portraying biblical subjects on the stage by Lord Chamberlain. The edict was finally lifted in 1909 but Kirkby Lunn was chosen to Clara’s dismay.6 Dame Clara was imposing in stature as well as vocally, having one of the biggest voices in the ranks of the altos. Her métier was the concert stage and her repertoire was mostly crowd-pleasing Victorian ballads of the day, but Butt had the ability to modulate her voice to the lightest piano sound and had excellent coloratura ability in Bach and Handel arias. During the war, she organized countless benefit concerts for the war effort, including a week of The Dream of Gerontius. In

1920 she was awarded the honor of Dame Commander of the Order of the British Empire for her war work. In 1899 Elgar composed his Sea Pictures for Dame Clara, although he had originally intended it for a soprano. She premiered the work dressed in a costume that made her appear as a six-foot-two mermaid. Clara Butt recorded only “Where Corals Lie” from Sea Pictures. She made many other recordings—the last of them sitting in her wheelchair while suffering from cancer of the spine. Another English (and very Victorian) British alto was Carmen Hill (1883–?), who ventured upon the stage only once, as the dew fairy in Hansel and Gretel for Thomas Beecham. Hill was another indelible angel in The Dream of Gerontius, and she was a great favorite with the festival-going British public. She had a sensitive regard for the text and was therefore also an accomplished lieder singer. Her voice was beautiful with a solid technique and her phrasing was an example of the suitability of the English language for lyric expression. Leila Megane (1891–1960) was a Welsh mezzo-soprano pupil of Jean de Reszke, whose mastery of the French language and style led to an engagement at the Opéra-Comique as Charlotte in Werther. Subsequent engagements were in Milan, Rome, London, and New York. Megane made the first complete recording of Elgar’s Sea Pictures with the composer conducting in 1922. Marguerite d’Alvarez (1883–1953) was a colorful contralto who was born to a French mother and a Peruvian father in places variously described as Liverpool, Bootle, and Cuzco, Peru. D’Alvarez studied in Brussels and made her debut in Rouen in 1907 as Dalila. After appearing as the mother in Louise and a brief sojourn in Algiers, she was engaged by Oscar Hammerstein for his Manhattan Opera Company in New York in 1909. There she sang Fidès, Amneris, Azucena, Divonne in Massenet’s Sapho, and the title role in his Hérodiade. She traveled with Hammerstein’s company to London in 1911. From there, d’Alvarez sang Léonor in La favorite in Marseilles, Carmen at La Scala, Carmela in Wolf-Ferrari’s I gioielli della Madonna and Laura in La Gioconda with the Boston Opera Company, and in 1914 at Covent Garden as Amneris. After the war, she was mostly a concert singer but late in life embarked upon a new career in the movies, including a part in Pandora and the Flying Dutchman with James Mason and Ava Gardner. D’Alvarez had a sumptuous contralto voice, which was evenly produced and had a fine sense of style, especially in French repertoire. We have seen how an interest in opera was late in arriving in the New World, beginning only with the visit by the Garcia troupe in 1825. The native American composers of the nineteenth century were either German descended or German trained. Most of the operatic life of this time was imported from Europe. Walter Damrosch (1862–1950), conductor of the New York Philharmonic, composed several operas that utilized stars of the Metropolitan Opera, but none had leading roles for alto voices and none have endured. As for the singers, Americans were obliged to travel to Europe to study, build their careers, and “beat ’em at their own game.”

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One of these pioneers was Annie Louise Carey (1841–1921), an American contralto born in Norwalk, Connecticut. Carey studied with Pauline Viardot in Baden-Baden and Maurice Strakosch in Paris, making her debut as Azucena in Copenhagen in 1867. Carey remained in Scandinavia until she returned to New York for her concert debut on September 19, 1870. Her U.S. opera debut was as Nancy in Martha on October 27, 1871. Carey was very popular in opera, concert, and oratorio in the United States and abroad. She was the first Amneris in America (November 26, 1873) and sang in the American premieres of the Verdi Requiem, Bach’s Magnificat and Christmas Oratorio, and was the first American woman to sing a Wagner role in the United States (Ortrud). Carey had a range of more than three octaves and knew forty operatic and oratorio roles. Minnie Hauk (1851–1929) began her career as a soprano but changed into a dramatic mezzo-soprano later in her career. She finished her career with a repertoire of more than one hundred roles. Hauk studied in New Orleans and New York, making her debut in Brooklyn as Amina in La sonnambula at the age of fourteen. Hauk sang the first Juliette in Gounod’s opera in America. She also traveled to Paris in 1869 to study with Maurice Strakosch. In her apprentice days in Paris in the late 1860s, Hauk had the opportunity to attend an important soiree at Théophile

Figure 23.2.  Minnie Hauk as Carmen

Gautier’s. A goodly fraction of “all Paris” would be there, and Hauk’s manager Maurice Strakosch had arranged for her to sing. It was quite a turnout: Dumas fils, Daudet, Renan, and some highly influential musicians, including Mathilde Marchesi and Auber. One of the guests kindly accompanied her at the piano, and Hauk proceeded to sing herself into renown; not long after, she became the first American to sing at the Paris Opéra. Some years after this, Hauk was thinking how sad it was that she, the most famous Carmen of her day, should never have met Bizet. It was sadder yet that he had died so soon after Carmen’s unsuccessful premiere; if only he had lived a bit longer, he would have seen his masterpiece prosper. Hauk voiced these musings to Strakosch, who reminded her of Gautier’s soiree. “Remember the man who played for you?” he said. “That was Bizet.”7 Minnie Hauk made her Covent Garden debut in 1869. She sang Italian opera in Paris, Moscow, and St. Petersburg (1860–1870) and German opera in Berlin and Vienna from 1870 to 1877. Hauk, who sang Carmen in four languages in more than five hundred performances, premiered the work in England and America in 1878. She was at the forefront of singers who were more interested in the theatrical values of their performances than their predecessors, and she sometimes got “carried away” during a show. Hauk appeared at the Metropolitan Opera in 1890 and 1891 as Carmen and as Sélika in L’Africaine. She then organized her own touring company in which she gave the Chicago premiere of Cavalleria rusticana. At the height of her career, she was able to purchase Wagner’s former home, Triebschen, near Lucerne, Switzerland. Sadly, Minnie Hauk lost most of her fortune during World War I and died, nearly blind and almost penniless, at her home in 1929. Minnie Hauk was not the only American who was famous for her portrayal of Carmen. Brooklyn-born Zélie de Lussan (1861–1949) purportedly sang the title role one thousand times and many considered her to be the equal to Calvé.8 De Lussan displays a rich mezzo-soprano voice on her few records, but like Viardot and Malibran, she also insisted on taking on soprano roles as well. She was the first London Musetta and gave three command performances for Queen Victoria. In her three seasons at the Metropolitan (1894–1895, 1898–1900), she sang Nanetta, Zerlina, and Nedda, as well as Carmen, Mignon, and Cherubino. There seems to have been a wide divergence of opinion and not everyone was swept away by de Lussan’s charm. Willa Cather (1873–1947), during a visit to Chicago in 1895, heard de Lussan as Nanetta in Falstaff and penned the following: Miss Zélie de Lussan who is this season trying to twinkle among the serene great lights of grand opera, is a striking example of how comparatively futile is vocal talent without creative power or what for the lack of a better name we call the “artistic temperament.” Mlle. de Lussan is a graceful and charming little actress with a sweet and bird-like though rather light voice. It would be difficult to recall a more winning personality or charming stage manner. But charm cannot make a great singer.



Altos in the English-Speaking World 185 The truth is that Mlle. de Lussan has not the first conception of the meaning of the role. No one in the world could teach her what it means to be Carmen.9

Herman Klein (1856–1934) quoted George Bernard Shaw (1856–1950) in May 1890 reviewing de Lussan’s Carmen: Miss de Lussan is no more like Carmen than her natty stockings are like those “with more than one hole in them” described by Merimeé. I miss the tragic background and ungovernable passion and superstitious fatalism to the levity and insolent waywardness which Miss de Lussan makes so much of.10

However, Klein himself, besides being a critic, was a student and collaborator of Manuel Garcia II and very knowledgeable about vocal matters. Klein wrote: The nearest approach to Minnie Hauk’s unforgettable Carmen was, in my opinion, that of her still-living and talented countrywoman Zélie de Lussan, who therein certainly succeeded her in the estimation of English opera-goers. Both exercised the same fascinating charm, the same freedom from exaggeration; and both invented much new “business” that has since become traditional.11

Such divergence of opinion lends itself to speculation about how much criticism is influenced by the surroundings in which it was written. George Bernard Shaw was rather a maverick, musically and socially, and Cather was a plain-spoken Nebraskan who apparently liked large dramatic voices. Her Song of the Lark (1915) was the thinly disguised story of Olive Fremstadt (1871–1951), who was an outstanding Wagnerian soprano. Herman Klein, like Chorley, was a Victorian who was more interested in proper attention to traditional vocal and musical niceties than to the new dramatic theatrical values coming upon the scene. Another well-known American contralto was Edyth Walker (1870–1950), born in Hopewell, New York, who unfortunately suffered from the hubris that often afflicts alto singers—namely, the desire to become a dramatic soprano. Walker, a student of Aglaja Orgeni, made a successful debut in 1894 as Fidès in Le prophète at the Berlin Imperial Opera at the age of twenty-four. She was engaged by the Vienna Hofoper the following year, where she remained until 1903. In 1900 Walker visited London where she sang the alto repertoire—Erda, Fricka, Amneris, Urbain, and Waltraute—but in 1908 she had moved up to Brünnhilde in Die Walküre and Isolde. A critic complained that “she found the top B a matter of some difficulty and the high C was distinctly a shriek.”12 This appraisal is borne out by her recording of “Brünnhilde’s Battle Cry.” The tone is without vibrato and the breath sounds squeezed. To be fair, this aria always sounds difficult, even when sung by the likes of Kirsten Flagstad. In 1903, Edyth Walker debuted as Amneris at the Metropolitan where she sang 108 performances of nineteen roles during three seasons of mostly familiar alto repertoire. New was the queen of Sheba in Die Königen von Saba (1875) by

Karl Goldmark (1830–1915). The queen was originally written for the alto voice but the role was created by hochdramatischer Sopran Amalie Materna, Wagner’s first Brünnhilde and first Kundry. Walker did not make much headway at the Met and returned to Europe. In 1910 she was London’s first Elektra, and it must have been a horror to listen to. In the proper alto repertory, as in her recording of “Weiche, Wotan,” Edyth Walker was a worthy rival of Schumann-Heink. The most notable American of the period was Louise Homer (1871–1947) from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Homer was the daughter of a Presbyterian minister who had trepidations about his daughter pursuing a singing career outside the church. However, Louise convinced her father that she was not embarking on a life of sin. In Boston, Louise married the composer Sidney Homer (1864–1953), and they had six children together in a marriage that lasted fifty-three years until her death. She was the aunt of Samuel Barber (1910–1981). Homer studied in Philadelphia and Boston, where she worked as a stenographer, sang in vaudeville, and then moved to Paris. Initially, she studied with Jacques Brouhy but soon moved to Paul Lhérie (1844–1937), who created Don José in Carmen in

Figure 23.3.  Louise Homer as Amneris in Aida. Collection of the author.

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1875. Homer made her operatic debut in Vichy as Léonor in La favorite in 1898. At Covent Garden during the 1899–1900 season, Homer sang Amneris, which became her signature role, as well as Ortrud, Lola, and Maddelena. In 1900 Louise Homer made her Metropolitan Opera debut as Amneris and, with Schumann-Heink, soon became one of the alto mainstays of the company, racking up 734 performances of forty-six roles. Homer was versatile and would sing anything from witches (she created the role of the witch in Englebert Humperdinck’s Königskinder [1854–1921]) to the Wagner and Verdi alto heroines. Homer was stately onstage, had artistic integrity, and thus was not as effective in roles that called for sexy cuteness. She did not sing Carmen at the Met but did perform Venus, Dalila, and Laura in La Gioconda with Caruso. She had a vast range and could sing mezzo-soprano roles as easily as the contralto ones. Homer remained at the Met until 1919 and then again from 1927 to 1930. From 1909 to 1915 she was also a member of the Boston Opera Company, appearing at the grand opening of the Boston Opera House as La Cieca in La Gioconda with Lillian Nordica (1857–1914). Homer was also engaged by the Chicago Civic Opera from 1922 to 1931 and sang Dalila at the San Francisco Opera. This time was called the “golden age” at the Metropolitan, and Louise Homer was counted as one of the stars, often singing with Caruso, Geraldine Farrar (1882–1967), Lillian Nordica, Milka Ternina, Marcella Sembrich (1858–1935), Riccardo Stracciari, Pol Plançon, and Emmy Destinn, among many others. Homer sang in the first performance of Parsifal outside of Bayreuth in 1903 and was the first U.S. Suzuki in Madama Butterfly (1907) with the composer in attendance. On December 19, 1912, Louise Homer assumed the role that brought so much fame to Pauline Viardot: Orfeo in Orfeo ed Euridice, conducted by Arturo Toscanini. However, “Divinités du Styx” from Alceste was substituted for “Amour viens render á mon âme,” probably because of the florid nature of the original aria. In 1913 Homer was the first Marina in the U.S. premiere of Boris Godunov. A curious facet of Homer’s career was that sometimes she sang the part of Schwertleite under the assumed names of Miss Remi or L. Lawrence in performances of Die Walküre. The Met paybook reveals that Homer was paid for these performances just the same. If Sara Charles-Cahier (1870–1951) had done nothing more than to premiere the alto part in Mahler’s posthumous Das Lied von der Erde in 1911 with Bruno Walter(1876–1962), she

would deserve to be included in these pages. Charles-Cahier was born Sara Jane Layton Walker in Nashville, Tennessee. She studied with Jean de Reszke in Paris and made her debut as Orphée in Nice in 1904. She was engaged by the Vienna Hofoper in 1907, then Munich, often singing under Mahler’s baton, in standard roles such as Amneris, Carmen, Dalila, Fidès, Ortrud, and Santuzza. Charles-Cahier also sang in Italy, Germany, France, and England with eminent conductors such as Strauss and Edvard Grieg (1843–1907). She debuted at the Metropolitan Opera in 1911 but sang only four performances. Sara married the Swede Charles Cahier and acquired Swedish citizenship. She was very popular in Stockholm from 1915 to 1917. After retirement she became a voice teacher at the Curtis Institute of Music, where her students included Marian Anderson, Göta Ljungberg (1923–1999), and Rosette Anday (1903–1977). It was Charles-Cahier who advised Lauritz Melchior to change from baritone to heldentenor.

NOTES 1.  Donald J. Grout, A Short History of Opera (New York: Columbia University Press, 1965), 135. 2. Grout, A Short History of Opera, 144. 3. Grout, A Short History of Opera, 147. 4.  London Times, December 31, 1906. 5.  Michael Scott, The Record of Singing, Vol. 1, 46–48. Quoted from Herman Klein, Great Women Singers of My Time (London, 1931). 6.  Maurice Leonard, Hope and Glory (Brighton, UK: Victorian Secrets, 2012), 66–67. 7.  Ethan Mordden, Opera Anecdotes (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988), 125–26. 8.  J. B. Steane, “Zélie de Lussan,” The New Grove Dictionary of Opera, vol. 1, ed. Stanley Sedie (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997), 1117. 9.  Willa Cather, The Kingdom of Art: Willa Cather’s First Principles and Critical Statements, 1893–1896 (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1967), 133. 10.  Herman Klein, Herman Klein and the Gramophone (New York: Hal Leonard, 1990), 353. 11. Klein, Herman Klein and the Gramophone, 94. 12. Scott, The Record of Singing, Vol.1, 193. Quoted from Harold Rosenthal, Two Centuries of Opera at Covent Garden (London: 1958, 310).

III ALTOS AFTER 1900

24 Twentieth-Century Altos

A sea change in opera became evident as the twentieth century dawned. An important event was the invention of the phonograph by Thomas A. Edison (1847–1931) in 1877. Around the turn of the century, recordings of famous artists began to be readily available. Most of the alto singers discussed from here on can be heard on various media. Gradually opera began to morph from “the latest thing” into a historical art form. Artists began to be noted less for “creating” new roles than for their interpretations of existing masterpieces. Marilyn Horne is fond of saying that she only created two new roles—she was too busy “resurrecting.”1 New works continued to be created, but there was, for the most part, no attempt to glorify the individual artist as in bygone centuries. The distinctly national styles of composers in the twentieth century began to blur and an eclectic international quality emerged. I cannot cite many, but there were several memorable works created in the century. We will visit some that feature the alto voice and then will cover some individual artists who have come to prominence in recent times.

interpreted by alto singers. Frederica von Stade, Maria Ewing (b. 1950), Anne Sophie von Otter (b. 1955), and Lorraine Hunt Lieberson (1954–2006) have all sung Mélisande. One of the great operatic works of the twentieth century is Les Dialogues des Carmélites by Francis Poulenc (1899–1963), whose searing final scene tears at the heart. The premiere of Dialogues took place in the Italian translation at La Scala on January 26, 1957, and featured not one, but three great roles for the alto voice. La Scala did not stint on stars and cast Gianna Pederzini (1900–1988) as Madame de Croissy, the old prioress of the convent, Gigliola Frazzoni (b. 1927) as subprioress Mother Marie, and Fiorenza Cossotto (b. 1935) in her operatic debut as Sister Mathilde. These artists, from Pederzini to Cossotto, covered most of the the first part of the century of the Italian alto repertory. Pederzini studied with the great tenor Fernando de Lucia in Naples and appeared in operas in Messina, Rome, Covent Garden, and La Scala in all the great Italian mezzo-soprano roles like Amneris and Azucena. She was also well known for travesty parts such as Cherubino, Urbain, Maffeo Orsini, Hänsel, and Octavian. A more contemporary role was Lady Macbeth in Ernest Bloch’s setting of the Shakespeare drama. Her last performance was as Madame Flora in Gian Carlo Menotti’s (1911–2007) The Medium. Gigliola Frazzoni was always characterized as a soprano, but she had a rich-sounding middle voice and ample chest tones. In the original French version, dramatic mezzo-soprano Rita Gorr (1926–2012) sang Mother Marie, under Poulenc’s supervision, so the role is rightly assigned to the alto category. Fiorenza Cossotto began at the top of her profession with her inclusion in the Italian premiere of Dialogues. Her repertoire has consisted of all the major Verdi roles and her performance in La favorita at La Scala led to her engagement for the same role at the Chicago Lyric Opera. Cossotto debuted as Amneris at the Metropolitan in 1868 and subsequently appeared in 148 performances there. Her other roles were wide ranging, including Carmen, Mozart’s Cherubino, Urbain in Meyerbeer’s Les Huguenots, Bellini’s Romeo, and Marfa in Khovanshchina. Fiorenza Cossotto often sang with Maria Callas. She has been

FRANCE Pélleas et Mélisande by Claude Debussy (1902) was a landmark in the music of the twentieth century. Based on a Symbolist drama by Maurice Maeterlinck (1862–1949), it was a French reaction to the Wagnerian juggernaut dominating the musical landscape, but it was also a response to the Italian emphasis on the voice and music always occupying a commanding position. In Pélleas Debussy turned the Mozartean dictum “the words must always be the obedient handmaiden to the music” on its head, for surely in this opera, this mysterious text must be understood as much as possible. These days, subtitles contribute to the appreciation of Pélleas for non-French audiences. In keeping with this de-emphasis on pure vocalism, the casting in Pélleas has been very fluid. Both tenors and baritones have both sung Pélleas and although Mélisande was created by the great soprano Mary Garden, in later years she has often been 189

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criticized by some fans who accused her of trying to sabotage Callas in the latter’s last Norma during the “Mira, O Norma” duet by holding high notes when Callas was ill and in poor form, a charge Cossotto vehemently denies. The inaugural French performance of Les Dialogues des Carmélites took place six months after the La Scala premiere. It was again stocked with great performers. Madame de Croissy was sung by contralto Denise Sharley (1917–2011), who had debuted as Geneviève in Pélleas et Mélisande at the Opéra Comique in 1942. Sharley, who had a dramatic temperament, became a mainstay at the Paris Opéra in 1951 and had a wideranging repertoire that included everything from the Orpheé of Gluck to Erda in Siegfried and Ulrica in Ballo in Maschera. She also performed a lot of modern repertoire, such as Flora in Menotti’s The Medium, Baba the Turk in Igor Stravinsky’s The Rake’s Progress, and Renata in Sergey Prokofiev’s (1891–1953) L’Ange de feu. I mentioned Rita Gorr as Mother Marie in the Paris premiere (she later assumed the role of Madame de Croissy). Gorr was a Belgian dramatic mezzo-soprano who was born Marguerite Geirnaert. She made her professional debut as Fricka in Die Walküre in Antwerp in 1946. She was engaged in Strasbourg and then the Opéra Comique and the Paris Opéra in 1952. Her roles included Charlotte in Werther, Dalila, Venus in Tannhäuser, Carmen, Amneris, and Eboli, which she also sang at the Metropolitan along with Santuzza, Dalila, and Azucena. Rita Gorr had a long career and sang well into her seventies. Her final role was the countess in Tchaikovsky’s Pique Dame. Giséle Desmoutiers (fl. 1950s) was Sister Mathilde in the Paris premiere. She is listed as a soprano in every reference I can find, although Cossotto created the premiere. Régine Crespin (1927–2007) sang the role of Madame Lidoine while she was still singing soprano roles during the period between 1950 and the early 1970s, when she began to sing the mezzo-soprano repertoire. She had sung Kundry from 1958, when she was chosen by Wieland Wagner (1917–1966) for Bayreuth. As a mezzo-soprano, Crespin sang the alto roles of Charlotte, Carmen, Madame Flora in The Medium, Cassandre and Didon in Les Troyens, the eponymous roles of Métella in The Grand Duchess of Gérolstein and La Pericole by Offenbach, and Dulcineé in Massenet’s Don Quichotte. Like many other altos, her final performance was in the role of the old countess in Pique Dame in 1989. Mezzo-soprano Claire Croiza (1882–1946) was born in Paris to an American father and an Italian mother. She studied with Jean de Reszke and made her operatic debut in Messaline by Isidore de Lara (1835–1935) in Nancy, France, in 1905. In 1906, Croiza made her debut at La Monnaie as Dalila. Other roles followed there—Dido (Les Troyens), Klytämnestra (Elektra), Erda, Carmen, Léonor, Charlotte, and the title role in Pénelope by Gabriel Fauré. In 1908 Croiza debuted at the Opéra in Paris as Dalila. Although beginning as an operatic singer, Croiza began to find her true niche as a recitalist. Judging from her recordings

I think she understood that hers was a light and delicate instrument and that further singing of the dramatic operatic repertoire would be damaging. As a recitalist of melodies, Claire Croiza was an excellent exemplar of the French style, clearly enunciating the text with a great feeling for the poetic and musical meaning of the phrase. Several eminent composers accompanied Croiza in performances of their songs—Ravel (in Shéhérazade), Fauré (in the premiere of Le jardin clos), as well as Poulenc, Albert Roussel (1869–1937), and Arthur Honegger (1892–1965). From 1922 she was a teacher at the Ècole Normale, where she taught Gérard Souzay (1918–2004), a fine baritone who carried on the great tradition of his teacher. Bela Bartók’s (1881–1945) sole opera, Duke Bluebeard’s Castle, premiered on May 18, 1918, based on another Maeterlinck play, Ariane et Barbe-bleue (also set by Paul Dukas). The character of Judith in this two-character drama was created by Olga Haselbeck (1884–1961), a zwischenfach singer who sang both hochdramatischer sopran parts such as Isolde, Brünnhilde, and Kundry and mezzo-soprano roles—Dalila, Amneris, and Ortrud. Judith has been sung on records by altos Tatiana Troyanos, Rosalind Elias, Christa Ludwig, Herta Töpper (b. 1924), Elena Obraztsova, Sally Burgess (b. 1953), and Ildikó Komlósi (b. 1959).

ITALY In Italian opera, Giacomo Puccini continued to dominate, and several of his operas premiered in the twentieth century, culminating in Turandot in 1921. None featured altos in leading roles although Suzuki in Madama Butterfly (1904), created by Giuseppina Giaconia (fl. 1900–1910), is an important part often sung by frontline mezzo-sopranos. Rita Fornia (1878– 1922), an American mezzo-soprano who created the abbess in Puccini’s Suor Angelica in 1918 and Giulia in Giordano’s Madame Sans-Gêne (1915), was a well-known Suzuki at the Met. Fornia sang in more than four hundred performances in large and small roles at the Met. She also created the part of Beatrice in the first Italian performance of Le donne curiose by Ermanno Wolf-Ferrari (1876–1948), conducted by Arturo Toscanini. Wolf-Ferrari also composed I quarto rusteghi (The Four Curmugeons), which premiered at the Hoftheater in Munich on March 19, 1906. The comic opera starred the great alto Margaret Matzenauer (1881–1963) as Margarita. Matzenauer, born in what is now Romania, was an extraordinary artist who sang a wide variety of roles, both mezzo-soprano and soprano. She made her operatic debut in Strasbourg as Puck in Weber’s Oberon in 1901. Matzenauer sang major roles right away, including Azucena, Carmen, and Mignon, Waltraute, and Erda in the Ring operas in Bayreuth in 1911. On November 13, 1911, she made her Metropolitan debut as Amneris opposite Caruso and Emmy Destinn and went on to sing 380 performances there. She was very versatile; for example, she sang both Isolde and Brangäne in Tristan und Isolde, both Brünnhildes and Erda, Eboli in Don Carlos, as well as Marina in Boris



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Godunov. Matzenauer had a photographic memory—in 1912 she sang Kundry on only twenty-four hours’ notice, having never sung the part before. After the decline of verismo, Italian composers became more interested in other forms of composition and became more eclectic, often taking inspiration from composers from other lands. Ottorino Respighi (1879–1936) is best known for his symphonic poems. He wrote nine operas, but the last, finished posthumously by his wife Elsa and his student Ennio Porino, is of most interest here. Lucrezia (1937) was based on the Rape of Lucrece by Shakespeare. The character of “the voice” was created by mezzo-soprano Ebe Stignani (1903– 1974), who sings from within the orchestra in the manner of a Greek chorus and describes what is happening onstage and the emotions of the characters. Stignani made her debut at the San Carlo as Amneris in 1925. In 1926 Toscanini engaged her for Eboli at La Scala, and in subsequent seasons she sang all the dramatic Italian parts, in addition to Dalila, Ortrud, Brangäne, and Gluck’s Orpheus. It was in Verdi’s tragic characters, especially Azucena, that she had her greatest successes. Ebe Stignani was the reigning Italian dramatic mezzo for more than thirty years. As late as 1957, Stignani was Adalgisa to Callas’s Norma. Lanfranco Rasponi, in his informative book, The Last Prima Donnas, included Stignani in his chapter “The Huge Voices.” Impeded from leaving Italy during the war years by the Mussolini fascist government, Stignani never sang at the Metropolitan, but Rasponi describes her Carnegie Hall recital thus: The Carnegie Hall recital was a triumph that those that attended will never forget. This simple woman walked out on that bare stage and all she had to do was open that golden mouth to leave everyone astounded at the beauty of the timbre, the enormous control, the stunning facility with which she went up and down the scale, and the purity of the vocal line. And, supposedly, she was not a recital singer. At least she did not think she was, having sung, until then, few concerts. Actually, she was a natural, for she could reveal the extraordinary gamut of her styles; and the lack of personality of which she had been so conscious could not have mattered less. And there, in a way, was her form of sorcery. As she had so correctly diagnosed, it was the voice and voice alone that mattered.2

Ildebrando Pizzetti (1880–1968) was a member of generazione dell’ottanta (the generation of 1880), along with Respighi, Alfredo Casella (1883–1947), and Gian Francesco Malipiero (1882–1973), whose main musical body of work was nonoperatic. Nevertheless, Pizzetti’s opera Débora e Jaéle premiered at La Scala on December 16, 1922, and featured contralto Elvira Casazza (1887–1965) as Débora. Casazza was one of Toscanini’s favorite singers and was known for the strength of her lower register, which sounded almost baritonal. Casazza was one of the finest singing actresses in Italy during the years between the world wars. She was especially known for her Mistress Quickly in Verdi’s Falstaff. Among the standard Italian alto roles, she also sang more contemporary fare such

Figure 24.1.  Conchita Supervia by Antonio Esplugas (1852–1929)

as the nurse in Ariane et Barbe-bleue, the witch in Engelbert Humperdinck’s Hänsel und Gretel, and Margarita in I quarto rusteghi. The most vivacious mezzo-soprano of the Italian school during the first half of the twentieth century was Conchita Supervia (1895–1936), who was born in Barcelona. Supervia accentuated the soprano quality in her voice, but she had strong middle and chest voices that she traversed with ease. Some complain about the strong vibrato in her voice, but I believe that she shared an intense way of singing with tenors Aureliano Pertile, Alessandro Bonci (1870–1940), and Fernando de Lucia, which was not a vocal fault but an expressive device. Usually someone with a tremolo (not Supervia) reflects muscular tension, but Supervia’s complete control of the voice from top to bottom shows that this is not the case. Furthermore, like some other intense singers such as Birgit Nilsson (1918–2005), the voice on the record is not the same as the one in the opera house. Nevertheless, there is no one recorded who communicates such a joy in singing and such an infinite palette of coloring to every phrase. Conchita Supervia was probably mostly an autodidact because she made her debut at the Teatro Colón at the age of fourteen in minor roles with a touring Spanish opera company. In November 1911, not yet sixteen, she was chosen as

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Octavian for the Rome premiere of Der Rosenkavalier, which was probably the only time that Octavian actually looked like a teenage character. In 1912, Supervia took on the role of Carmen at the Gran Teatre del Liceu in Barcelona, a hefty assignment for a seventeen year old. Supervia became identified with the role her whole career, but her playful interpretation had more in common with Calvé than some of the dramatic altos of today. For Supervia, her musicality was a given, while her concentration on the text in whatever language she was singing was very natural and similar to speaking. Indeed, sometimes she passes into the speaking voice without a perceptible change in her vocalism, an important feature of her expression that she shared with the great basso, Feodor Chaliapin. Supervia’s additional repertoire for a decade in Spain, Italy, and Havana was Dalila, Leonora in La favorita, Maddalena in Rigoletto, and Marguerite in Berlioz’s La damnation de Faust. She sang Rosina in Barcelona in 1915, but it was not a regular feature of her repertoire. Conchita Supervia (only twenty years old) made her American debut in 1915 as Charlotte in Werther at the Chicago Lyric in 1915 and also sang the eponymous roles in Carmen and Mignon. After the war, she assumed the repertoire in Rome that made her world famous—Rosina in Il barbiere di Siviglia, Isabella in L’italiana in Algeri, and Angelina in La Cenerentola. I think Rossini would have enjoyed her sense of fun and love of singing. Strangely enough, although Supervia sang at La Scala until 1929, she never performed the Rossini repertoire there. Supervia made more than two hundred recordings in Spanish, English, Catalan, French, and exemplary Italian, in song repertoire as well as from her operatic roles. Her recording of “When I Bring to You Coloured Toys” by John Alden Carpenter (1876–1951) is all the more poignant when one considers that Conchita Supervia died in childbirth on March 30, 1936, only a few years after recording the excerpt. Irene Minghini-Cattaneo (1891–1944) could not have been more different from Conchita Supervia. Hers was a “big momma” type of mezzo-soprano voice with a booming chest register and a top that tended toward shrillness. She made her debut at the Teatro Carcano in Milan as Madelon in Andrea Chenier in 1918, soon followed by Amneris, her favorite role and one for which she is most remembered. In the next few years she added Azucena, Adalgisa, Eboli, La Cieca (La Gioconda), Dalila, Laura, Elena, L’Innocente (L’arlesiana), Preziosilla, Giglietta from Mascagni’s Isabeau, Maddalena, Ulrica, and Dame Quickly at leading theaters all over Italy. In 1928, Irene Minghini-Cattaneo debuted at Covent Garden as Amneris with Dusolina Giannini (1902–1986) and Pertile, as well as Marina in Boris Godunov with Chaliapin. Later she sang opposite Rosa Ponselle in Norma and La Gioconda. MinghiniCattaneo had a reputation of being difficult and apparently she and Ponselle did not get along backstage. However, MinghiniCattaneo garnered good reviews for being able to keep up with Ponselle. Occasionally, she ventured into the Wagnerian repertoire with Brangäne and Ortrud to Beniamino Gigli’s (1890–1957) Lohengrin. Later, like some other mezzos, she

tried the dramatic soprano repertoire but returned to the alto roles a short time later. Her international career took her to Germany, Austria, Egypt, Greece, France, and Switzerland. Minghini-Cattaneo retired in 1941 and was killed in a bombing attack by allied forces at her villa in Rimini, Italy. Giulietta Simionato was a late bloomer who endured years of obscurity singing comprimaria roles at La Scala before finally breaking through with Cherubino, Dorabella, and Fidalma in Il matrimonio segreto in a season in Switzerland. The news of an artist having to go elsewhere to make a name for herself before being accepted as a leading singer by the management of her home theater is a familiar but doleful story. La Scala, receiving reports of Simionato’s success, engaged her for Dorabella, but it was her triumph in Genoa as Mignon that really made her a star. She returned to La Scala to sing a series of Mignons with Giuseppe Di Stefano (1921–2008) and Cesare Siepi (1923– 2010) under Tullio Serafin (1878–1968), who then engaged her to sing Carmen. She then sang Valentine in Les Huguenots, with Corelli and Sutherland, which had not been done at La Scala in sixty-three years, and then Dido in the La Scala premiere of Les Troyens. Simionato had an excellent technique and a voice comfortable in its upper reaches, so she did sing some soprano repertoire, though she understood the cost of stretching the voice too high. About her versatility, she stated:

Figure 24.2.  Giulietta Simionato as Santuzza by Louis Melançon. Courtesy Metropolitan Opera Archives.



Twentieth-Century Altos 193 There were four parallel roads I followed, and I loved them all. There was the coloratura repertoire, consisting of the Rossini operas (Cenerentola, Italiana, Tancredi, Barbiere, Arsace in Semiramide), along with Bellini’s I Capuleti ed i Montecchi, Handel’s Giulio Cesare, Giovanna Seymour in Anna Bolena, and Preziosilla in Forza. Then the heavy dramatic repertory: Ulrica in Ballo, Amneris, Azucena, Eboli, Marfa in Khovanshchina, Dalila, La favorita, and the Princess in Adriana. And the many lyric parts, such as Adalgisa, Charlotte in Werther, Mignon, Dorabella, Cherubino, Hansel, Octavian, Orfeo, Ifigenia, Fenena in Nabucco, Neris in Medea. And then the verismo roles like Santuzza, Fedora, Carmen, Zanetto and many others.3

Besides La Scala, Simionato was a regular member of the Vienna Staatsoper, Covent Garden, Chicago Lyric, and San Francisco Operas and sang in many other locations including Tokyo and Edinburgh. She sang only five roles at the Metropolitan in the early sixties—Amneris, Rosina, Santuzza, Dalila, and Azucena. She was forced to withdraw in 1961 because of an attack of trigeminal neuralgia and finally retired in 1966. She continued to live an active life, teaching and directing, into her nineties. Simionato had an extensive discography, recording with the greatest artists and conductors of her time. She died in Rome one week short of her one hundredth birthday.

GERMANY AND SCANDINAVIA Among the many currents of opera in the twentieth century was that of “political” opera or “epic theater,” which was rooted in the bitterness and despair of Germany between the wars. Bertolt Brecht (1898–1956) headed the movement, and two operas (or music theater pieces) based on his librettos, Dreigoschenoper (The Threepenny Opera) (1928) and Austeig und Fall der Stadt Mahagonny (The Rise and Fall of the City of Mahagonny) (1930) by Kurt Weill (1900–1950) were the greatest examples of this point of view. Weill’s wife Lotte Leyna (1898–1981), an actress and contralto singer, was the chief interpreter of his work and after his death administered the Kurt Weill Foundation for Music. Leyna was the original Low-Dive Jenny in Dreigoschenoper and assumed the part of Jenny Smith in Mahagonny (originally a soprano role) after a substantial transposition down. The threatening and gloomy atmosphere of the interwar years in Europe gave rise to the Expressionist movement in all the arts, which was represented in opera in the works of Arnold Schoenberg (1874–1951) and his pupil Alban Berg (1885–1935). Not only was there a revolution in the organization of the music by the use of the twelve-tone or serial system, but a different vocal technique called Sprechstimme, or speech song, was called for, although such a vocal delivery has been utilized for centuries in various cultures. Clearly, the parts for the protagonists in these works were written for the soprano voice but occasionally mezzo-sopranos have achieved notable successes in these roles. Marilyn Horne scored early triumphs as Marie in Wozzeck in Gelsenkirche, Germany, in 1960 and in

San Francisco in 1964. Maria Ewing (b. 1950), who has sung both soprano and mezzo repertoire, was a prominent Marie, known especially for her acting. Her other alto roles included Carmen and Dorabella. Despite the restive political climate of the German-speaking countries, they produced a number of outstanding alto singers during the period between the wars. One of the most impressive was Sigrid Onégin née Elizabeth Hoffmann (1889–1943), who was born in Stockholm but was, in fact, German French. Onégin was from the Orgeni-Viardot school, having studied with Margarethe Siems and Lilli Lehmann. Alto is the best description of Onégin’s voice, for she had a range of more than three octaves and sang both contralto and mezzo parts. Her virtuosity can only be compared to Schumann-Heink. Onégin debuted in Stuttgart in 1912 as Carmen, where she was subsequently partnered with Caruso. In Stuttgart Onégin created the role of dryad in the original version of Strauss’s Ariadne auf Naxos. From 1919 to 1922 Onégin was a member of the Munich Hofoper and simultaneously began to build the recital career for which she was perhaps more famous than her opera singing. In 1922 she toured the United States as a recitalist and debuted in New York at Carnegie Hall with Leopold Stokowski. Her Metropolitan engagement began on November 22 as Amneris with Elisabeth Rethberg (1894–1976) and Giovanni

Figure 24.3.  Sigrid Onégin as Lady Macbeth by Schneider, Berlin. Courtesy Metropolitan Opera Archives.

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Martinelli (1885–1969). Her other roles were Fricka and Brangäne. She appeared regularly in America until 1938. Her sole engagement at Covent Garden took place in 1927 in the same repertoire. From 1920 to 1931 Onégin was a member of the Städische Oper in Berlin and guested at Zurich from 1931 to 1935. From 1931 to 1932 she sang Gluck’s Orpheus in Salzburg and appeared at Bayreuth in 1933 and 1934. She was also engaged at the Opéra in Paris and the Vienna Staatsoper during these years. Besides the repertoire previously mentioned, Sigrid Onégin also sang Lady Macbeth, Erda, Princess Eboli, and Orsini in Lucrezia Borgia. As a recitalist her repertory included more than five hundred songs in thirteen languages. To get an idea of Onégin’s astonishing mastery of vocal technique, I recommend her recording of “O prêtres de Baal” from Le prophète, the vocalise written to Chopin’s Impromptu in A flat and Arditi’s salon piece Leggiero invisibili. I would venture that Sigrid Onégin probably sounded more like Pauline Viardot than any other singer on record. The era between the wars was a rich trove of great Wagnerian singers, and none were more accomplished than the altos. Three of the dominant Wagnerian contraltos of the period were the Swedes Karin Branzell (1891–1974) and Kerstin Thorborg (1896–1970) and the German Margarete Klose (1902–1968). Branzell studied in Stockholm and made her debut there as Prince Sarvilaka in Eugen d’Albert’s (1864–1932) Izeyl at the Swedish Royal Opera in 1912. She also appeared as Nancy in Marta and as Amneris. The Garcia influence has spread wide, for one of her teachers was Anna Eugénie SchönRené (1864–1942), who had studied with Pauline Viardot. Branzell remained with the Royal Theater during the war years until she began an engagement at the Berlin State Opera from 1920 to 1934, where she sang Azucena, Laura (La Gioconda), Fidès, Dalila, and Carmen, as well as the nurse in Strauss’s Die Frau ohne Schatten in the first Berlin performance with Strauss conducting. At Covent Garden in 1935 and from 1937 to 1938, she sang Konchakovna in a German language version of Prince Igor conducted by Sir Thomas Beecham. On February 6, 1924, Karin Branzell began her long association with the Metropolitan Opera, where she was a stalwart for twenty years, especially in the German wing. Her debut was as Fricka in Die Walküre and she went on to sing most of the Verdi repertoire as well as the Wagnerian repertoire and also Klytämnestra in Elektra and Herodias in Salome, among other roles. Her frequent partners in the Wagnerian repertoire were Kirsten Flagstad and her lifelong friend Lauritz Melchior. In all, Branzell sang for twenty-two seasons at the Met in twenty-one roles and 413 performances. When she retired, she became a respected teacher at Juilliard, where Nell Rankin, Jean Madeira (1918–1972) and Mignon Dunn (1931– ) were counted among her students. Although her career was mostly at the Metropolitan, Branzell also appeared at the Teatro Colón, Munich State opera, San Francisco opera, and Bayreuth. Karin Branzell had a sumptuous contralto, an unerring musicality, and a majestic stage presence, admirably suited to big, dramatic roles.

Kerstin Thorborg made her debut in 1923 at the Swedish Royal Opera but served an apprenticeship of supporting roles for a number of years. Beginning with Countess Ceprano in Rigoletto, she emerged as Fricka, Amneris, Ortrud, Brangäne, and Ulrica. In 1930, she was in Nuremberg. Bruno Walter then brought her to the Städische Oper in Berlin (1932–1935), the Vienna Staatsoper, and the Salzburg Festival (1935–1938). From 1936 to 1939 Thorborg sang the Wagnerian repertoire at Covent Garden, where Ernest Newman (1868–1959), the renowned authority on Wagner, described her as “the greatest Wagnerian actress of the present day.”4 Also in 1936, Thorborg began an association with the Met that lasted fifteen years. Since she could also sing mezzo-soprano roles, Thorborg also sang Octavian and Marina in Boris in her 350 performances of twenty roles at the Metropolitan. Thorborg was a prolific recording artist. Her concert recordings of Das Lied von der Erde (1936) from Vienna with Walter conducting and her Verdi Requiem (London, 1938) with Toscanini are classics. Thorborg’s voice was opulent like Branzell’s but had a somewhat more brilliant quality. Margarete Klose (1899–1968) was considered the leading German mezzo-soprano during the interwar years and continued her career until 1961. Like Louise Homer and Kathleen Ferrier, she was obliged to work as a secretary until she got a scholarship at the Klindworth-Scharwenka conservatory in Berlin, where she studied for five rewarding years. In 1927, Klose made her stage debut in Ulm in a supporting role in an operetta, Countess Mariza, by Emmerich Kalman (1882–1953) and then her next role was Azucena. From 1928 to 1931, she was a member of the Mannheim Opera, where she developed her repertoire of the big alto roles. Klose became a member of the Berlin State Opera from 1931 to 1949 and 1955 to 1961 and the Deutsche Oper Berlin from 1949 to 1958. She was acclaimed as Klytämnestra in Elektra under Wilhelm Furtwängler (1886–1954), Ortrud under Erich Kleiber (1890–1956), and Adriano in Rienzi under Leo Blech (1871–1958). In 1935, Klose sang Ortrud with Thomas Beecham at Covent Garden and from 1936 to 1942 regularly sang at Bayreuth, especially esteemed for her portrayal of Brangäne, which lies higher than, for instance, Erda. Margarete Klose also had a great international career as an esteemed guest at La Scala, Vienna State Opera, Sächische Staatsoper in Dresden, National Theater, München, Hamburgische Staatsoper, Hungarian State Opera, Budapest, Teatro Colón, Le Monnaie, and in Los Angeles and San Francisco. Her beautiful, clear, and resonant voice can be heard to advantage in recordings of Gluck’s Orpheus and Iphigénie en Aulide, Kostelnička Buryjovka in Jenüfa by Leoš Janáček, as well as Carmen and the Verdi repertoire. In addition, her performances of the great oratorio and recital repertoire were considered models of style. Klose retired in 1961 and became a venerated teacher, regularly giving master classes at the Mozarteum in Salzburg during the summer. In 1968, she passed away suddenly at the age of sixty-nine.



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Like Margarete Klose, Maria Olszewska (1892–1969) began her career in operetta, where her striking beauty was a distinct advantage. Her operatic debut was in a small part in Tannhäuser at the Krefeld Opera in 1915, after which she was in Leipzig until 1919. She was then engaged by the Hamburgische Staatsoper, where she participated in the premiere of Erich Wolfgang Korngold’s (1897–1957) Die tote Stadt (1920). Olszewska was then contracted to the Vienna State Opera from 1921 to 1923 and 1925 to 1930. In Vienna she participated in memorable performances of Der Rosenkavalier with Lotte Lehmann, Elisabeth Schumann (1888–1952), and Richard Mayr (1877–1935), and from 1923 to 1925 she was a member of the Bavarian State Opera in Munich. As a guest artist, Olszewska appeared at the Teatro Colón and frequently at the Royal Opera in London from 1924 to 1932, where her Wagnerian portrayals, as well as Orlofsky and Octavian, were acclaimed and her Carmen and Amneris less so. From 1928 to 1932, she sang at the Chicago Lyric and made her Met debut on January 16, 1933, as Brangäne in Tristan und Isolde with Melchior and Frida Leider (1888–1975). At the Metropolitan, Maria Olszewska sang twelve roles in fifty-seven performances over a period of three seasons. Additional guest appearances were at La Scala, La Monnaie, and successful tours of North and South America. From 1951 to 1955, Olszewska returned to the stage at the Volksoper, where she went back to her beginnings, singing character parts in operettas. After her retirement in 1955, she became a voice teacher. Olszewska’s recordings are somewhat uneven; for the most part, the voice is a resonant contralto but the top is often a bit shrill. Rosette Anday (1903–1977) was a Hungarian contralto who had an opulent voice with the powerful chest register well integrated into the middle voice. In the aria “Ach, mein Sohn” from Der Prophet, she descends to a baritonal F below middle C. Like many of the German singers of the period on records, she phrases instrumentally and the top voice is held tightly in the grip of the stauprinzip (congestion method) of breathing. Nevertheless, Anday was an effective performer and had an extensive career, which began in Budapest in 1920. Within a year she made her debut as Carmen at the Vienna State Opera and remained on the roster for thirty years, singing all the big alto repertoire such as Azucena, Amneris, and Dalila. At Salzburg from 1922, Anday sang Fatima in Weber’s Oberon, Dorabella in Cosi fan tutte, Cherubino, Orlofsky in Die Fledermaus, Orfeo, Brangäne, and Klytämnestra in Elektra. Her Covent Garden repertoire during 1928 and 1929 was Erda, Fricka, Waltraute, and Hate in Gluck’s Armide. Rosette Anday was also a fine oratorio and lieder singer. She was dedicated to the music of Gustav Mahler and sang a matinee performance of Das Lied von der Erde at the Vienna State Opera in 1923 and the Paris and London premieres of Mahler’s great work. Richard Strauss accompanied her first lieder recital at the Grosse Musikvereinssaal—a great honor. Anday was also one of the youngest recipients of the Kammersängerin award. Rosette Anday’s final performance at the Vienna Staatsoper in 1961 was Klytämnestra.

RUSSIA Sergey Prokofiev was the outstanding composer of Soviet Russia who saw himself first and foremost as a composer for the lyric stage. If this seems surprising, it is not only because of Prokofiev’s great success in the realm of instrumental concert music, but also because of the singularly unlucky fate of his operas. Of the seven he completed, he saw only four produced; of the four, only two survived their initial production; and of the two, only one entered the repertory.5 Prokofiev composed The Gambler in 1915 and 1916 at the behest of conductor Albert Coates (1882–1915), who assured him a production at the Mariinsky Theatre. However, the upheaval of the Russian February Revolution prevented that from happening. The revised Gambler finally received its premiere at the Monnaie in 1929. The major female role, Polina, is sung by a soprano, but there are two interesting alto roles: Blanche, a beautiful demimondaine and Babulenka (Grandma). Blanche was created by Yvonne Andry (1894–1973), a Belgian mezzosoprano who also was an affecting Charlotte in Werther. Babulenka was created by Simone Ballard (1897–?) The daughter of professional singers, Ballard was a French mezzo-soprano who made her debut at the Monaie as Amneris in 1921. She took part in the premieres of several contemporary operas: the sisterin-law in Darius Milhaud’s (1892–1974) chamber opera Les Maleurs d’Orpheé (1926) and the title part in Antigone (1927) by Arthur Honegger. She also premiered the French versions of Debora in Pizzetti’s Debora e Jaele (1927), the aforementioned Gambler, and Donna Mercedes in Riccardo Zandonai’s (1883–1944) La farsa amorosa (1933). Simone Ballard had a repertoire of seventy roles in three different languages including the standards of Verdi and Wagner. The Gambler finally had its New York premiere in 1975 in a visit from the touring Bol’shoy company. Despite the declamatory style and lack of “showstopper” arias, Prokofiev’s operas offer interesting opportunities for singing actors in roles such as Babulenka. Because of the turmoil in Russia, Prokofiev decided to move to the United States, arriving in San Francisco in 1918. He gave a debut recital in New York and was commissioned to compose an opera to a Gozzi commedia del arte tale, The Love for Three Oranges, by the Chicago Lyric Opera. The premiere was postponed and the opera was not given until December 30, 1921, under the composer’s direction. Because Prokofiev was not fluent in English and American audiences would not accept a Russian language opera, the initial version was set in French. Until recently, The Love for Three Oranges was the only opera of Prokofiev’s produced with any regularity. There are four alto parts, but because there are few extended vocal lines, only Princess Clarice, who was created by Irène Pavlovska (fl. 1920s), a Canadian mezzo-soprano of Polish descent, has much singing to do. Unlike The Gambler, the orchestration for The Love for Three Oranges is sparse and allows the singers to project without forcing. One of the surprises of the surrealistic and fantastic libretto is that oranges 1 and 2, when opened, contain mezzo-sopranos!

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Prokofiev became interested in the novel The Fiery Angel in 1919, after completing The Love for Three Oranges in America. The violent story of demonic possession was not accepted by anyone, either in Europe or the Soviet Union, and the world premiere did not take place until 1954 in a concert performance in Paris. The possessed Renata is sung by a dramatic soprano, but the sorceress is a contralto that was sung (in English) in the American premiere at the New York City Opera on September 22, 1965, by Muriel Costa-Greenspon (1937–2005). Costa-Greenspon had a thirty-year career at the City Opera, appearing in forty-five roles. Prokofiev made a series of trips to Russia and began to repudiate his earlier acerbic, ironic, and dissonant works in favor of a simpler and more sincere style. He settled his family permanently in Moscow in 1936. In 1938 Prokofiev collaborated on a film about Alexander Nevsky with Sergey Eisenstein (1898–1948). He then adapted the music from the film into a large-scale cantata for mezzo-soprano, choir, and orchestra, which premiered in Moscow on May 17, 1939, with Valentina Gagrina (fl. 1930s–1940s) as soloist. The searing subject of the sixth movement is “The Field of the Dead,” in which a girl searches through the corpses on a battlefield for the body of her lost lover. The scene is a chilling precursor of the carnage of the German invasion of Russia in 1941 in which thirty million lives were lost. The American premiere was a radio broadcast by the NBC Symphony conducted by Leopold Stokowski and featuring Jennie Tourel (1900–1973) as alto soloist. Tourel was born with the surname Davidovich in Russia but settled in Paris after the revolution. She sang Carmen and Charlotte among other roles at the Opéra-Comique in the early thirties and, after emigrating to America, Rosina, Carmen, and Adalgisa at the Metropolitan. In 1951 she created Baba the Turk in Igor Stravinsky’s (1882–1971) The Rake’s Progress. In later years Tourel was mostly known for concert work, especially Ravel’s Schéhérazade with Leonard Bernstein (1918–1990), and she premiered his song cycles I Hate Music (1943) and La Bonne Cuisine (1949). Tourel also gave the first performance of the revised Das Marienleben (1948) by Paul Hindemith (1895–1963). Prokofiev’s comic opera Betrothal in a Monastery (The Duenna) was first performed in Leningrad on November 3, 1946. After all the traumas suffered by the composer, Betrothal is a “charming modern descendant of the classical opera buffa.”6 There are two characters of interest to us: the eponymous Duenna, contralto, and Clara d’Almanza, mezzo-soprano, the “other” female romantic lead. In the classic buffa style, the plot, based on Richard Sheridan’s (1751–1816) libretto, goes through many convolutions, disguises, and misunderstandings and finally comes out all right with the betrothals of all of the main characters. I have not been able to determine the original cast, but the opera has been performed numerous times in the West. During the Kirov Opera Festival’s visit to the Metropolitan Opera in 1998, Nadezhda Vasilieva (fl. 1990s) was the duenna and Marianna Tarasova (fl. 1990s) sang Clara. Vasilieva sang frequently with the St. Petersburg Symphony

and included Carmen, Olga, Lyubasha in The Tsar’s Bride, Sonyetka in Dimitri Shostakovich’s (1906–1975) Katarina Ismailova, and Azucena in her repertoire. Tarasova, a member of the Mariinsky Theatre Company, has had an impressive career in all the major opera houses of the world, including La Scala, the Metropolitan, and Covent Garden. Her repertoire includes Marfa in Khovanshchina, Konchakovna in Prince Igor, Dalila, Santuzza, Eboli, Carmen, Amneris, and Ulrica. Prokofiev began his War and Peace in 1942 from an interest in the subject that went back to 1935. He was inspired by the parallel stories of the Nazi invasion of Russia and Napoleon’s ill-fated adventure in 1812. An enormous work, it underwent several revisions and is no less a masterpiece than the great novel upon which it was based. In thirteen scenes, with an epigraph, the libretto lists more than seventy characters, some artists singing more than one role. Though I am not claiming that the alto characters are central to the story (there are nine), three—Hélène Bezukova, Maria Dmitrievna Akhrosimova, and Sonya, Natasha’s cousin—play important parts in the plot. In the NBC premiere telecast of the entire opera in 1959, Hélène was played by Gloria Lane (b. 1930), a distinguished American mezzo-soprano mainstay of the New York City Opera from 1952 to 1960 who created two roles in Gian-Carlo Menotti’s operas—the secretary of the consulate in The Consul (1950) and Desideria in the Saint of Bleeker Street (1954). Lane also sang a wide range of repertoire in Europe for La Scala, Vienna Staatsoper, Berlin Deutsche Oper, and Glyndebourne. She sang more than five hundred performances of Carmen in the 1950s and 1960s to critical acclaim. One performance in Chicago in 1953 is the subject of operatic legend. The famously temperamental tenor David Poleri (1921–1968) was angry at the conductor and strode off the stage in the middle of the last act, and Lane was forced to sing his part as well as her own and to kill herself to bring down the curtain! The great Irina Arkhipova sang Hélène Bezukova in the first relatively complete performance of War and Peace at the Bol’shoy on December 15, 1959. She also created the part of Klavdiya in Prokofiev’s Story of a Real Man (1960) and several lesser-known Soviet operas. Arkhipova began her career as a mezzo-soprano and finished as a contralto. Her debut was as Carmen at the Bol’shoy in 1956. Arkhipova had an exemplary technique, a wide range, and an emotional warmth and variety of color in her voice. Besides the gamut of leading Russian alto roles, Arkhipova was a fine Verdi singer. After her Carmen in Naples in 1960, she sang Hélène at La Scala in 1964 and returned as Marfa (1967) and Marina (1968). She was praised for her role as Azucena in Covent Garden in 1975 and finally made her belated debut at the Metropolitan in 2010 at the age of seventy-two. Arkhipova was the most decorated artist in the Soviet Union and had a minor planet, number 4424, named after her. Igor Stravinsky was one of the outstanding composers of the twentieth century. He was Russian born, but later a citizen of France and the United States. In 1909 Sergey Diaghilev invited him to Paris where he composed the sensational ballets



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The Firebird (1910) and The Rite of Spring (1913) for the Ballets Russes. Opera was a small part of Stravinsky’s catalog, but he composed the mini-opera Mavra in 1921 and 1922. The part of the neighbor was sung by Hélène Sadoven (1894–19?), who also created the lead female part of Jocasta, Oedipus’s mother, in Stravinsky’s dramatic opera-oratorio Oedipus Rex in 1927. Stravinsky knew what he was doing, but Sadoven, in my opinion, is unjustly forgotten these days, possibly due to the alternate spellings of her name (e.g., Sadowen). There are numerous pictures of the beautiful Sadoven on the Internet, and there is a recording of excerpts from Massenet’s Don Quichote from 1931, which reveal a big and beautiful mezzo-soprano voice with a fine technique and a musical and expressive interpretation. Hélène Sadoven was born in Finland and made her way to Paris in 1917. There she guested at the Opéra and the Opéra Comique. At the Opéra from 1922 to 1924, she sang Amneris with Claudia Muzio as Aida, Marina in Boris Godunov, and the title roles in Hérodiade and Samson et Dalila. As a member of the Opéra Russe, she appeared at La Scala and in London, Holland, and South America. Her further credits include Cairo, Vienna, and Berlin. In 1931 Sadoven appeared in the English premieres of Rimsky-Korsakov’s The Tsar’s Bride and Sadko at London’s Lyceum Theater. In 1938 she was still singing at the Monnaie in Brussels. The Rake’s Progress premiered at La Fenice with Stravinsky conducting on September 11, 1951. As noted, the surrealistic part of Baba, the Turkish bearded lady, was created by Jennie Tourel. Baba’s aria and monologue “As I Was Saying, Both Brothers Wore Moustaches” requires an alto who has a Rossinian command of coloratura and a Gilbert-and-Sullivan gift of patter. The Metropolitan’s premiere was in 1953 with Blanche Thebom (1915–2010) as Baba. Thebom was an elegant beauty who was one of the postwar wave of American singers who established international careers. She was best known for her Wagner portrayals of Fricka, Ortrud, and Brangäne, but in twenty-two years at the Met in 357 performances, she sang everything from Handel and Mozart to Musorgsky and Verdi. Blanche Thebom sang eighty performances of Amneris alone. Her last performance, like that of many older altos, was as the old countess in Pique Dame at the new Met in 1967. Stravinsky had a fondness for opulent alto voices. In 1954, he “discovered” Marilyn Horne, then a twenty-yearold soprano who was often a guest at his home in southern California. Horne was a member of the “Gesualdo Madrigalists,” a group formed by Robert Craft (b. 1923), Stravinsky’s amanuensis, for the study of the music of the radical Baroque composer Carlo Gesualdo (1566–1613). Horne never did sing in The Rake’s Progress but she was an exemplary Jocasta.

Operabase, Britten’s operas are performed worldwide more than any other composer born in the twentieth century and are exceeded only by Strauss and Puccini for operas composed after 1900.7 Although he generally followed the convention of casting the female leads in his operas with sopranos, he also composed several outstanding alto parts and concert pieces and utilized some of the greatest singers of his time. Britten’s masterpiece Peter Grimes premiered on June 7, 1945. The title character was created by Peter Pears (1910–1986) but was reimagined by the dramatic tenor Jon Vickers at the Metropolitan in 1966. The part of auntie was sung by mezzo-soprano Edith Coates. Coates began her career singing dramatic alto parts such as Lehl in The Snow Maiden and Tkachikha in The Tale of Tsar Saltan by Rimsky-Korsakov in 1933 and had a triumph as Eboli in 1937 at the Sadler’s Wells Theater. During the war years, her career was curtailed because all the theaters were closed. Coates reappeared in Covent Garden in 1947, where she remained for two decades, appearing as Carmen, Fricka, Amneris, and Azucena. In the fifties she began to sing character roles. She participated in several world premieres including Arthur Bliss’s (1891–1975) The Olympians (1948), Britten’s Gloriana (1953), Michael Tippett’s (1905–1998) The Midsummer Marriage (1955), and the Welsh composer Grace Williams’s (1906–1977) The Parlour (1966). There is a curious recording of Coates singing “Habanera” from Carmen in English (“Love resembles a willful bird!”). Britten’s chamber opera, The Rape of Lucretia, was first performed at the Glyndebourne Festival on July 12, 1946. The title part was written for Kathleen Ferrier (1912–1953), an English contralto singer whose only other role (by her choice) was Orfeo in Gluck’s opera Orfeo ed Euridice. Ferrier was trained as a pianist and in 1926, due to family financial problems, she left school to begin training for a decade-long job as a

THE UNITED KINGDOM By any standard, Benjamin Britten was one of the most successful composers of the twentieth century. According to

Figure 24.4.  Kathleen Ferrier

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telephone operator. She won several minor piano competitions and both piano and vocal competitions at the Carlisle Festival in 1937. In 1942 she decided to move to London, where she met Britten during a Messiah performance with Peter Pears in Westminster Abbey the next year. Despite her early misgivings, he persuaded her to create Lucretia, in which she triumphed, although the initial response to the opera itself was muted. Ferrier built a great career of radio broadcasts and concert performances of orchestral works such as The Dream of Gerontius and Sea Pictures by Edward Elgar, Bach’s Mass in B Minor, and Mendelssohn’s Elijah. After Ferrier’s performance of Orfeo at Glyndebourne, Rudolf Bing (1902–1997), then the manager of Glyndebourne, recommended her to Bruno Walter (1876–1962), who recognized the greatness of her voice and engaged her to sing the contralto solos in Mahler’s Das Lied von der Erde. Walter and Ferrier formed a warm partnership that lasted until her death. In 1948, Ferrier performed Brahms’s Alto Rhapsody and joined John Barbirolli (1899–1970) and the Hallé Orchestra in a broadcast performance of another Mahler masterpiece, Kindertotenlieder. In July 1949, Ferrier premiered Britten’s Spring Symphony with Eduard van Beinum (1901–1959) and the Concertgebouw Orchestra. In Vienna in 1950, she joined Elisabeth Schwarzkopf and Herbert von Karajan (1908–1989) for a recording of Bach’s Mass in B Minor with the Vienna Philharmonic. In 1951, shortly after performing Ernest Chausson’s (1855– 1899) Poème de l’amour et de la mer with Sir John Barbirolli (1899–1970), Ferrier was operated on for breast cancer. Resuming her career even while battling cancer, she traveled to the Holland Festival to sing in Mahler’s Second Symphony with Otto Klemperer (1885–1973) and the Concertgebouw. In 1952, she premiered Canticle II Abraham and Isaac, which Benjamin Britten had written for Peter Pears and her as a fundraiser for the English Opera Group. Despite continuing health problems, she performed in Bach’s St. Matthew Passion at the Royal Albert Hall and traveled to Vienna to record Mahler’s Rückert Leider with her great partner, Bruno Walter. Finally, during a performance of Orfeo in 1953, weakened by prolonged radiation treatments, her left femur partially disintegrated. Supported by cast members, she finished the performance, her last. Kathleen Ferrier died on October 8, 1953, her death a great shock to her public, which had never been informed of her illness. Of all the many tributes to Kathleen Ferrier, the one from Bruno Walter is the most profound: “The greatest thing in music in my life has been to have known Kathleen Ferrier and Gustav Mahler—in that order.”8 As for me, I can think of nothing more beautiful in the universe than Kathleen Ferrier singing the music of Gustav Mahler. In 1947, Britten composed the song cycle A Charm of Lullabies, Op. 41 for Nancy Evans (1915–2000), a British mezzosoprano who also created the role of Nancy in the composer’s Albert Herring the same year. At Glyndebourne, she alternated with Kathleen Ferrier as Lucretia. She also sang Polly in Britten’s version of The Beggar’s Opera in 1948. Evans and her sec-

ond husband, Eric Crozier (1914–1994), were the cofounders of the Aldeburgh Festival with Britten and Pears. Benjamin Britten composed Gloriana in 1953 as part of the celebration of the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II. The part of Frances, Countess of Essex, was created by the contralto Monica Sinclair (1925–2002), who created a number of roles for contemporary composers including the heavenly body in Ralph Vaughan Williams’s (1872–1958) The Pilgrim’s Progress (1951), Evadne in William Walton’s (1902–1983) Troilus and Cressida (1954), and Yelena Popova in The Bear (1967). Noye’s Fludde, a fifty-minute chamber opera based on a fifteenth-century Chester mystery or “miracle” play was intended to be performed by largely amateur singers, with only Mr. and Mrs. Noah to be sung by professionals. Mrs. Noah, a cantankerous and obstreperous termagant, was sung by the contralto Gladys Parr (1892–1988) in the premiere on June 18, 1958, at Aldeburgh. Parr joined the Carl Rosa Company in 1915 and sang at Covent Garden in such roles as Siébel, Nicklausse, Frédéric, and Suzuki. Later she moved up to Carmen, Dalila, Azucena, Magdalena in Die Meistersinger, and Dame Quickly. Parr also created the parts of Florence Pike in Albert Herring and Miss Baggott in The Little Sweep (1949) for Britten. A Midsummer Night’s Dream was first performed on June 11, 1960, and soon entered the standard repertory. It has been one of the most performed operas written since World War II. The role of Oberon was performed by Alfred Deller (1912– 1979), a contralto countertenor who was a pioneer in popularizing the use of the countertenor voice in early music. The role of Hermia was created by Marjorie Thomas (1923–2008), a British contralto who was well known for her concert work as well as opera. At Covent Garden, Thomas performed several Wagnerian roles, including Magdalena in Die Meistersinger. She recorded Mahler’s Third Symphony with Rafael Kubelik (1914–1996), her conductor in Wagner performances. She was also a favorite soloist of the conductor Malcolm Sargent (1895–1967), with whom she recorded a series of Gilbert and Sullivan operas and was especially admired for Edward Elgar’s The Dream of Gerontius and Gloria, which was composed for her by William Walton in 1961. Marjorie Thomas was a distinguished head of vocal studies at the Royal Academy of Music until 1990. Britten’s penultimate opera, Owen Wingrave (1971), based on a story by Henry James (1843–1916), was originally intended for television, and was Britten’s response to the Vietnam War. Janet Baker (b. 1933) created the part of Kate Julian at the premiere and in the original cast recording. Baker, who had a rich-sounding voice that was flexible and expressive, began her career with Handel roles. In 1959 she sang Eudige in Rodelinda for the Handel Opera Society and added Ariodante (1964) and Orlando (1966) at the Barber Institute in Birmingham. She became associated with Britten’s English Opera Group at Aldeburgh as early as 1961, where she sang Dido in Purcell’s opera Lucretia and Polly in The Beggar’s Opera. For Glyndebourne, Baker reprised Dido and sang Diana/ Jupiter in Calisto by Cavalli and Penelope in Il ritorno d’Ulisse



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in patria by Monteverdi. For the Scottish Opera she expanded her range of repertoire by taking on Dido in Les Troyens by Berlioz and Octavian in Der Rosenkavalier and the composer in Ariadne aud Naxos by Strauss. Baker debuted at Covent Garden in 1966 as Hermia and also sang Kate Julian, as well as what was becoming her signature role, Berlioz’s Dido. She also sang Vitellia in La clemenza di Tito and Idamante in Idomeneo by Mozart, as well as Walton’s Cressida and Gluck’s Alcestis. In Britain, where orchestral works and oratorio are very popular, Janet Baker also sang many of the works made famous by her alto predecessors such as Elgar’s Dream of Gerontius and Sea Pictures, Brahms’s Alto Rhapsody, and Mahler’s Rückert Lieder. Benjamin Britten composed his last vocal work, the cantata Phaedra (1975), for Baker, who premiered the work at Aldeburgh.

THE UNITED STATES Marc Blitzstein (1905–1964) was a political activist composer whose pro-union musical, The Cradle Will Rock, directed by Orson Welles (1915–1985), was shut down by the Works Progress Administration in 1937, after which the cast performed the work without sets, costumes, or lights, with only Blitzstein at the piano. The principal character Moll, a prostitute, is cast as an alto, as are two other characters, Ella Hammer and Mrs. Mister. Leonard Bernstein has stated that Blitzstein’s influence on American musical theater has been “incalculable.”9 Regina (1949) was Blitzstein’s best known work, and the title role was designated mezzo-soprano for Jane Pickens (1908–1992), a Broadway singer who created it. However, it was soprano Brenda Lewis (b. 1921), the original Birdie, who became most identified with the title role in a more “operatic” version with an expanded orchestra at the New York City Opera in 1953. Blitzstein also translated and arranged Kurt Weill’s The Three Penny Opera with Lotte Lenya as Jenny. In 1952, Leonard Bernstein, heavily influenced by Blitzstein, composed Trouble in Tahiti, a domestic opera with the mezzo-soprano Nell Tangeman (1914–1965) as Dinah. The aria by the same name has been delighting audiences ever since. Tangeman was in the beginning of a successful career that was cut short by her early death. She had studied with the great Wagnerian baritone Friedrich Schorr (1888–1953), Margarete Matzenauer, and Nadia Boulanger (1887–1979). Tangeman made her New York debut as Jocasta in Stravinsky’s Oedipus Rex with Bernstein and the New York Philharmonic in 1946. The following year she sang the New York premiere of In the Beginning by Aaron Copeland (1900–1990) and created the role of Mother Goose in the world premiere of Stravinsky’s The Rake’s Progress in 1951 at La Fenice in Venice. Bernstein’s sequel to Trouble in Tahiti was A Quiet Place, which premiered on June 17, 1983, at the Houston Opera. The original version was unsuccessful and after several revisions was premiered at the Vienna State Opera with Wendy

White (b. 1953) as Dinah in 1986. White had a record of 499 performances at the Met in largely supporting roles. In 2011 she was injured by a falling platform there and never recovered her voice. She has since sued the company. Gian Carlo Menotti was the most successful and certainly most prolific composer during the middle years of the twentieth century. Menotti considered himself to be an American composer although he was an Italian citizen. Menotti composed some twenty-eight operas beginning with Amelia Goes to the Ball (Amelia al Ballo) in 1937, and many have roles for the alto voice. The Old Maid and the Thief (1939) was composed as a radio opera and received its first New York performance in 1948 at the New York City Opera with Marie Powers (1910–1973) as Miss Todd, the old maid. However, Powers will be most remembered as the creator of Madame Flora in the The Medium in 1947, a strange tale with supernatural overtones that played on Broadway as a double bill with The Telephone or L’Amour á trois for 212 performances and was recorded on film and television. Her performance of “Afraid? Am I Afraid?” from the film is one of the most powerful performances on record. Marie Powers had one of the strangest careers in opera. She left home at seventeen to study singing in Milan. She wrangled an audition with Arturo Toscanini and was cast in a small part in a Wagner opera at La Scala. According to Bruce Eder (b. 1955), Marie Powers married an Italian nobleman and, now a countess, sang Dalila and Orfeo in Paris and Monte Carlo in the 1930s. In the late 1930s, her husband died, war clouds were gathering, and her personal life as well as her career was in shambles. According to her own account, she returned to the United States with 28 cents to her name. She auditioned for the Met but was not successful. In the 1940s Powers toured the country with the San Carlo Opera as Azucena, Amneris, and La Cieca and Laura in La Gioconda. In 1947, Lanfranco Rasponi (1914–1983) introduced her to Menotti, who was casting for The Medium and he, enthralled by her strangeness, immediately engaged her. Her eccentricities were already pronounced, including her insistence upon being addressed as “Countess.” She was personally tempestuous in her expressions of faith and impatient—most especially with herself—but Menotti was sold on her from the start in her role as Madame Flora in The Medium. Once she was cast in the part, other eccentricities became apparent: her devout Catholicism motivated Powers to openly offer thanks to the statuette of the Madonna on stage nightly, and she was known for traveling through midtown Manhattan on roller skates, even on her way to Mass. But she won rave reviews as much for her acting as for her singing and became a Broadway star in The Medium when it opened in 1946. She owned the role for years after, not only giving more than two thousand performances as Madame Flora onstage, but also starring in the movie version, as well. Her portrayal was also preserved on a Columbia Masterworks cast recording of the work from 1947. Her other stage credits included Menotti’s The Consul and Nettie Fowler in a revival of Carousel in 1957.10

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The Consul, which many consider to be Menotti’s greatest work, also opened on Broadway on March 15, 1950, and ran for almost eight months. The lead character, Magda Sorel, was written for a soprano, Patricia Neway (1919–2012), but the equally important alto role of the secretary was sung by Gloria Lane in the premiere in Philadelphia, with Marie Powers as the mother. On Broadway, the secretary was sung by Rosemary Kuhlmann (b. 1922), who also created the role of the mother in Amahl and the Night Visitors, the first opera commissioned for television, which premiered live on NBC on Christmas Eve in 1951. Amahl, a superbly crafted work, directly reaches the heart of the listener and is one of the most performed operas of the present era. The opera was broadcast live for twelve consecutive Christmases with Kuhlmann as the mother. With a viewership of five million—very large for the time—Rosemary Kuhlmann became famous almost instantly. In 1952 she toured Europe with Menotti, reprising the secretary, and debuted with the New York City Opera, again as the mother in Amahl and added Carmen, Meg Page in Verdi’s Falstaff, Angelina in La Cenerentola, Nicklausse in Les contes d’Hoffman, and the tsarina in Tchaikovsky’s The Golden Slippers (Cherefvichki). As incredible as it may seem today, in the 1950s and early 1960s, the major television networks broadcast major cultural events. NBC supported a symphony orchestra with Toscanini as conductor and also the NBC opera. Rosemary Kuhlmann starred in a CBC telecast as Giorgetta in Puccini’s Il Tabarro and three more NBC telecasts: Desideria in Menotti’s The Saint of Bleeker Street, Mother Marie in Les Dialogues des Carmélites, as well as Brigham Young’s wife Sarah in Deseret by Leonard Kastle (1929–2011) in 1961. Soon after that, she retired to raise a family and later worked as an executive at the Pepsi Cola Company. Menotti composed twenty-eight operas in all and served as librettist for Samuel Barber’s Vanessa, which premiered on January 15, 1958. The alto role of Erika was created by Rosalind Elias (b. 1930), whose aria “Must the Winter Come So Soon?” is a staple in many altos’ repertoires. Elias, who also created Charmian in Barber’s Antony and Cleopatra, which opened the new Met on September 16, 1966, was a mainstay at the Metropolitan, singing for thirty seasons in fifty-three roles in 687 performances. Her major roles included Rosina, Cherubino, Dorabella, Octavian, and Carmen, as well as many supporting parts.

The last fifty years, 1965 to 2015, has seen a burgeoning of opera companies and performances around the globe. According to Operabase, since 1996 there have been 370,000 performances by more than nine hundred opera companies. Works from 1,257 different composers were played, of whom more than 630 are living. A total of 2,581 different works were given, including more than three hundred world premieres. Of the top thirty composers played (the most by Verdi at 3,335), there were no living composers. Of living composers, Philip Glass (b. 1937) was played the most at seventy-nine times.11 So it is clear that modern altos do not make their reputations with contemporary opera. There is an acerbic adage in the opera world: those who sing contemporary opera sooner or later wish they hadn’t. The next chapter mentions some of the outstanding alto singers of the modern era who are not necessarily known for the roles they create.

NOTES 1.  Marilyn Horne with Jane Scovell, The Song Continues (Fort Worth, TX: Baskerville Publishers, 2004), 218. 2. Lanfranco Rasponi, The Last Prima Donnas (New York: Knopf, 1982), 37–38. 3. Rasponi, The Last Prima Donnas, 382–83. 4.  Carl L. Bruun and Alan Blyth, “Kerstin Thorborg,” The New Grove Dictionary of Opera, vol. 4, ed. Stanley Sadie (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), 731. 5.  Richard Taruskin, “Sergey Prokofiev,” The New Grove Dictionary of Opera, vol. 3, 1135. 6.  Donald J. Grout, A Short History of Opera (New York: Columbia University Press, 1965), 554. 7.  www.operabase.com/visual.cgi?lang=en&splash=t (accessed 21 June 2015). 8. Maurice Leonard, Kathleen: The Life of Kathleen Ferrier, 1912–1953 (London: Hutchinson, 1988), 246. 9.  Howard Pollack, Marc Blitzstein: His Life, His Work, His World (New York: Oxford University Press, 2012), 1975. 10. Bruce Eder, www.allmusic.com/artist/marie-powers-mn000209 5935/biography (accessed 6 August 2015). 11.  www.operabase.com/visual.cgi?lang=en&splash=t (accessed 12 August 2015).

25 Contemporary Alto Singers

There are literally hundreds of fine contemporary alto singers enumerated in various media throughout the world. In this chapter, I list some of them with special attention to those who are particularly outstanding but with the full realization that I have had to omit some who are special favorites of some of my readers. For this I apologize. The best-known alto singer at the Metropolitan in the 1940s and 1950s was the elegant mezzo-soprano Risë Stevens (1913–2013), whose first name is pronounced with the accent on the first syllable and with an s, not a z, in the second, as she would always inform visitors. Risë means “laughter” in Norwegian. Stevens was born Risë Gus Steenberg of a Norwegian Lutheran father and a Jewish mother. Her early training was with Anna Schön-René at Juilliard, who had studied with Francesco Lamperti, Pauline Viardot, and Manuel Garcia II. Stevens declined an offer from the Metropolitan Opera and traveled to Vienna, where she continued her studies, especially coaching Octavian with Marie Gutheil-Schroder (1874–1935), who had created Schoenberg’s Erwartung in 1924. Risë Stevens made her European debut as Mignon in 1936 in the Neue Deutches Theater in Prague and also did guest performances of Orfeo and Octavian in Egypt in 1937. In September 1937, with war clouds lowering over Prague, she sang the first of what was to become her signature role—Carmen, to ecstatic notices. Stevens also sang Fricka successfully, but soon decided that Wagner was not for her. In March 1938 she also sang her only known Amneris. She then appeared as Octavian at the Vienna Staatsoper in the midst of the Anschluss and then returned to Prague, where Stevens remained until the summer of 1938, when she left for Buenos Aires, where she sang Octavian under Erich Kleiber, and then on to New York to begin her Metropolitan career. On November 22, she made her debut with the Met on tour in Philadelphia as Octavian in Der Rosenkavalier with Lotte Lehmann as the Marschallin. Her performance was enthusiastically reviewed. Samuel L. Lacier in the Evening Public Leger hailed Stevens’s contribution as

perhaps the most remarkable feature of the performance . . . rarely, if ever, has a young singer made so impressive a debut. She has everything required in an operatic artist, youth, a beautiful voice, which was exceedingly well used; a fine dramatic talent which was skillfully employed; a most attractive stage presence and a keen feeling for the histrionics of the role . . . [her] success was all the more remarkable because she was playing in the same cast with Lotte Lehmann.1

On December 17, Stevens sang Mignon in her house debut, which was broadcast over the radio, but it was Octavian that

Figure 25.1.  Risë Stevens as Octavian by Bender. Courtesy Metropolitan Opera Archives.

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“put her on the map” at the Metropolitan—that is, until her first Carmen, which premiered on December 28, 1945. For more than twenty years Risë Stevens was the outstanding alto singer at the Metropolitan where, probably as a publicity stunt, her voice was insured for $1 million. As the most famous Carmen of her day, she created a sensation in 1951 in the Tyrone Guthrie production, and twenty years later, her final performance at the Met was as the gypsy firebrand. Stevens sang 124 performances of Carmen at the Met alone, in a total of 324 appearances. Octavian (thirty-eight), Cherubino (twenty-five), Orfeo (ten), and Dalila (thirty-two) were also very successful. As a descendant of Pauline Viardot through Schön-René, it was Orfeo (February 24, 1955) that meant the most to her. A curiosity was casting her in two performances of Erda in Siegfried in 1939. Due to the shrewd management of her husband and manager, Walter Surovy (1910–2001), Risë Stevens was probably the best-known opera singer of her generation. Her Oscar-winning film Going My Way (1944) with Bing Crosby (1903–1977) and Barry Fitzgerald (1888–1961) was a big hit. Stevens also made several TV movies including Carmen, Hansel und Gretel, Der Rosenkavalier, and The Chocolate Soldier (1941) with Nelson Eddy (1901–1967). She also had popular NBC radio shows, Music from Hollywood, The Risë Stevens Show, and later, The Family Hour. She was also one of the first classical artists to be featured on the early days of television. Because of her connection with films and other media, Stevens, like Geraldine Farrar before her, was criticized as being too “Hollywood.” After her retirement Stevens’s stature grew in a different direction. Always well connected with the Metropolitan Guild, especially Mrs. August Belmont (1879–1979) and the power elite that keeps the wheels turning, Risë Stevens singlehandedly saved the Metropolitan’s 1961–1962 season. After the musicians demanded a salary increase and Rudolf Bing refused to negotiate, the board of directors announced the cancellation of the season on August 7, 1961. Stevens, all too aware of the seriousness of the situation, sent a telegram to President John F. Kennedy the same day the season was cancelled, appealing to his sense of national pride in saving a cultural organization that was esteemed worldwide. With Secretary of Labor Arthur J. Goldberg acting as mediator at Kennedy’s request, the impasse was breached and the season saved. “Soprano Risë Stevens, who had been the most active artist in seeking Presidential intervention declared: ‘Isn’t it exciting. . . . I’m happy of course and so grateful the President stepped in. . . . This is the American way. If you want to get something done, go directly to the President.’”2 Whether or not this had anything to do with Stevens’s next endeavor, she was named the co–general manager of the Metropolitan National Company, which, comprised of young singers with full orchestra and chorus, toured the United States, Canada, and Mexico from 1965 to 1967. The inaugural concert was on May 3, 1965, at the State Department in Washington, D.C. Some of the young singers she

nurtured became valued members of the parent company. The National Company closed down after only two years for two reasons—Bing’s antipathy and the anticipated financial drain on the parent company in the midst of preparing for the move to Lincoln Center, despite the offer of a gift of $1 million from Lila Acheson Wallace (1889–1984). In 1975 Risë Stevens became the president of the Mannes College of Music in New York City. Her tenure lasted just three years but she is credited with infusing new life into an institution tottering on the brink of collapse due to her fundraising efforts and the attention her celebrity attracted. For example, she persuaded Vladimir Horowitz to become a member of the piano faculty. In 1978, when she was given no support from the board of directors, she saw fit to resign. Ironically, after Stevens’s departure, in a disastrous move, the board attempted to merge Mannes with the Manhattan School of Music and was removed by the New York State Board of Regents, an event unprecedented in the history of the state. In the fall of 1980 and until 1988, Risë Stevens returned to the Met family as adviser to the young artist development program and executive director of the Metropolitan Opera regional auditions. In 1990 Stevens was honored at the Kennedy Center Awards. In 2013, like her colleague Giulietta Simionato, she passed away just before her one hundredth birthday. Christa Ludwig, a German mezzo-soprano born in Berlin, surely must be counted as one of the greatest altos of the twentieth century. Ludwig, another artist who was trained by her mother, made her debut in postwar Frankfurt as Orlovsky in Die Fledermaus. She was a member of the Frankfurt company until 1952, when she was engaged at Darmstadt, then Hannover. In 1955 Ludwig became a member of the Vienna State Opera, where she remained for thirty years and was appointed Kammersängerin in 1962. She debuted in Salzburg in 1954 as Cherubino and was a distinguished performer there until 1981. Her Bayreuth debut came in 1966 as Brangäne in Tristan und Isolde. Christa Ludwig became a favorite in the United States after her debut at the Chicago Lyric as Dorabella and at the Metropolitan as Cherubino. Soon she moved into more dramatic repertoire, such as the dyer’s wife in Strauss’s Die Frau ohne Schatten, both Octavian and the Marschalin in Der Rosenkavalier, Klytämnestra in Elektra, Ortrud in Lohengrin, Brangäne in Tristan, Fricka in both Das Rheingold and Die Walküre, Kundry in Parsifal, Waltraute in Götterdämmerung, Leonore in Fidelio, Charlotte in Werther, and Dido in Les Troyens. Ludwig also ventured into the Verdi repertoire with Amneris in Aida at Covent Garden in 1969 and Eboli at La Scala, Ulrica in Un ballo in maschera, and Lady Macbeth. At the Metropolitan, Christa Ludwig sang 121 performances of fifteen roles, the last being Fricka in Die Walküre during the 1994–1995 season. Besides opera, Ludwig was a great interpreter of lieder (Leonard Bernstein was often her accompanist) and performed most of the great orchestral repertoire, especially Bach and Mahler. In recent years she has been teaching and giving master classes all over the world.



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On January 6, 1949, an event that changed the course of opera performance in the world occurred at the Teatro La Fenice in Venice. Maria Callas, a soprano sfogato who was engaged to sing Brünnhilde in Die Walküre, had been persuaded by the conductor, Tullio Serafin, to learn and perform the taxing bel canto role of Elvira in Bellini’s I puritani in only five days. Callas brought an uncompromising integrity, expressivity, and musicality to the part, and suddenly, a vast repertory that had been neglected for a century was seen in a new light. Far from being merely decorative and amusing, the bel canto repertoire—especially the serious works of Rossini, Bellini, and Donizetti—began to be seen as vessels containing dramatic truth, and vocal embellishments, which had been mere vehicles for egoistic display, were appreciated as logical extensions of the dramatic situation. Monserrat Caballé has written a heartfelt tribute to Callas: She opened a new door for us, for all the singers in the world, a door that had been closed. Behind it was sleeping not only great music but great ideas of interpretation. She has given us the chance, those who follow her, to do things that were hardly possible before her.3

Rodolfo Celletti has also given credit where credit is due and elucidates the importance of proper vocal technique and musicality. “Bringing Rossini back into favor, which failed in the 1930s and 1940s, was successful from the early 1950s on, simply and solely because the key to the interpretation of certain aspects of the repertoire was furnished for us first by Maria Callas in Armida and Il turco in Italia, and then by Sutherland and Horne in Semiramide, Tancredi, and L’assedio di Corinto. Stendhal had realized intuitively what even today escapes the bigots and pedants. The act of creativity is not exhausted with the writing of the opera by the composer; it is crystallized and made manifest in the course of its execution. If the vocal performance is inadequate, the so-called musical values remain either unexpressed or misunderstood.”4 It should be added that the critical editions of Rossini and Verdi operas by Philip Gossett, the writings of Rodolfo Celletti, and the care in musical preparation of Richard Bonynge (b. 1930) have been very important in this effort. For me, the outstanding artist in this bel canto renaissance is Marilyn Horne. If we must categorize her, I would call her a Rossini contralto because of her rich vocal timbre, but mezzosoprano also fits, because of her fine top notes. Horne’s complete command of technique, expressive musicianship, imagination, integrity, beauty of tone, and personal magnetism are the most impressive things about her. I remember reading her statement that she “pored” over the works of Manuel Garcia II. I believe that Horne understands registration completely as the only way to negotiate bel canto literature, which typically calls for extremes of power and range as well as complete control of dynamics. Celletti’s “pedants” who complain about the differences between the powerful chest register, the middle, and the top of voices like Horne’s do not understand that the pattern of overtones causes the chest voice to sound “bassier” while

Figure 25.2.  Marilyn Horne as Adalgisa in Norma by Louis Melançon. Courtesy Metropolitan Opera Archives.

the head voice is more treble or flute-like. Playing these notes on a piano will illustrate the truth of this statement. The bel canto adage that “the scale must be even” does not mean that it should sound the same from top to bottom. With Marilyn Horne, the transitions between these registers is impeccable. During Rossini’s time, Marilyn Horne’s power and agility would have been considered great but normal. The term “coloratura,” as in “coloratura soprano,” is a relatively late term coined to dignify the limitations of small-voiced singers who sing florid music well. Amelita Galli-Curci comes to mind. We have noticed that Callas and Sutherland started as Wagnerians. Horne’s subsequent fame in the bel canto repertoire somewhat obscures the fact that she got her start in contemporary literature. Horne’s European debut came in 1956 at La Fenice in Venice, where Igor Stravinsky invited her to sing Jocasta in his Oedipus Rex. She then embarked on a three-year engagement in Gelsenkirchen, Germany, where she sang soprano roles. Horne’s performance as Marie in Wozzeck led to an engagement in the same opera at the San Francisco Opera in 1960. In 1961, a glimpse of future glory came when, as Agnese, she teamed with Joan Sutherland in concert performances of Bellini’s Beatrice di Tenda at Carnegie Hall. Further pairings with Dame Joan came as Arsace in Semiramide in Boston in 1965 and Adalgisa in Norma at Covent Garden (1967) and her Metropolitan debut (1970).

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In 1969 Marilyn Horne made her debut at La Scala, again as Jocasta in Oedipus Rex. She then sang Néocles in Rossini’s Le siège du Corinth with Beverly Sills, where she received an unprecedented seven-minute ovation in mid-act. Her other Rossini roles included Rosina in Il barbiere di Siviglia, Malcom in La donna del lago, Falliero in Bianca e Falliero, Andromache in Ermione, Calbo in Maometto II, Isabella in L’italiana in Algeri, and Angelina in La Cenerentola. In twenty-four seasons at the Met, Horne sang 252 performances of an extremely varied repertoire. Besides her deserved fame in the bel canto roles, she also sang an acclaimed Fidès in Le prophète, Amneris, Carmen, Eboli, Gluck’s Orfeo, and the title role in Handel’s Rinaldo, the first Handel opera ever sung at the Met. Horne also recorded Anita in Massenet’s La Navarraise, Laura in La Gioconda, Juno in Handel’s Semele, Giovanna Seymour in Anna Bolena and Maffeo Orsini in Lucrezia Borgia by Donizetti, Verdi’s Requiem, Mistress Quickly in Falstaff, and Azucena in Il trovatore. In concert, she once achieved the feat of singing, in a single program, Rossini arias and Brünnhilde’s immolation scene, proof of her exceptional versatility.5 Since her retirement in 1999, Marilyn Horne has been busy working with young singers through her foundation devoted to the art of the recital. She also teaches master classes at the Music Academy of the West in California and various other schools in the country. One of the memories of my time at the Met is of an elegant Cherubino sung by Teresa Berganza, a Spanish mezzo-soprano

Figure 25.3.  Frederica von Stade as Rosina by Heffernen. Courtesy Metropolitan Opera Archives.

who had a very brief career there, possibly because her voice was rather lyric for the cavernous theater. However, Berganza had a flawless technique that projected very well and impeccable taste and musicality. Her other role at the Met was Rosina, which was a model of Rossini style and expressive fioratura. I have always believed that a singer trained on Mozart would learn musical taste and take lessons learned on to other composers, especially Rossini, and even Verdi and Wagner. Teresa Berganza made her debut in 1957 in Aix-en-Provence as Dorabella and was also a well-known Sesto in La clemenza di Tito as well as Zerlina. Her Rossini roles included La Cenerentola, Isabella, Tancredi, and Isolier in La comte Ory. Older repertoire was Dido in Purcell’s opera, Octavia in L’incoronazione di Poppea, Ruggerio in Alcina, Orontea by Cesti, and Neris in Médée by Cherubini. Berganza sang at La Scala, Covent Garden, Vienna, Salzburg, Dallas, Chicago, and the Met. As her voice became weightier, she took on Carmen and Charlotte, which she sang in Edinburgh, Hamburg, San Francisco, Covent Garden, and Paris. As always, she relied on her musicality and beguiling stage presence for these roles. Not to be overlooked are her recordings of music of her native land—Enrique Granados (1867–1916), Manuel De Falla (1876–1946), Xavier Montsalvatge (1912–2002), José Serrano (1873–1941), Jésus Guridi (1886–1961), Joachin Turina (1882–1949), and the wonderful Carcelaras of Ruperto Chapi (1851–1909). John Steane writes that Teresa Berganza is as individual with this repertoire as Concita Supervia and Victoria de los Angeles (1923–2005).6 In 1992, Berganza took part in the opening ceremonies at the Barcelona Olympic Games. In recent years she has been teaching at the Escuela Superior de Música Reina Sofía in Madrid and giving master classes all over the world. In 1969, Sebastian Engleberg (1899–1979), a distinguished voice teacher at the Mannes College of Music, challenged an incredulous young mezzo-soprano named Frederica von Stade, called “Flicka” by friends and family, to enter the Metropolitan Opera National Competition. Bing was impressed by the beauty of Frederica’s voice and radiant personality and offered her a contract for 1970. Von Stade made her Met debut at the age of twenty-five as the third boy in Die Zauberflöte, and for three years she dutifully performed an array of comprimaria assignments along with the more substantial roles of Nicklausse and Suzuki. In the summer of 1971 at Santa Fe, she began to find her several career paths when she assumed one of her signature roles, Cherubino, along with Mélisande in Pelleas et Melisande, which revealed her affinity for the French repertoire, and where, with her innate understanding of contemporary music, she created the role of Maria in Heitor VillaLobos’s (1887–1959) Yerma. In 1973, von Stade was invited by Giorgio Strehler (1921– 1997), the preeminent Italian opera and theater director, to sing Cherubino for the reopening of the Paris Opera. She had an enormous success and became the definitive Cherubino of her generation, which was validated by engagements with Peter Hall (b. 1930) at Glyndebourne and Jean-Pierre Ponnelle (1932–1988) in Salzburg. She returned to the Met intermit-



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tently until 1976, where, besides Cherubino, she sang Adalgisa, Rosina, Zerlina, and Hänsel, among some lesser roles. Always aware of the lyric nature of her instrument, she turned down assignments like Eboli and Amneris and began to carve out a career of lesser-known lyric roles in smaller houses. She took on such roles as Sesto and Idamante by Mozart, Cendrillon and Cherubin of Massenet, Thomas’s Mignon, Penelope in Il ritorno d’Ulisse in patria by Monteverdi, and Vénus in Jean-Philippe Rameau’s (1683–1764) Dardanus (1739). In 1975 Flicka learned Octavian in just ten days for the Houston Grand Opera and added it to her list of trouser roles for which she became justly famous, but she considered Octavian and Charlotte in Werther “a stretch.” Of course, Rossini’s Rosina and Angelina have been featured prominently in her repertoire, as well as Arsace in Semiramide, and she has made an elegant recording of Desdemona in his Otello. Von Stade has shown her versatility by appearing in such musicals as Jerome Kern’s (1885–1945) Show Boat, A Little Night Music by Stephen Sondheim (b. 1930), and The Sound of Music by Richard Rodgers (1902–1979). She has appeared numerous times on television in such programs as A Carnegie Hall Christmas Concert and The Kennedy Center Honors. As the exception that proves the rule alluded to in the beginning of this chapter, Frederica von Stade has created a number of memorable roles in contemporary operas. Early on (1974), she originated the role of Nina in Thomas Pasatieri’s (b. 1945) The Seagull at the Houston Grand Opera, then Tina in Dominick Argento’s (b. 1927) The Aspern Papers (1988) at Dallas. She also created Marquise de Merteuil in Dangerous Liaisons by Conrad Susa (1935–2013), a part that was definitely against type for the genial von Stade. The opera premiered at the San Francisco Opera in 1994. In 2008 von Stade originated Madeline in Jake Heggie’s (b. 1961) Three Decembers and Mrs. Patrick de Rocher in his Dead Man Walking (2011) for the Houston Grand Opera. Of late, Ricky Ian Gordon (b. 1956) composed A Coffin in Egypt, which premiered in 2014 at Houston, especially for von Stade. Perhaps the most poignant of her premieres was Elegies, a concert piece for mezzo-soprano, baritone, and orchestra by Richard Danielpour (b. 1956), written in memory of von Stade’s father who was killed in World War II two months before her birth. Frederica von Stade is a prolific recording artist, with more than sixty CD and DVD recordings in all genres including complete operas, aria albums, recitals, and crossover albums. She is particularly esteemed for her interpretations of French mélodies. Of the younger group of altos, the Italian Cecilia Bartoli (b. 1966) has to be considered as among the very best. I especially admire her scholarship and technical command that enables her to revive some of the forgotten masterpieces of the past. Her album Sacrificium, which features music written for the castrati, is impressive. She also has made a study of the career of Maria Malibran in her album Maria, recorded in 2007, which includes “Qui la voce” from I puritani, which Bellini wrote for Malibran but never was performed by her. She has

Figure 25.4.  Cecilia Bartoli as Rosina by Minnie Klotz. Courtesy Metropolitan Opera Archives.

also repeated history by performing Norma, which was Pauline Viardot’s obsession. Her prolific recording output has made her today’s bestselling classical recording artist with more than ten million in sales. Cecilia Bartoli was born in Rome and first studied to be a flamenco dancer. When she began singing, she studied only with her mother, Silvana Bazzoni, who was a chorister at the Rome Opera. Following time-tested procedure, Cecilia was kept on vocalises for more than a year before being permitted to sing a song. Bartoli’s technique is very much old school, based on a mastery of the breath and a commitment to the even scale. These virtues are not understood by the vast majority of teachers today. For example, the even scale is often described as singing with the same voice for the entire range of the voice. Bartoli is a master of the stile martellato (hammered style) with which she executes rapid fiorature. This is often erroneously described as “aspirated singing,” which it most assuredly is not.7 Bartoli’s stage debut was at the age of nine as the shepherd boy in Tosca, then she went on to further study at the Accademia di Santa Cecilia, a venerable institution that has produced many of the world’s greatest musicians. At the age of nineteen, Cecilia attracted the attention of Christopher Raeburn (1928–2009), a producer for Decca Records who became her trusted adviser. Her professional debut was in Verona in 1987, and the following year she sang Rosina at

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the Schwetzingen Festival, the Zurich Opera, and the Cologne Opera. Bartoli soon attracted the attention of Herbert von Karajan (1908–1989), Daniel Barenboim (b. 1942), and Nikolaus Harnoncourt (b. 1929), with whom she was soon working. At first she concentrated on Mozart roles such as Dorabella and Zerlina with these conductors, which deepened her already innate musicality and soon attracted international attention. In 1990 she made her debut at the Opéra Bastille as Cherubino and at the Hamburg State Opera as Idamante in Idomeneo. Bartoli’s La Scala debut as Isolier in Le Comte Ory in 1991 placed her firmly among the great Rossini singers of her time, although she was only twenty-five. In 1996 she debuted at the Metropolitan as Despina in Cosi fan tutte and the following year returned as Angelina in La Cenerentola. To demonstrate her versatility, Cecilia also sang Susanna there in 1998. In 2000 she sang Donna Elvira for the Deutsche Oper in Berlin. These are roles that are listed as soprano but that lie well within the alto range. In 2005 Bartoli took on the role of Cleopatra in Handel’s Giulio Cesare and has increasingly collaborated with eminent Baroque ensembles such as Il Giardino Armonico and Les Arts Florissants and performed and recorded music from classical composers such as Gluck, Antonio Vivaldi (1678–1741), Haydn, and Salieri. We have mentioned Bartoli’s interest in early-nineteenth-century repertoire. In 2008, she revived Halévy’s Clari (written for Malibran) at the Zurich Opera. In 2012, Cecilia Bartoli was named the artistic director of the Salzburg Whitsun Festival. Under her direction and with her own performances, the festival has flourished, resulting in record ticket sales. In 1995, she was awarded the title Chevalier de l’Ordre des Arts et des Lettres by France. As I write in 2015, there is an all-American alto who, at the zenith of her worldwide career, is making friends for classical music in such unlikely venues as the World Series. Kansas City is proud of Joyce DiDonato (b. 1969), born Joyce

Figure 25.5.  Joyce DiDonato as Rosina by Ken Howard. Courtesy Metropolitan Opera Archives.

Flaherty, who performed “The Star Spangled Banner” for her hometown team, the Royals, in the seventh game of the 2014 World Series. DiDonato projects a sincerity and infectious enthusiasm for her work that is truly arresting. Her exemplary technique, especially in repertoire by Handel and Rossini, places her on the highest levels of her art. Joyce’s early career is a familiar American story of a girl who became interested in opera only in her junior year in college, attended the Academy of Vocal Arts in Philadelphia, and then went through several apprentice programs singing supporting roles and winning important competitions. Her professional career began in 1998 when she was engaged by several regional opera companies where she created roles in Mark Adamo’s (b. 1962) Little Women and Tod Machover’s (b. 1953) Resurrection. However, the paths leading to her future reputation began with Cherubino for Santa Fe and Isabella in L’Italiana in Algeri for the New Israeli Opera. DiDonato’s career took a quantum leap when she appeared at La Scala as Angelina in La Cenerentola in the 2000–2001 season. The following year featured DiDonato’s debuts for several opera companies, including Dorabella in Washington, Sesto in Handel’s Giulio Cesare for the Netherlands Opera, Rosina for the Opéra National de Paris, Cherubino for the Bavarian State Opera in Munich under Zubin Mehta (b. 1936), as well as a return to Santa Fe for Annio in Mozart’s La clemenza di Tito. The concert highlight was a performance of Vivaldi’s Gloria at La Scala. During 2002 and 2003, Joyce debuted in Jake Heggie’s Dead Man Walking at the New York City Opera, Sharp Ears in Janáček’s The Cunning Little Vixen with John Eliot Gardiner (b. 1943) at the Royal Opera House in London, and Rosina in Tokyo. In the same year, DiDonato began her relationship with the Rossini Festival in Pesaro with the eponymous role of Adina and also reprised Cherubino with the Opéra Bastille. Her concert duties included a tour with Les Musiciens de Louvre in Berlioz’s Les nuits d’été and her Carnegie Hall debut in Bach’s Mass in B Minor. The following season (2003–2004), Rosina was the role in which DiDonato made her San Francisco debut, as well as in a return to Houston. She appeared at the Netherlands Opera and the festival in Aix-en-Provence as Idamante in Mozart’s Idomeneo. The season also included many concert performances such as those with the Orchestre National de France and the Hollywood Bowl. Continuing her bel canto success, Joyce sang Elisabetta in Donizetti’s Maria Stuarda for the Grand Théâtre de Genève, La Cenerentola at La Scala, and Rosina in a new production at Pesaro during the 2004–2005 season. The following season she made her Metropolitan Opera debut as Cherubino and also sang Stéphano in Gounod’s Roméo et Juliette. After Rosina at the Royal Opera House in London, DiDonato returned to Geneva for her first Sesto in La clemenza di Tito and began a collaboration with William Christie (b. 1944) and Les Arts Florissants in Handel’s oratorio Hercules (1745) at the Brooklyn Academy of Music and the Barbican Theater in London.



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She then assumed the eponymous role in Cendrillon by Massenet in Santa Fe. Strauss was the centerpiece of DiDonato’s 2006–2007 season when she sang the composer in Ariadne auf Naxos at the Teatro Real in Madrid and Octavian in Der Rosenkavalier in San Francisco. She returned to the Met as Rosina and reprised Idamante for the Opera National in Paris and Angelina for Houston. She also did an extensive recital tour of the United States and Europe. In the following season, DiDonato debuted at the Liceu in Barcelona as Angelina and as Rosina at the Lyric Opera of Chicago. She continued her forays into the Handel repertoire with Ariodante (1735) and Alcina (1735) in Geneva and also recorded a recital of Handel arias in Brussels. DiDonato also sang a role that was to become a favorite of hers (and many other great altos), Romeo in Bellini’s I Capuleti e I Montecci with the Opéra Bastille. In 2009, DiDonato was performing Rosina at Covent Garden when she slipped and broke her right fibula. She finished the performance on crutches and sang the remaining five performances from a wheelchair, a feat that surely earned her the title of “trooper.” She returned to Houston for Berlioz’s Béatrice et Bénédict and back to the Opéra National in Paris for Idamante, then debuted at the Vienna State Opera as Rosina. DiDonato also sang several orchestral concerts, including the New York Philharmonic and the Metropolitan Opera Orchestra with James Levine. In 2011, DiDonato reprised Isolier in Le comte Ory at the Met and in 2012 took over the role of Mary Stuart in Maria Stuarda at Houston. In 2013 she began a series of performances of what has become a signature role of hers, Elena in Rossini’s La donna del lago with a new production at Covent Garden. She reprised the role at Santa Fe and then in 2014 had a triumph singing the part at the Metropolitan Opera. Elena was created by the great Isabella Colbran and Joyce DiDonato recorded a wonderful CD of Colbran arias called Colbran the Muse. She is a prolific recording artist and has won many awards and honors—a great artist indeed.

BRIEF BIOGRAPHIES OF CONTEMPORARY ALTO ARTISTS The following are brief thumbnail sketches of well-known alto artists of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, some of whom have been briefly mentioned in the preceding text. All are worthy of mention, but space limitations prevent more thorough investigation of their careers. However, since we now live in the Information Age, I invite readers to follow up by reading about and listening to their favorites in greater depth. Betty Allen (1927–2009) was an operatic mezzo-soprano who helped break down many racial barriers in the world of classical music. A special favorite of Leonard Bernstein, Allen appeared many times with the New York Philharmonic, where she was known for her performances of the works of American composers. Allen also appeared with many of the great artists

of her time. In later years she founded the Harlem School for the Arts and taught at the Manhattan School of Music. Marian Anderson (1897–1993) was an iconic artist whose rich, resonant contralto voice was counted among the greatest of the century. Having no dramatic training, Anderson refused numerous European operatic assignments, appearing only in recital and orchestral performances between 1925 and 1965. In 1939 she was denied permission by the Daughters of the American Revolution to sing a concert for a mixed audience in Constitution Hall. An indignant Eleanor Roosevelt arranged for an open-air concert at the Lincoln Memorial, instead, for an audience of 75,000, and millions on the radio. This concert was one of the turning points against racism in America. In 1955 Rudolf Bing engaged Marian Anderson as Ulrica in Un ballo in maschera, breaking the color barrier at the Metropolitan. Agnes Baltsa (b. 1943) is a leading Greek mezzo-soprano who debuted in Frankfurt as Cherubino in 1968. She was a favorite of Herbert von Karajan at Salzburg and was named Kammersängerin by the Vienna Staatsoper in 1980. Baltsa’s best-known role is Carmen, and she has also appeared in a wide variety of parts such as Dorabella, Rosina, Angelina, Arsace in Semiramide, Isabella in L’italiana in Algeri, Santuzza, Dalila, and the Verdi heroines Amneris, Preziosilla in La forza del destino, Azucena, Eboli, Romeo in Bellini’s I Capuleti e i Montecchi, and the title role in Donizetti’s Maria Stuarda. Fedora Barbieri (1920–2003) was an Italian mezzo-soprano with one of the longest careers in operatic history. She made her debut in 1940 and sang into the 1990s. Barbieri made her Met debut on Rudolf Bing’s opening night on November 6, 1950, as Eboli in Don Carlo and subsequently sang ninety-six performances of eleven operas there. Fedora Barbieri was a frequent partner of as well as a close friend to Maria Callas in the 1950s. Her portrayal of Amneris on the recording of Aida with Jussi Björling (1911–1960) and the Verdi Requiem conducted by Toscanini are classics. Cathy Berberian (1925–1983) was born in Attleboro, Massachusetts, to Armenian parents. She was a force in contemporary avant-garde music as a singer, composer, and author. Berberian was married to the composer Luciano Berio (1925–2003) from 1950 to 1964. Berio, Igor Stravinsky, William Walton, Hans Werner Henze (1926–2012), Sylvano Bussotti (b. 1931), Anthony Burgess (1917–1993), and John Cage (1912–1992) composed music written for her special vocal abilities. These included a three-octave range and an assortment of shrieks, hisses, grunts, growls, and shouts. Although a resident of Italy for most of her life, Berberian was also a teacher at Vancouver University and the Rheinische Musikschule in Cologne as well as in master classes all over the world. Jane Berbié (b. 1931) is a French mezzo-soprano particularly associated with the lyric roles of Mozart and Rossini. She made her debut in Toulouse as Nicklause in Les contes d’Hoffmann in 1954. From then on she appeared in the standard French repertoire such as Carmen, Mignon, and Roméo et Juliette and made her debut at the Paris Opéra in 1959

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as Concepción in Ravel’s L’heure espagnole. In the 1960s her other roles included several characters in Ravel’s L’enfant et les sortilèges, Gontran in Emmanuel Chabrier’s (1841–1994) Une éducation manquée, and Ascanio in Benvenuto Cellini by Berlioz. From then on Berbié began engagements at La Scala, the Royal Opera House in London, the Liceau in Barcelona, and the festivals in Salzburg and Glyndebourne. Frances Bible (1919–2001), an American mezzo-soprano born in Sackets Harbor, New York, would be my candidate for the most underappreciated alto artist of the twentieth century. Bible had a thirty-year career at the New York City Opera where she sang a vast range of repertoire. She did sing in other companies, such as Houston and San Francisco and very briefly in Europe, but was basically a hometown girl. Martin Bernheimer (b. 1936) neatly summed up her career in an obituary in Opera News: Frances Bible was cheated by destiny. She never quite achieved the international recognition she deserved. Bible had it all—a mellow, wide-ranging mezzo-soprano, an attractive stage presence, genuine theatrical flair, a probing mind and a technique that allowed her to sing bel canto filigree one night, Verdian drama the next. She was one of the rare American singers who savor the English language. She understood the value of economy, never stooping to easy effects. Perhaps she was too versatile, too tasteful and—dare one say it?—too intelligent for her own good.8

Bible was known for trouser roles such as Cherubino, Octavian, Oberon in Britten’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Nicklausse, Siebel, Hänsel, and of course, Cherubino, but she was also appreciated as Amneris, Azucena, Ulrica, Ottavia in Monteverdi’s L’incoronazione di Poppea, Jocasta in Oedipus Rex of Stravinsky, the title role in The Rape of Lucretia by Britten, and Cornelia in Handel’s Giulio Cesare, among many other parts. Frances Bible also created several roles in the adventuresome repertory of the New York City Opera. Elaine Bonazzi (b. 1936) is another versatile alto performer whose major career was centered on the New York City Opera, as well as the Sante Fe and the Washington National Opera. An excellent actress, Bonazzi specialized in character parts such as Gertrude Stein in Virgil Thompson’s (1896–1989) The Mother of Us All, Baba the Turk in The Rake’s Progress by Stravinsky, and the secretary in Menotti’s The Consul, among many other parts. Bonazzi created several roles in contemporary operas by Dominick Argento (b. 1927), David Carlson (b. 1952), Carlisle Floyd (b. 1926), Gian Carlo Menotti, Ned Rorem (b. 1923), and Thomas Pasatieri. Olga Borodina (b. 1963) is a Russian dramatic mezzosoprano who has established an outstanding career in all the major opera houses of the world. She joined the Kirov opera in the role of Siebel while still a student. Borodina won international competitions and made television broadcasts as Marina in Boris Godunov and Hélène Buzekova in War and Peace, which brought her to the attention of Western producers. Marina was the role she sang in her debuts in Paris in 1992 and

Salzburg and the Metropolitan Opera in 1997. Further Russian roles include Lyubasha in The Tsar’s Bride, Laura in The Stone Guest by Dargomyzhsky, and the title role in Musorgsky’s Salammbô (in concert). Borodina is esteemed in French repertoire and made her Covent Garden debut in 1992 as Dalila opposite Placidó Domingo (b. 1941). She also sang Carmen at the Met to acclaim but walked out of La Scala when asked to sing the original version with spoken dialogue. She sang Angelina at Covent Garden in 1994 and in her debut at San Francisco in 1995. Verdi was represented by her first Amneris in Vienna in 1998 and the Met in 2001. On the night of the premiere of L’italiana in Algeri at the Vienna Staatsoper in 2006 it was announced from the stage that Unfortunately, during the rehearsals an atmosphere developed which has made the Vienna State Opera, the management, decide to distance itself from an engagement [with Borodina], not just for this production, but also for all others.9

Agnes Baltsa, although having an injured leg, graciously agreed to sing the performance. Grace Bumbry (b. 1937) was another alto who was not satisfied with the range of repertoire afforded mezzo-sopranos and who ventured into the higher realms. Her wide range and excellent coloratura technique enabled her to emulate the feats of some of her predecessors like Pasta, who created the role of Norma. We would probably not be amiss if we categorized Bumbry as a soprano sfogato. However, for my taste, I prefer her in the alto roles that required less physical effort for her. Nevertheless, her achievements in the soprano repertoire during the 1970s and 1980s was impressive, with title roles in Turandot, Salome, Medea, Norma, and Aida, as well as Elisabeth in Tannhäuser, both of the Verdi Leonoras (Il trovatore and La forza del destino), Lady Macbeth, Elvira in Ernani, and Chiméne in Massenet’s Le Cid and Bess (Porgy and Bess). Bumbry was probably the outstanding Carmen of her generation and in the alto repertoire to which she returned in the 1990s. She scored many successes, especially as Venus in Tannhäuser, which garnered a thirty-minute ovation at Bayreuth. Other alto parts were Dalila, Cassandre and Didon in Les Troyens, the eponymous Hérodiade, and Gluck’s Orfeo, Azucena, Ulrica, Poppea, and Baba, and the Turk in Stravinsky’s The Rake’s Progress. Viorica Cortez (b. 1935) was born in Romania and later naturalized as a French citizen. Cortez had a big, dark-colored, resonant voice, sang with great passion, and was a beautiful woman as well. Living in Romania, which may have been the most hardline of the communist countries, she had great difficulty in gaining traction at the beginning of her career. She graduated from the Bucharest Conservatory in 1964, won important competitions, and was engaged by the Romanian National Opera in 1967. She toured the country and several neighboring lands as Mignon, Princess Eboli, Amneris, Azucena, Leonora in La Favorita, and Charlotte in Werther. In the



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same year Georg Solti (1912–1997) engaged Cortez for a new production of Carmen at Covent Garden in London, a part she subsequently sang 278 times. By 1970 Cortez was in demand in opera houses worldwide, but like other artists in Eastern Bloc countries, she had grave difficulty in getting out of Romania and lost many engagements for political reasons. She was in Naples for a series of performances of Samson et Dalila with Mario del Monaco (1915–1982) and decided not to return to Romania. From then on, her career accelerated with debuts at La Scala (Samson et Dalila), the Metropolitan (Carmen), and Chicago, where she began a rewarding partnership with Monserrat Caballé as Elisabetta in Maria Stuarda and subsequently in Norma, Don Carlo, and Il trovatore in many opera houses. During the 1970s Cortez added such divergent roles as Klytämnestra in Elektra, Jocasta in Stravinsky’s Oedipus Rex, Marina in Boris Godunov, and Tancredi in Tancredi. The frenetic activities of the previous two decades began to catch up with Cortez in the 1980s and she was frequently indisposed. However, she was still able to fulfill many important engagements and became more cautious with her schedule. Cortez sang seven seasons with the Met with sixty-four performances of six works, including Giulietta in Les contes d’Hoffmann. In Paris she took on Fenena in Nabucco with Grace Bumbry and Sherrill Milnes (b. 1935), as well as Ulrica in Un ballo in maschera. During the 1980s and 1990s, Cortez began to transition into less vocally demanding but more theatrical parts such as La Cieca in La Gioconda, Madame Flora in The Medium, La Principessa in Suor Angelica, La Marquise de Berkenfield in Donizetti’s La fille du regiment, Dame Quickly, and Madame de Croissy in Les dialogues des Carmélites. Cortez was still singing into the 2000s with several character roles including that favorite of older altos—the old countess in Tchaikovsky’s Pique Dame. Jan DeGaetani (1933–1989) was an alto singer known for her exceptional musicianship, accuracy, intelligence, wide range, and technique, which enabled her to be the go-to singer of contemporary music of the 1960s and 1970s. DeGaetani recorded a definitive rendition of Perriot Lunaire, Arnold Schoenberg’s great cycle that utilizes Sprechstimme or speech song. She also premiered George Crumb’s (b. 1929) Ancient Voices of Children, among many other works the composer wrote for her. DeGaetani, a student of Sergius Kagen (1909– 1964) at Juilliard, was also a great lieder singer but appeared in opera very rarely. DeGaetani taught at Eastman and numbered Dawn Upshaw (b. 1960) and René Fleming (b. 1959) among her pupils. She died in Rochester, New York, of leukemia at the age of fifty-six. Helge Dernesch (b. 1939) is an Austrian alto singer who also ventured into soprano territory, first as a lyric, then dramatic, and ultimately returned to more comfortable territory as a mezzo-soprano. Her voice has great richness and power, and her strikingly handsome stage appearance and intense acting make her a compelling performer.10 Dernesch made her debut as Marina in Boris Godunov at the Berne Opera, and Wiesbaden, Cologne, and Bayreuth soon

followed. At the Wagner Festival she sang Freia, Guntrune, and Eva, followed by the Scottish Opera, where she sang Fidelio (1970), Brünnhilde, Isolde, Ariadne, the Marschallin, and Cassandra in Les Troyens. At Salzburg she sang Brünnhilde in Siegfried and Götterdämmerung, Leonore (Fidelio), and Isolde. At Covent Garden she added Sieglinde, the dyer’s wife, the nurse (Die Frau ohne Schatten), and Chrysothemis. Fidelio was the role for her Chicago (1971) and Vienna Staatsoper (1972) debuts. Dernesch then returned to alto roles like Klytämnestra and Mistress Quickly. In 1985 she sang Marfa in Khovanshchina for her debut at the Met, and subsequently Olovsky in Die Fledermaus, Herodias in Salome, Erda and Fricka (Das Rheingold and Die Walküre), Waltraute in Götterdämmerung, Adelaide in Strauss’s Arabella, the nurse in Die Frau ohne Schatten, Madame de Croissy in Les Dialogues des Carmélites, and Leocadia Begbick in The Rise and Fall of the City of Mahagonny by Kurt Weill. Mignon Dunn (b. 1928) was born in Tennessee and made her official debut in 1955 with the New Orleans Opera as Carmen along with the great bass Norman Treigle (1927–1975) in his first Escamillo. The following year Dunn debuted at the New York City Opera as the fourth lady in Troilus and Cressida by William Walton, returning sporadically to the New York City Opera over the years. In 1958 Mignon Dunn sang the first of her 658 performances, both large and small, as a pillar of the Metropolitan Opera. She debuted in the role of the nurse in Boris Godunov and went on to sing all the major roles in the operatic canon for mezzo-soprano—Amneris, Ulrica, Santuzza, Eboli, Klytämnestra, the nurse, Laura (La Gioconda), Waltraute, Kundry, Herodias, Venus, Brangäne, and Dalila, to name a few. Dunn also sang with the Teatro alla Scala, Vienna Staatsoper, Covent Garden, Paris Opéra, Bol’shoy Opera, Teatro Colón, and the Verona Arena. Mignon Dunn has been a member of the faculty at the Manhattan School of Music since 1988. Brigitte Fassbaender (b. 1939) is a distinguished German mezzo-soprano who studied voice with her father, Willi Domgraf-Fassbaender (1897–1978), a fine baritone known particularly for his performances of Mozart. Brigitte made her debut at the Bavarian State Opera as Nicklausse in The Tales of Hoffmann in 1961. She sang one of her signature roles, Octavian, in Munich in 1967 and debuted with it at Covent Garden in 1971 and the Metropolitan in 1974. She has portrayed Prince Orlofsky in the movies, appeared frequently on television, and recorded numerous lieder, concert works, and also speaking roles since her retirement from opera. Fassbaender has many talents. She was opera director at the Staatstheater Braunschweig from 1995 to 1997 and became the Intendantin (managing director) of the Tiroler Landrestheater in Innsbruck from 1999 to 2012, where she wrote the libretti for two successful musicals. Fassbaender holds the title Kammersängerin from both the Vienna Staatsoper and the Bavarian State Opera and is an honorary Chevalier of the Légion d’honneur. Maureen Forrester (1930–2010) was a distinguished Canadian singer who had much in common with Kathleen

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Ferrier. Both had extraordinary contralto voices, came from modest circumstances, left school early to go to work to contribute to the family finances, were esteemed by Bruno Walter, and were famous for their performances of Gustav Mahler’s works. Forrester made her concert debut in the Beethoven Ninth with the Montreal Symphony under Otto Klemperer in December 1953.11 She then toured Canada and Europe with Jeunesses Musicales. Forrester’s New York debut in 1956 was an extraordinarily successful Town Hall recital that garnered engagements with several American symphony orchestras. She was engaged by Bruno Walter for a recording of Mahler’s Symphony No. 2 (Resurrection) and worked with Walter on the interpretation of Mahler’s works. Forrester did perform opera and one of her most successful operatic stints was as Cornelia in Handel’s Giulio Cesare at the New York City Opera with Beverly Sills and Norman Treigle in 1966, which was recorded. In 1975 she also sang Erda in Das Rheingold and Siegfried and Ulrica in Ballo in maschera at the Met. Maureen Forrester was a champion of works by Canadian composers. One of my enduring memories was her performance of the searing cycle I Never Saw Another Butterfly by Srul Irving Glick (1934–2002) set to poems by the children of the Terezin concentration camp in what is now the Czech Republic. Maureen Forrester died in Toronto on June 16, 2010, after a long battle with dementia. Elïna Garanča (b. 1976), a Latvian lyric mezzo-soprano, is having an outstanding career, especially in operas of Mozart and Rossini. Garanča’s performance of Annio in La clemenza di Tito at Salzburg attracted international attention, and she was engaged by the Vienna Staatsoper for Charlotte in Werther and Dorabella in Cosi fan tutte, repeating Dorabella in Paris directed by Patrice Chéreau (1944–2013). Garanča’s Metropolitan Opera debut came in 2008 as Rosina in Il barbiere di Siviglia to enthusiastic reviews, and she stepped up to Carmen in 2010. Vivica Geneaux (b. 1969) is a light mezzo-soprano from Fairbanks, Alaska, who has specialized in Baroque opera with an emphasis on musico repertoire. Of her twenty-eight major parts, twenty are pants roles. Geneaux also ventures into the Rossini repertoire with Rosina, Angelina, and Isabella—roles she has sung in more than two hundred performances all over the world. Like Cecilia Bartoli, Geneaux is a musical scholar and has performed and recorded works commemorating legendary artists of the distant past such as Farinelli and Faustina Bordoni and reviving forgotten works by Hasse and Vivaldi. Gail Gilmore (b. 1950) is an American mezzo-soprano who was born in Washington, D.C., and raised in New Orleans. After graduating from the Music School of Indiana University with a master’s degree, Gilmore began her stage career in Giessen, Germany, as Eboli in Don Carlos and soon moved on to Krefeld, where she was assigned Kavalier roles such as Cherubino, Hänsel, and Octavian. However, the direction of her future career became apparent when Gilmore sang Brangäne in Tristan und Isolde. She moved on to the Hessisches Staatstheater Wiesbaden, where she added Adriano in Wagner’s Rienzi

and Venus in Tannhäuser to her repertoire. Gilmore first sang the role she became best known for—Kundry in Parsifal—in Nürnberg. Her performance of Kundry in Frankfurt led to engagements at La Fenice in Venice and then on to the Metropolitan in 1986. She added Venus in Tannhäuser, Fricka in Das Rheingold and Die Walküre, and the composer in Ariadne from 1987 to 1988 at the Met. In the Arena di Verona, Gilmore sang Amneris, Ulrica, and Carmen opposite José Carreras (b. 1946). Gail Gilmore could probably also be classified as a soprano sfogato since she had an exceptionally wide range in more than forty roles and took on Ortrud as well as Leonore in Fidelio, Tosca, Turandot, Elektra, and Salome. Since 2010, in addition to teaching voice, Gilmore has been a guest professor of social psychology at the University of WürzburgSchweinfurt in Germany. Susan Graham (b. 1960) from Roswell, New Mexico, is one of the outstanding artists at the Metropolitan Opera and also one of the most versatile singers on the contemporary scene. An excellent musician, Susan studied piano for thirteen years. She was a winner of the National Council Auditions in 1988 and has since made 158 appearances at the Met, first singing supporting roles and then many important parts such as Cherubino, Octavian, Charlotte in Werther, the title role in Iphigénie en Tauride, Hanna in The Merry Widow, and many others. She created Jordan Baker in 1999 in The Great Gatsby by John Harbison (b. 1938) to excellent reviews. Graham’s international debut came in 1993 at Salzburg as Cecilius in Mozart’s Lucio Silla and then on to Covent Garden in 1994 as Chérubin in Massenet’s opera. She also appeared at La Scala, the Vienna Staatsoper, Glyndebourne, and the Paris Opéra, where her affinity for the French repertoire was appreciated in Berlioz’s Béatrice and Bénédict and Marguerite in La damnation de Faust as well as Charlotte in Werther. The personable Susan Graham is often called upon to host events like the Metropolitan Council’s National Auditions and Kennedy Center Awards. She sang for George W. Bush’s second inauguration and Senator Edward Kennedy’s funeral. She is also a U.S. delegate to UNESCO, the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization. Julia Hamari (b. 1942) is a Hungarian alto who has had an extensive career in both opera and concert repertoire. Hamari made her solo debut in Bach’s St. Matthew Passion conducted by Karl Richter (1926–1981) in 1966 and has been at the highest levels of the musical world ever since. An admired musician as well as a great singer, Hamari has collaborated with the world’s greatest conductors. She has had a prolific career in performing and recording the music of Bach with conductors Helmuth Rilling (b. 1933), Helmut Winschermann (b. 1920), Wolfgang Gönnenwein (1933–2015), Karl Münchinger (1915–1990), Karl Böhm, Lamberto Gardelli (1915–1998), and Carlo Maria Giulini (1914–2005). Hamari’s operatic debut was Mercedes in Carmen, which she sang with Grace Bumbry and Jon Vickers conducted by Herbert von Karajan. Later she assayed the title role at the Staatsoper Stuttgart under Carlos Kleiber (1930–2004).



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Hamari was well known for Rossini and Mozart roles: Malcom in La donna del lago, Angelina in La Cenerentola, Rosina in Il barbiere di Siviglia, Dorabella, Despina, Cherubino, and Sesto in La clemenza di Tito. Her Met debut was as Rosina in 1982. In 1989 Hamari began teaching at the Hochschule für Musik, Internationale Bachakademie Stuttgart, and the Oregon Bach Festival (since 1982). Margaret Harshaw (1909–1997) was an American mezzosoprano who moved up to dramatic soprano, where she remained. Harshaw was also a renowned teacher at Indiana University and the Curtiss Institute of Music in Philadelphia. She was another alto singer who worked for the telephone company upon graduation from high school. Harshaw entered the Curtiss School of Music in 1932 and won several competitions. Her professional debut was as Azucena for the Philadelphia Operatic Society in 1934. Harshaw entered the graduate program at Julliard in 1936, where she studied with Anna Schön-Rene. For the next few years she sang at small venues like Chautauqua, and in 1942 she won the Metropolitan Opera’s “Auditions of the Air.” Margaret Harshaw debuted at the Met as the second norn in Götterdämmerung on November 23, 1942, and for nine seasons became the mezzo-soprano pillar of the Wagnerian wing at the Met. Her roles included Brangäne in Tristan und Isolde, Erda, Flosshilde and Fricka in Das Rheingold, Erda in Siegfried, the first norn and Waltraute in Götterdämmerung, Fricka and Schwertleite in Die Walküre, Magdalene in Die Meistersinger, Mary in Der Flegende Holländer, Ortrud in Lohengrin, Venus in Tannhäuser, and Kundry in Parsifal. In addition, she was a powerful Verdi mezzo as Azucena, Ulrica, Amneris, and Mistress Quickly, besides a number of other roles by various composers. In 1950 Harshaw moved up into the hochdramatischer sopran category as Senta in Der Flegende Holländer and became the leading Wagnerian soprano from 1954 to 1964 at the Metropolitan as Brünnhilde in all the Ring operas, Elisabeth, Isolde, Sieglinde, as well as Kundry and Ortrud. With a total of thirtynine roles in twenty-five works at the Metropolitan for a total of 375 performances, Margaret Harshaw portrayed more Wagnerian heroines than any other singer in history.12 She was also a guest artist in many opera houses in the United States, Europe, and South America, such as the Opéra National de Paris, San Francisco, Royal Opera in London, the Glyndebourne Festival, and the opera companies in Philadelphia. Elisabeth Höngen (1906–1997) was a German mezzosoprano who was known for her expressive musicality and arresting stage presence. She made her debut in Wuppertal in 1933 and sang Lady Macbeth during her first season. She was engaged at Düsseldorf and Dresden and then joined the Vienna Staatsoper in 1943. After the war Höngen appeared at Covent Garden in 1947 as Dorabella and Herodias and at Salzburg from 1948 to 1950, where she sang Orpheus, Clairon in Strauss’s Capriccio, Lucretia in Britten’s opera, and created the role of Bebett in Julietta by Heimo Erbse (1924–2005). In 1950 Höngen participated in the famous live recording of The Ring from La Scala with Kirsten Flagstad and Wilhelm Furt-

wängler conducting. In 1951 she sang at Bayreuth as Fricka and Waltraute and joined the Metropolitan in 1952, where she sang Herodias, Klytämnestra, and Waltraute. Besides the roles mentioned, her repertoire included Amneris, Eboli, Venus and Adriano (Rienzi), Carmen, the nurse and the dyer’s wife (Die Frau ohne Schatten), and Baba the Turk (The Rake’s Progress). Vesselina Kasarova was born in 1969 in Stara Zagora, Bulgaria, and began the study of piano at the age of four, earned her degree as a concert pianist, and switched to the study of voice in 1987. Kasarova made her debut at the Zurich Opera in 1989 singing Waltraute and the second norn in Götterdämmerung. She then moved on to the Vienna Staatsoper in 1991 where she debuted as Rosina and, in Salzburg in the same year, as Annio in La clemenza di Tito under Sir Colin Davis (1927–2013). From 1992 in Salzburg she performed in several other Mozart operas—Idomeneo, Mitridate, Cosi fan tutte, Ombra felice (a pasticcio)—and Berlioz’s Le damnation de Faust. In her later years, Vesselina Kasarova took on Carmen and other heavier parts such as Eboli, Dalila, Charlotte, Venus, and Marina, while continuing to sing bel canto repertoire. She was named Bayerische Kammersängerin in 2005 and Östereichische Kammersängerin in 2010. Ildikó Komlósi (b. 1959), a Hungarian mezzo-soprano, began her career at the very top as the winner of the Pavarotti International Competition in 1986 with a performance of the Verdi Requiem opposite the great tenor. Soon important engagements followed at the Vienna Staatsoper, La Scala, Frankfurt Staatsoper, Teatro Municipal in Santiago de Chile, the Metropolitan Opera and Carnegie Hall in New York, the Teatro San Carlo in Naples, the Maggio Musicale Fiorentino in Florence, the Arena di Verona, the Royal Opera House Covent Garden, and Théâtre de La Monnaie in Brussels. Komlósi’s repertoire is eclectic: Judith in Bartók’s Bluebeard’s Castle, Elvira in Don Giovanni, Carmen, Santuzza in Cavalleria Rusticana, Amneris, Jocasta in Oedipus Rex, Kundry in Parsifal, Princess Eboli, Preziosilla in La forza del destino, the nurse in Die Frau ohne Schatten, Cassandre in Les Troyens, Laura in La Gioconda, and Charlotte in Werther. Magdalena Kožená (b. 1973), a Czech lyric mezzosoprano, is the daughter of two scientists and is married to Sir Simon Rattle (b. 1955). Kožená (Lady Rattle) was signed by Deutsche Grammophon early in her career and has made a number of recordings featuring Baroque composers with eminent conductors such as Marc Minkowski (b. 1962). Kožená has presented recitals all over the world including Tokyo, New York, and all the major cities of Europe. In opera, the music of Mozart is featured in Kožená’s career— Sesto in La Clemenza di Tito at Edinburgh, Cherubino at the Aix-en-Provence Festival, Zerlina at Salzburg under Nicolaus Harnoncourt, Idamante at Glyndebourne, and Dorabella, Zerlina, and Cherubino at the Metropolitan. She has also been featured in earlier works—Gluck’s Orphée under John Eliot Gardiner, Nerone in Monteverdi’s L’incoronazione di Poppea in Vienna, and both Sesto and Cleopatra in Handel’s Giulio Cesare. A completely different genre for Kožená is Melisande in Debussy’s masterpiece, which she reprised in several different productions,

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including the centenary performance at the Opéra Comique in Paris under Minkowski. Jean Kraft (b. 1940) is another gifted alto who began as a pianist and became enthralled with singing at a young age. In 1960 Kraft made her professional debut at the New York City Opera as the mother in Hugo Weisgall’s (1912–1997) Six Characters in Search of an Author and continued with the company during the 1960s. Kraft was an outstanding musician who played clarinet and trumpet as well as the piano and was assigned a number of contemporary parts as well as the traditional ones. While at the New York City Opera she sang Miss Jessel in Britten’s The Turn of the Screw, Maud Lowder in Douglas Moore’s (1893–1969) The Wings of the Dove, death in Stravinsky’s The Nightingale, Sara Chicken in Robert Ward’s (1917–2013) The Lady from Colorado, and Penelope in Help, Help, the Globolinks! by Menotti. Jean Kraft was also very active at the Sante Fe Opera for twenty-four years starting with her debut in 1965 as Adelaide von Waldner in Strauss’s Arabella. Among many outstanding appearances, Madame de Croissy in Les Dialogues des Carmélites, Mother Goose in Stravinsky’s The Rake’s Progress, Margaret in Wozzeck and the Countess Geschwitz in Lulu by Alban Berg, Ninon in the U.S. premiere of The Devils of Loudun by Krzysztof Penderecki (b. 1933), Lapérouse in the U.S. premiere of Aribert Reimann’s (b. 1936) Melusine, Kate Julian in Britten’s Owen Wingrave, Genevieve in Pelléas et Mélisande, Miss Pick in Paul Hindemith’s (1895–1963) News of the Day, May in Hans Werner Henze’s We Come to the River, and Juno in the world premiere of The Tempest by John Eaton (b. 1935) are worthy of special attention. Although never considered a star, Jean Kraft was extremely valuable to the Metropolitan Opera, where she sang 784 performances of forty-four roles in the 1970s and 1980s. Most were comprimaria parts, but she did have the opportunity to sing leading roles: Herodias in Salome, Ulrica, Federica in Verdi’s Luisa Miller, Gertrud in Hänsel und Gretel, and Madame de Croissy, which could be considered her signature role. Jennifer Larmore (b. 1958) is an American mezzo-soprano from Atlanta, Georgia. Larmore has built an enviable reputation in the bel canto repertoire in important opera houses throughout the world. Larmore made her professional debut at the Opéra de Nice as Sesto in La clemenza di Tito in 1986 and sang her signature Rosina at Strasbourg in 1988. In 1992 Larmore made her Covent Garden debut as Rosina and at La Scala as Isolier in Le comte Ory. In 1994, Larmore won the prestigious Richard Tucker Award and made her debut at Carnegie Hall as Romeo in Bellini’s I Capuleti e i Montecchi. She made her Metropolitan Opera debut as Rosina in 1995 and has followed with Angelina in La Cenerentola, Hansel, Giulietta in Les contes d’Hoffmann, the title role in Handel’s Giulio Cesare, Isabella in L’italiana in Algeri, Prince Orlofsky in Die Fledermaus, Gertrude in Hamlet by Ambroise Thomas, and Elizabeth Griffiths in the world premiere of An American Tragedy by Tobias Picker (b. 1954). Following the example of many other alto singers, Jennifer Larmore began to move into the dramatic soprano territory

in 2012 with Lady Macbeth in Geneva and Kostelnicka in Janáček’s Jenufa at the Deutsche Oper in Berlin. Lorraine Hunt Lieberson (1954–2006), whose life was tragically cut short by breast cancer at the age of fifty-two,was an artist whose total immersion in a work’s musical and dramatic content invited comparison to Magda Olivero (1910– 2014) and Maria Callas. Her portrayal of Myrtle Wilson in the premiere of The Great Gatsby by John Harbison at the Met elicited the following review in Opera News: By far the the strongest characterization goes to Myrtle Wilson, the floozy with whom Tom is having an affair. Lorraine Hunt Lieberson, in an auspicious Met debut, made the most of this, adapting the intensity and charisma that has made her the darling of Baroque-opera enthusiasts.13

Lieberson’s career was unusual in that she was the principal violist of the San Jose Symphony and did not begin her professional singing career until she was in her thirties. She preferred to work with ensembles that shared her artistic convictions and that featured both Baroque opera and the works of living composers. Lorraine met Peter Lieberson (1946–2011) at Santa Fe where she was in his Ashoka’s Dream. Peter composed his Rilke Songs and Neruda Songs for her, which both won posthumous Grammy awards in 2007 and 2008 as best classical vocal performances. Peter was diagnosed with cancer the year after Lorraine’s death and passed away in 2011. Lorraine Hunt Lieberson’s operatic career was quite eclectic—she sang Theodora and Irene in Theodora, the title roles of Ariodante and Serse, and Sesto in Giulio Cesare, all by Handel, Donna Elvira in Don Giovanni and Sesto in La clemenza di Tito of Mozart, both Phèdre by Jean-Phillipe Rameau and Phaedra by Benjamin Britten, Minerva in Il ritorno d’Ulisse in patria and Ottavia in L’incoronazione di Poppea by Monteverdi, Médée by Marc-Antoine Charpentier (1643–1704), as well as Carmen, Mélisande, Charlotte in Werther, Béatrice in Béatrice and Bénédict, and “a magnetic, sensual Dido”14 in Les Troyens both by Berlioz. Hunt Lieberson’s performances of concert repertoire were acclaimed as much, if not more, than her appearances in opera. Her interpretation of Bach’s Ich habe genug in Peter Sellars’s (b. 1957) staging was memorialized in a loving obituary by Anthony Tommasini (b. 1948). In Cantata No. 82, “Ich Habe Genug” (“I Have Enough”) Ms. Hunt-Lieberson, wearing a flimsy hospital gown and thick woolen socks, her face contorted with pain and yearning, portrayed a terminally ill patient who, no longer able to endure treatments, wants to let go and be comforted by Jesus. During one consoling aria, “Schlummert ein, ihr matten Augen” (“Slumber now, weary eyes”) she yanked tubes from her arms and sang the spiraling melody with an uncanny blend of ennobling grace and unbearable sadness.15

Martha Lipton (1913–2006) was a familiar name to opera listeners on the Met radio broadcasts of the 1940s and 1950s. In her career from 1944 to 1961, Lipton sang 401 perfor-



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mances of twenty-nine works, often in supporting parts, but in many leading roles as well. Her repertoire included Amneris, Ulrica, Marina in Boris Godunov, Laura in La Gioconda, Magdalene in Die Meistersinger, Hänsel, Brangäne, and Geneviéve in Pelléas et Mélisande. In 1956 Lipton created the role of Augusta Tabor in Baby Doe at the Central City Opera House. Lipton was also a recording artist with Columbia Records where she recorded Messiah with Eugene Ormandy (1899– 1985) and the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, Mahler’s Third Symphony with Leonard Bernstein, and Anton Bruckner’s (1824–1896) Te Deum with Bruno Walter. She joined the faculty of Indiana University in 1960 where she was named professor emeritus, teaching full time until 1983. Jean [Browning] Madeira (1918–1972), an American contralto, was born in Centralia, Illinois, and was a solo pianist with the Saint Louis Symphony Orchestra, then studied voice at the Juilliard School, and made her professional debut as Nancy in Martha by Friedrich von Flotow at the Chautauqua Summer Opera in 1943. In 1947 Menotti chose her to alternate with Marie Powers for a tour of Europe in The Medium. Madeira made her debut at the Metropolitan the following year as the first norn in Götterdämmerung, where she subsequently sang 368 performances of forty-four roles in thirtythree works. Her career spanned from 1948 to 1971. In 1955 Madeira sang in Europe with the Vienna Staatsoper (Carmen, Azucena, Amneris, etc.) and Erda at Covent Garden, Paris Opéra, and Bayreuth (1956). She sang Klytämnestra at Salzburg (1956), which became one of her most memorable roles. In 1958 Madeira created the role of Circe in Luigi Dallapiccola’s (1904–1975) Ulisse. Bernadette Manca di Nissa (b. 1954), an Italian contralto, has sung leading roles at La Scala, San Carlo in Naples, La Fenice, Maggio Musicale Fiorentino, as well as Covent Garden and the Liceu in Barcelona. Manca di Nissa studied at the Mozarteum in Salzburg and developed a repertoire specializing in the music of Baroque composers as well as Rossini. Her Handel roles include Ottone in Agrippina, Bradamante in Alcina, Ino and Juno in Semele, and the eponymous Rinaldo, while the Rossini parts are Arsace in Semiramide, Isaura as well as the title role in Tancredi, Isabella in L’italiana in Algeri, Pippo in La gazza ladra, and Modesta in Il viaggio a Reims. Manca di Nissa is a prolific recording artist. Her recording of “Dolci d’amore parole”( the original aria for Tancredi) is exemplary. She has sung several world premieres of the music of Luigi Nono (1924–1990), including Quando stanno morendo (1982), Guai ai gelide mostri (1983), and Prometto, Tragedia dell’ ascolto (1984), which was influential in avant-garde musical circles. Bernadette Manca di Nissa retired from singing in 2007 and is now a professor of singing at the Conservatorio di Cagliari in the city of her birth. Susanne Marsee (b. 1941) is an American lyric mezzosoprano who had a twenty-five-year career at the New York City Opera and many other opera companies throughout the United States and abroad. Marsee is an accomplished musician and an excellent actress who sang most of the lyric mezzo

repertoire such as the Rossini and Mozart heroines at the New York City Opera. One of her most important accomplishments was the creation of many parts in contemporary opera such as Estella Drummle in Miss Havisham’s Fire and Bellino in Casanova’s Homecoming by Dominick Argento, Mariana in The Student from Salamanca by Jan Bach (b.1937), Rose in Marilyn by Lorenzo Ferrero (b. 1951), Doña Manuela in La loca by Menotti, and Shelly Ward in Angle of Repose by Andrew Imbrie (1921–2007). Since her retirement in 1995, Susanne Marsee has been a distinguished teacher at several institutions of higher learning. Franca Mattiucci (b. 1938) is an Italian mezzo-soprano who also had a long international opera career from 1963 to 1987. She sang on all the important Italian stages such as La Scala, La Fenice, the San Carlo, and Arena di Verona, as well as other international venues—the Chicago Lyric, Hamburg, Teatro Colón, Vienna Staatsoper, and so on. Her repertoire included Verdi—Amneris, Azucena, Preziosilla in La forza del destino, Fenena in Nabucco, Princess Eboli, Federica in Luisa Miller, and Ulrica—as well as Carmen, Dalila, Mignon, Climene in Pacini’s Saffo, Giovanna Seymour in Anna Bolena, Jocasta in Oedipus Rex, Lenora in La Favorita, and Santuzza. After her retirement, Mattiucci began a second career as a voice teacher. Waltraud Meier (b. 1956) was born in Würtzburg, Germany, and began her career as Lola in Cavalleria rusticana in 1976 at the local opera house and was engaged at Mannheim (1976–1978) and then at Dortmund (1980–1983). She made her international debut as Fricka at the Teatro Colón in 1980 and continued to build her repertoire, technique, and reputation in Hanover and Stuttgart until 1988. Meier’s repertory then numbered thirty-five roles including Carmen, Octavian, Fricka, Santuzza, and Azucena. In 1983 she debuted at Bayreuth as Kundry, which became her signature role and established her as one of the world’s leading Wagnerian singers. Meier added Waltraute and Brangäne to her Bayreuth repertoire and continued to sing Kundry there until 1983. She was engaged at Covent Garden in 1984 as Eboli and the Metropolitan as Fricka in 1985 with James Levine. She has since added Carmen, Marie in Wozzek, Santuzza, Leonore in Fidelio, Sieglinde, Waltraute, Kundry, Venus, and Isolde at the Met. Meier also debuted at La Scala with Riccardo Muti (b. 1941), the Opéra National in Paris, the Vienna Staatsoper, and the Bavarian State Opera in Munich during the 1980s. Waltraud Meier’s first soprano role was Venus in Tannhäuser at the Vienna State Opera in 1988. Her exemplary vocal technique enabled her to move upward without losing the power and color of her lower and middle voice. She became one of the definitive Isoldes of her era. I imagine that she is what Wagner had in mind when he created the category of hochdramatischer sopran. Amalie Materna, Wagner’s original Brünnhilde and Kundry, had a career that spanned three decades but still retained her bright, youthful voice. Dare we compare this to the disputed Italian term soprano sfogato? I do not have space to describe Waltraud Meier’s entire career but

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on August 22, 2009, she appeared as Fidelio in a televised concert from London conducted by Daniel Barenboim. It was reported to be Waltraud Meier’s two-thousandth professional engagement. Susanne Mentzer (b. 1957) is a mezzo-soprano who made her Metropolitan Opera debut as Cherubino on January 4, 1989. She is well-known for her portrayal of youthful male characters such as Cherubino, Idamante, the composer in Ariadne, Octavian, and Nicklausse in Les contes d’Hoffmann, all of which she has sung at the Met in addition to Rosina, Dorabella, Mélisande, and Meg Page in Falstaff. Mentzer created the role of the mother of Yueyang in The First Emperor by Tan Dun (b. 1957) at the Met on December 21, 2006, and is slated to return to the Met in 2016. She has also appeared at the Lyric Opera of Chicago, the San Francisco Opera, the Houston Grand Opera, La Scala, Covent Garden, Vienna State Opera, the Cologne Opera, the Opéra National of Paris, and at the Salzburg Festival. Besides opera, Mentzer is active in contemporary concert repertoire, especially works by women composers such as Libby Larsen (b. 1950) and Sharon Isbin (b. 1956), and premiered concert works of Carlisle Floyd, Daniel Brewbaker (1951), Stephen Bachicha (b. 1980), and Matteo d’Amico (b. 1955). After serving on the faculties of Rice University and DePaul University, Mentzer is now located in San Francisco, where she is associated with the Merola program. Susanne Mentzer is also an advocate for better vocal health and received the USA Thelan Award for her help in raising more than $1 million for AIDS research through gala concerts in Chicago. Katherine Ann “Nan” Merriman (1920–2012) was an American mezzo-soprano from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, who studied with Lotte Lehmann in Los Angeles. She began singing for Hollywood soundtracks at the age of twenty and toured with Lawrence Olivier’s (1907–1989) and Vivian Leigh’s (1913–1967) performance of Romeo and Juliet, where she sang songs during set changes. Merriman was chiefly known for her performances with Arturo Toscanini between 1944 and 1952, especially in his only studio recording of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony and the title role of Gluck’s Orfeo. In the 1950s Merriman appeared in many of Europe’s opera houses in Milan, Paris, Brussels, Vienna, and Amsterdam. She sang Dorabella at La Scala, which she recorded twice, and Baba the Turk in the inaugural British performance of The Rake’s Progress at Edinburgh. Kerstin Meyer (b. 1928) is a Swedish mezzo-soprano from Stockholm. Her debut was as Azucena at the Royal Swedish Opera in 1952. She has had a close association with the company as well as the Hamburg State Opera, where she appeared as Carmen in 1959. Meyer has created a number of contemporary roles at Hamburg—Mrs. Claiborne in The Visitation (1966) by Gunter Schuller (1925–2015), Alice Arden in Alexander Goehr’s (b. 1932) Arden Must Die (1967), and Gertrude in Hamlet (1968) by Humphrey Searle (1915–1982). In 1960 Kerstin Meyer made her debut at Covent Garden as Didon in Les Troyens and subsequently sang Octavian and

Klytämnestra in Elektra there, as well as the composer in Ariadne auf Naxos, Carmen, and Orfeo at the Metropolitan Opera. In 1974 she created the British premiere of the title role in Gottfried von Einem’s (1818–1896) The Visit of the Old Lady at Glyndebourne and the West German premiere at Munich in 1975. In 1976 Meyer sang Jocasta in Oedipus Rex at the Royal Festival Hall, London. She served as rector of the Operahögskolan (opera school) in Stockholm from 1984 to 1994. Solange Michel née Boulesteix (1912–2010) was a French lyric mezzo-soprano who was perhaps better known as a concert artist from the 1930s to the 1970s but was one of the best interpreters of Carmen in postwar France. Michel gave her first performance on French radio in 1936 but did not make her operatic debut until 1942 as Charlotte in Werther. In 1945 she sang Mignon at the Opéra Comique and then was invited to the Paris Opéra, where she was appreciated in the French repertoire—notably Carmen, Charlotte, Dalila, Geneviève in Pelléas et Mélisande, Marguerite in Berlioz’s La damnation de Faust, Orphée in Orphée et Eurydice, and Dulcinée in Massenet’s Don Quichotte in her repertoire list of sixty-eight roles. Michel created the title role of Pierre Wissmer’s (1915–1992) Marion in 1951 and La Maharanée in The Last Savage by Menotti in 1965. Although her career was mostly in France, Solange Michel made guest appearances at La Scala, the Royal Opera House in London, the San Carlo in Naples, the Teatro Colón, and the Liceu in Barcelona, among other important theaters. Mildred Miller (b. 1924) is a familiar name to audiences familiar with the Met, where she sang 338 performances of twenty-one roles from 1951 through 1974. Miller was born in Cleveland to immigrant German parents named Müller. When she was hired by Rudolf Bing for the Met, he suggested that she change her name to Miller to avoid any postwar antiGerman sentiment. The now Mildred Miller made her Met debut as Cherubino on November 17, 1951. The Metropolitan remained the home base for Miller, who sang the composer in Ariadne, Dorabella, Magdalene in Die Meistersinger, Meg Page in Falstaff, Nicklausse, Siebel in Faust, Orlovsky, Rosina, and Carmen, as well as several supporting roles. Miller was a guest artist at Frankfurt from 1959 to 1973 and also appeared at the San Francisco Opera, the Chicago Lyric, Cincinnati, Bavarian State Opera, Glyndebourne, Stuttgart Staatsoper, Vienna Staatsoper, and other venues throughout the United States and Europe. Mildred Miller was also a busy recitalist and appeared frequently on The Bell Telephone Hour, The Voice of Firestone, and the Ed Sullivan Show on television. After her retirement, Miller founded the Opera Theater of Pittsburgh and for many years served as artistic director of the company. She is still involved with the company, teaches at Carnegie Mellon University, and gives master classes throughout the world. Sara Mingardo (b. 1961) is a soulful Italian contralto who has an active career in concert work as well as opera. Mingardo made her operatic debut at Avezzano as Fidalma in Il matrimonio segreto by Cimarosa in 1987 after winning first prize at



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both the Toti del Monte and the Giulietta Simionato competitions. Having appeared at major Italian opera theaters—La Scala, San Carlo, La Fenice, and the Teatro Reggio in Turin as well as the Salzburg Festival—Mingardo was already well established by 1989. As a true contralto, she has a varied repertoire ranging from L’incoronazione di Poppea by Monteverdi to Britten’s The Rape of Lucretia, including La straniera by Bellini, Anna Bolena of Donizetti, and the title roles of Rinaldo and Riccardo Primo, re d’Inghilterra (1727) by Handel. Sara Mingardo has appeared at most of the major opera houses of Europe and America and has sung with important orchestras including the Boston Symphony, the Berlin Philharmonic, and the London Symphony in concert. Yvonne Minton (b. 1938), born in Sydney, Australia, moved to London in 1960 and carried on the great tradition of British alto singers, especially in concert works. Her recording of “Softly and Gently” from Elgar’s The Dream of Gerontius (conducted by Benjamin Britten) is truly beautiful. Variously described as a contralto, mezzo-soprano, and even soprano, Minton exemplifies the difficulty of categorizing the lower female voice but fits the term “alto” nicely. In 1961 Yvonne Minton won the Kathleen Ferrier Prize for the best contralto at the International Vocalist Competition at ’s-Hertogenbosch in the Netherlands. She made her operatic debut in 1964 as Britten’s Lucretia at the City Literary Institute and in the same year created the part of Maggie Dempster in Nicholas Maw’s (1935–2009) One Man Show. As a member of the Covent Garden Opera from 1965 to 1977, she created Thea in The Knot Garden by Michael Tippett and became known for her portrayal of Octavian, in which she debuted at the Chicago Lyric (1970), the Metropolitan (1973), and the Paris Opéra (1976). Minton sang Brangäne, Waltraute, and Fricka at Bayreuth starting in 1974 and Kundry at Covent Garden in 1979. Yvonne Minton made a number of recordings with great conductors: Dorabella under Klemperer, Sesto in La clemenza di Tito with Colin Davis, Geneviève in Pelléas with Pierre Boulez (b. 1925), and Fricka under Marek Janowski (b. 1939). In 1979 she recorded the Countess Geschwitz in Berg’s Lulu, which was also filmed. In 1980 Yvonne Minton was appointed Commander of the Order of the British Empire. Ann Murray (b. 1949) is an Irish mezzo-soprano with the emphasis on soprano. Murray made her debut at Aldeburgh as Alceste in Gluck’s opera in 1974. In 1976 she embarked on a coloratura career with the English Music Theater in La Cenerentola and was engaged by Covent Garden for Siebel in Faust. Murray subsequently became known for Mozart roles—Cherubino, Idamante, Xiphares in Mitridate, Despina, and Donna Elvira, as well as Octavian and The Composer of Strauss. At the English National Opera, Murray sang the title roles in Handel’s Xerxes and Ariodante as well as Bradamante in Alcina at Aix-en-Provence (1978) and Giulio Cesare at Munich (1994). She sang Sesto in La clemenza di Tito at the New York City Opera in 1979 and the Met in 1984. Ann Murray’s Salzburg debut was as Nicklausse, followed with appearances

as Dorabella, Sesto, Octavian, and Angelina. In addition to some of the roles already mentioned, Murray recorded Polly in Britten’s arrangement of The Beggar’s Opera, Purcell’s Dido, and Hänsel, as well as Shubert lieder and English and Irish songs. Besides her singing ability, Murray is also known for her sense of humor. Ella Némenthy (1896–1961) was a Hungarian mezzosoprano who was a student of conductor Ettore Panizza (1875–1967) in Milan. Musicologist Péter P. Várnai states that Némenthy was the leading mezzo-soprano in the interwar years, especially in Wagnerian roles such as Brünnhilde, Isolde, and Kundry. Her interpretations were characterized by vocal amplitude, rich coloring, and grand declamation.16

Némenthy made her debut at the Hungarian State Opera as Dalila in 1919 and remained there for thirty years. Her repertoire included the three Brünnhildes in which she triumphed at La Scala in 1937 and 1938, Venus in Tannhäuser, Kundry, Ortrud in Lohengrin, Amneris and Eboli, Leonore in Fidelio, and Santuzza. She was a guest artist at major opera houses including the Berlin State Opera and the Teatro Colón. Némenthy was the Judith in the Italian premiere of Bartók’s Bluebeard’s Castle at the Maggio Musicale Fiorentino in 1938. Upon her retirement in 1948 Ella Némenthy was named a lifelong member of the Hungarian State Opera. Anne Sofie von Otter (b. 1955) is a Swedish lyric mezzosoprano for whom the adjective versatile is hardly adequate, for she not only excels in early music and standard classical repertoire, but has also recorded rock and pop songs. Von Otter studied at the Guildhall School of Music and Drama in London and made her operatic debut in 1983 at the Basel Opera as Alcina in Orlando paladino by Josepf Haydn. She debuted at Covent Garden (1985) and the Metropolitan (1988) as Cherubino. In 1987 she sang Ismene in Alceste by Gluck conducted by Riccardo Muti at La Scala. European and American audiences have heard her as Purcell’s Dido, Idamante, Dorabella, Sesto, Tancredi, Bellini’s Romeo, Octavian, Hänsel, Charlotte, and Gluck’s Alcestis and Orpheus. Her recorded repertoire includes Octavia in Monteverdi’s L’incoronazione di Poppea, Handel’s Ariodante, Aggripina, Giulio Cesare, Hercules, and Serse, Clytemnestra in Gluck’s Iphigénie en Aulide, Olga in Eugene Onegin, Judith in Bluebeard’s Castle, and Jocasta. Eminent conductors in these enterprises include John Eliot Gardiner, William Christie, Marc Minkowski, Claudio Abbado (1933–2014), and Myung-whung Chung (b. 1953). Besides opera, von Otter is well known as an interpreter of orchestral repertoire and lieder, especially songs of Mahler, Brahms, Grieg, Wolf, and Jean Sibelius (1865–1957). In 1993 she won the Gramophone record of the year award for her recording of Grieg songs. In 2006 she sang the evangelist in the premiere of Order—en passion by Sven-David Sandström (b. 1942). In 2007 she recorded music written by composers interned in the Theresienstadt concentration camp by the Nazis. In 2001 Anne Sofie von Otter recorded an album of rock and pop songs called For the Stars with Elvis Costello (b. 1954).

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In 1995 von Otter was appointed Hovsångerska by Carl XVI Gustav (b. 1946), the king of Sweden. Flora Perini (1887–1975) was an Italian mezzo-soprano who created the role of the principessa in the world premiere of Suor Angelica at the Metropolitan in 1918. Perini studied at the Accademia di Santa Cecilia in Rome and made her professional debut at La Scala as Anacoana in Franchetti’s Christoforo Colombo. She began her career in many of the major opera houses in Europe and South America—Nice, Turin, Trieste, Bologna, Madrid, Barcelona, Saint Petersburg, Rio de Janeiro, and Montevideo. She sang Herodias in Salome at the Teatro Colón in 1914 as well as the world premiere of Carlos López Buchardo’s (1881–1948) El sueño de Alma. In 1915 Perini sang the first of her 338 performances at the Metropolitan as Lola in Cavalleria Rusticana. Her repertoire was quite varied: Amneris, Nancy in Martha, Maddalena in Rigoletto, Suzuki in Madama Butterfly, Rossweise in Die Walküre, Hedwige in Guillaume Tell, and the spring fairy in Snegurochka of Rimsky-Korsakov, among others. She created the roles of Konchakovna in the American premiere of Prince Igor by Borodin in 1915, Smaragdi in the first American performances of Zandonai’s Francesca da Rimini, Pantasilée in La reine Fiamette (1919) by Xavier Leroux, and Larina in Eugene Onegin (1920). Perini sang in several world premieres at the Met—Suor Angelica, already mentioned, Pepa in Goyescas (1916) by Enrique Granados, and “light” in L’oiseau bleu (1919) by Albert Wolff (1884–1917). She joined the Chicago Lyric in 1924 and then returned to Italy at the Teatro Costanzi until her retirement. Ewa Podleś (b. 1953) is a Polish contralto who, in my opinion, is the only artist who could inherit Marilyn Horne’s mantel as the supreme interpreter of the Rossini dramatic coloratura repertoire of our time. Podleś’s voice spans more than three octaves, has great power, and outstanding coloratura ability. After studying at the Frédéric Chopin Academy of Music, Podleś made her debut as Rosina in 1975. She was engaged at the Teatr Wielki-Opera in Warsaw where she sang a wide range of repertoire from the Rossini standards to Konchakovna in Prince Igor. Podleś sang Rosina at the Aix-en-Provence Festival and made her Met debut as Handel’s Rinaldo in 1984. She sang only two performances at the house, the other two being in Queens and Staten Island. Ewa Podleś did not return to the Metropolitan for twenty-four years. In the meantime she sang Cornelia in Giulio Cesare in Rome, Malcom in La donna del lago in Trieste, and Adalgisa in Norma in Vancouver. In 1990 Podleś debuted at Covent Garden as Hedwige in Guillaume Tell and in 1991 at La Scala as Ragonde in La Comte Ory. The same year she also sang Dalila at the Opéra Bastille as well as Arsace in Semiramide at La Fenice. In 2008 Podleś returned to the Met as La Cieca in La Gioconda. Other engagements include Handel’s Tancredi in Boston, Bertarido in Rodelinda, the title roles in Giulio Cesare and Ciro in Babilonia, Azucena in Poznań, Klytämnestra in Elektra at the Nice Opéra, and Madame de la Haltière in Massenet’s Cendrillon at Covent Garden and the Opéra Comique in Paris.

Ewa Podleś is also an acclaimed concert artist with major orchestras and a fine recitalist who has toured with Garrick Olssohn (b. 1948). Podleś is a prolific recording artist, especially in Rossini repertoire but also in Mahler repertoire and Russian and Baroque composers. Her recording of the battlefield scene from Prokoviev’s Alexander Nevsky is truly moving. Sonia Prina (b. 1975) is an Italian contralto whose career has similarities to that of Ewa Podleś. Prina is known for her performances of Baroque repertory in both opera and concert. She also has an instrumental background, studying both trumpet and voice from the age of thirteen at the Milan Conservatory and, in 1994, the La Scala Academy. By 1997 she had already established herself in the Baroque repertory. She sang the title role of Giuseppe Sarti’s 1781 Giulio Sabbio (a role that was created by the great castrato Gasparo Pacchierotti) at the Teatro Alighieri, Ravenna, Ottone in L’incoronazione di Poppea at the Teatro Communale in Bologna, the title role in Amadigi by Handel at the San Carlo, Pompeo in Farnace by Vivaldi in Madrid and Bordeaux, the title role in Ottone in villa by Vivaldi, Cunegonda in Alessandro Scarlatti’s La Principessa Fedele, La Speranza and Messaggera in L’Orfeo by Monteverdi in London, Maria in Scarlatti’s oratorio La Vergine dei Dolori at the San Carlo, and Galatea in Aci, Galatea e Polifemo by Handel at Salzburg. Other Handel roles are Amastre in Serse, Bradamante in Alcina, Carilda in Arianna in Creta, Cornelia in Giulio Cesare, Polinesso in Ariodante, Valentiniano in Ezio, and the title roles in Orlando, Partenope, Rinaldo, Tamerlano, and Tolomeo. Familiar Rossini roles are Isabella in L’italiana in Algeri at Torino and Rosina at La Scala. Sonia Prina has also appeared in many orchestral concerts throughout the world, especially in Baroque repertoire with such conductors as Riccardo Muti, Riccardo Chailly (b. 1953), and Myung-whung Chung. She is a sought-after recitalist and has recorded extensively. Florence Quivar (b. 1944) is an American mezzo-soprano who made her professional debut in Philadelphia, her hometown, in 1976. She won the Baltimore Lyric Opera competition the same year and went on to win the Marian Anderson Award, where she attracted the attention of the noted manager Harold Shaw (1924–2014). Quivar made her Metropolitan Opera debut as Marina in Boris Godunov in 1977 and went on to a twenty-year career with the company, singing 101 performances, the last being the alto soloist in the Verdi Requiem under James Levine in 1997. Important roles for Quivar during her career at the Met were Jocasta in Oedipus Rex, Isabella in L’italiana in Algeri, Federica in Luisa Miller, Fidès in Le prophète, Frugola in Il tabarro, Mother Marie in Dialogues des Carmélites, Ulrica in Un ballo in maschera, and Serena in Porgy and Bess. Quivar’s other engagements include appearances with the Deutsche Oper Berlin, Bavarian State Opera, Opera di Roma, Teatro Colón, Teatro Municipal in Rio, Covent Garden, La Scala, Seattle Opera, and Los Angeles Opera. In these theaters and others, Quivar performed Adalgisa in Norma, Erda in Siegfried and Das Rheingold, Brangäne in Tristan und Isolde, and Orfeo in Gluck’s opera, which was especially successful.



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She created the role of the goddess of the waters in the world premiere of Amistad by Anthony Davis (b. 1951) at the Chicago Lyric. Florence Quivar is also a distinguished orchestral soloist whose credits include performances with the New York Philharmonic, Chicago Symphony, Cincinnati Symphony, Los Angeles Philharmonic, Philadelphia Orchestra, Cleveland Orchestra, San Francisco Symphony, Orchestre de Paris, Berlin Philharmonic, London Philharmonic, and the BBC Symphony. Regina Resnik (1922–2013)was one of the few mezzosopranos/contraltos who began her career as a successful dramatic soprano. Resnik, a product of the New York City public school system, was gifted academically and skipped several grades. In her adult career, besides having a fine voice, Resnik was both an excellent musician and a magnetic actress and became a stage director, appeared on Broadway, and shared her multifaceted knowledge with students as a brilliant teacher. The twenty-year-old Resnik made her professional debut in a recital of art songs at the Brooklyn Academy of Music on October 27, 1942. Two months later she sang Lady Macbeth with the New Opera Company. In 1943 Resnik sang Leonore in Fidelio and Micaela in Carmen in Mexico City under the baton of Erich Kleiber. In 1944 Resnik was a member of the company for the New York City Opera’s first season, portraying Santuzza and both Frasquita and Micaela in Carmen. In the same year, she won the Metropolitan Opera Auditions of the Air and made a dramatic debut in December 1944, substituting for Zinka Milanov as Leonore in Il trovatore on one day’s notice, with only one hour’s rehearsal. Interestingly enough, Margaret Harshaw, who moved up to the soprano category while Resnik ultimately moved down to alto, was Azucena in this performance. For the next decade at the Met, Resnik appeared in soprano roles—Donna Elvira and Donna Anna, Leonore in Fidelio, Sieglinde in Die Walküre, Gutrune in Götterdämmerung, Chrysothemis in Elektra, Rosalinda in Die Fledermaus, Aida, Alice Ford in Falstaff, Tosca, Madama Butterfly, Musetta, and the Met’s first Ellen Orford in Peter Grimes. In 1953, while Resnik was singing Sieglinde at Bayreuth, the conductor Clemens Krauss (1893–1954) advised her to retrain her voice as a mezzo-soprano, and by 1956 she had eliminated all the soprano roles from her repertory. In 1955 her first two alto roles were Amneris and Laura in La Gioconda. Her first alto role at the Met was as Marina in Boris Godunov in 1956 with George London (1920–1985) in the title role. The following year was her successful debut at Covent Garden as Carmen where, over the years, she also sang Azucena, Amneris, Marina, Ulrica, the nurse in Die Frau ohne Schatten, the old prioress in Les Dialogues des Carmélites, Mistress Quickly, Klytämnestra in Elektra, and the old countess in Pique Dame. Regina Resnik had a prolific international career at the Paris Opéra (acclaimed as Carmen), La Scala, La Fenice, Naples, Vienna Staatsoper, Lisbon Buenos Aires, Madrid, Salzburg, Bayreuth, Munich, Berlin, Brussels, Marseilles, Chicago, Stuttgart, Hamburg, Edinburgh, and Santiago. However, the Met

was always home to Resnik, and audiences enjoyed her awesome performances of Klytämnestra, Mistress Quickly, and the old countess in Pique Dame in the 1960s. In thirty years at the Metropolitan, Regina Resnik sang thirty-eight roles in thirty-one works for a total of 335 performances. In 1987, she inhabited Broadway as Mrs. Schneider in Cabaret and Mme. Armfeldt in A Little Night Music, earning Tony and Drama Desk Award nominations. Resnik was a master class teacher for the Metropolitan, the Mozarteum in Salzburg, and several other institutions. In 2004 she was named master teacher-in-residence in the opera department at the Mannes College of Music, where she helped prepare students for professional careers. Regina Sarfaty (b. 1934) is an American mezzo-soprano who had an extensive career with the Santa Fe Opera and the New York City Opera through the late 1950s. In the 1960s and 1970s she had an international career, especially at the Zurich Opera. Sarfaty graduated from Juilliard School in 1957 and immediately began a professional career with Santa Fe in the same year, appearing as Rosina, Suzuki, Baba the Turk, and Tabitha in the world premiere of Marvin David Levy’s (1932–2015) The Tower. Other roles with the Santa Fe Opera included the title roles in Carmen and Regina by Marc Blitzstein, Clarion in Capriccio by Strauss, Dorabella, Meg Page in Falstaff, Giovanna Seymour in Anna Bolena, and Prince Orlovsky. Sarfaty also created the role of Nelly in Wuthering Heights by Carlisle Floyd and the American premiere of Agave in The Bassarids by Hans Werner Henze at Santa Fe. As a regular at the New York City Opera, Regina Sarfaty sang Cherubino, Angelina in La Cenerentola, the eponymous role in Maria Golovin by Menotti, Jocasta in Oedipus Rex, as well as the world premieres as “the mezzo” in Six Characters in Search of an Author by Hugo Weisgall and as Kate Croy in Douglas Moore’s The Wings of the Dove. In Europe, Sarfaty debuted as Octavian at Glyndebourne in 1960 and sang Adelaide in Arabella there in 1964. She appeared as Carmen and Octavian at Frankfurt, Carmen at the Opéra National in Paris, and also sang at the Vienna Staatsoper and the Bavarian State Opera. She had a long career at Zurich, where she was in the world premiere of Rudolf Kelterborn’s (b. 1931) Die Befreiung Thebens and had a special success as the Countess Geschwitz in Lulu by Alban Berg. Barbara Scherler (b. 1933) is not a name familiar to American audiences but is well known to European devotees of contemporary opera. Scherler studied at the Berlin Musikhochschule and made her professional debut at Hannover as Cherubino in 1959. After a stint at Cologne, she became a longtime member of the Deutsche Oper Berlin where she participated in the premieres of Kinkakuji (1976) by Toshiro Mayuzumi (1929–1997), Wilhelm Dieter Siebert’s (1931–2011) Der Untergang der Titanic (1979), and Die Gespenstersonate (1984), based on August Strindberg’s (1849–1912) The Ghost Sonata. Scherler sang in recordings of Lulu (1965) and Wozzek (1968) by Alban Berg conducted by Karl Böhm. In 1973 she recorded the part of Meroe in Penthesilea by the Swiss composer Othmar Schoeck (1886–1957), and in 1978 she sang

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the role of Elsbeth in Fuersnot of Strauss conducted by Erich Leinsdorf (1912–1993) with the Berliner Rundfunk-SinfonieOrchester. Finally, in 1990 she participated in the recording of Franz Schrecker’s (1878–1934) Der ferne Klang conducted by Gerd Albrecht (1935–2014). Gladys Swarthout (1900–1969), an American mezzosoprano, had a career that somewhat mirrored that of Risë Stevens, for she was also well known to the general public through her work in movies and on the radio. Swarthout became a member of the Chicago Civic Opera while still a student at the Bush Conservatory of Music and then joined the Ravinia Opera Company of Chicago for three seasons. Her debut at the Metropolitan came in 1929 as an elf in La Campana Sommersa by Ottorino Respighi. Most of her twenty-four roles at the Met were minor but she sang 264 performances. Swarthout was a Southern beauty and she made five movies for Paramount Pictures: Rose of the Rancho, Romance in the Dark, Give Us This Night, Ambush, and Champagne Walz. Swarthout was a familiar voice on the radio in The Voice of Firestone, The Bell Telephone Hour, The Camel Caravan, The Ford Symphony, and The Prudential Family Hour and was a regular on the Armed Forces Radio Network during World War II. She also appeared on television on occasion, including a spot on What’s My Line and Martha presented by The Railroad Hour in 1954. Lucia Valentini Terrani (1946–1998) was an Italian mezzosoprano, particularly identified with the Rossini canon, whose career was cut short by leukemia at the age of fifty-one. Valentini Terrani made her debut in Brescia as Angelina in La Cenerentola, a role that she repeated in her initial performance at La Scala. She soon followed her success with Isabella in L’italiana in Algeri, in which she made her Met debut in 1974, Rosina, Marchesa Melibea in Il viaggio a Reims, and a succession of trouser roles—Tancredi, Malcom in La donna del lago, Pippo in La gazza ladra, Calbo in Maometto II, Arsace in Semiramide, and Isolier in Le comte Ory. Valentini Terrani extended her coloratura ability in Baroque opera as well as Medea in Cavalli’s Giascone, Dido in Dido and Aeneas by Purcell, Alcina in Orlando Furioso by Vivaldi, and Bradamante in Handel’s Alcina. There were also many standard roles in Valentini Terrani’s repertoire including Carmen, Eboli, Quickly, Mignon, Charlotte, Marina, Jocasta, and Dulcinée in Massenet’s Don Quixote. Huguette Tourangeau (b. 1938), a Canadian mezzosoprano who specialized in French and Italian repertoire, was often associated with Dame Joan Sutherland and Richard Bonynge. She graduated from the Montréal Conservatoire in 1958 and won the Metropolitan Opera National Council Auditions in 1964. She also sang Cherubino under Bonynge’s baton in the same year. Tourangeau became a member of the Met’s National Company during the 1965–1966 season and sang Carmen fifty-six times on the company’s tour. With Sutherland and Bonynge she performed Malika in Lakmé in Seattle, Urbain in Les Huguenots in London, Elisabetta in Maria Stuarda, Adalgisa in Norma, and Prince Orlovsky in Die Fledermaus in San Francisco. Tourangeau appeared as

Carmen with the New York City Opera in 1967 and 1968 and made her debut at the Metropolitan as Nicklausse in Les contes d’Hoffmann in 1973. She later sang 107 performances as Suzuki, Carmen, Mercedes, muse, Dorabella, Zerlina, Cherubino, and Parsèïs in Esclarmonde by Massenet with Sutherland and Bonynge at the Met. In 1973 Tourangeau sang the title role in Carmen: The Dream and the Destiny opposite Placido Domingo, a film by Christopher Nupen (b. 1935), which documents a production directed by Regina Resnik. Tatiana Troyanos (1938–1993) was a beloved mezzosoprano artist at the Metropolitan Opera who died of breast cancer at the age of fifty-four but who nevertheless had a great career. James Levine was one of Tatiana’s greatest supporters. A concert at the Met was given in her memory on April 24, 1994. Levine wrote: The idea that we are gathered here . . . to pay memorial tribute to Tatiana Troyanos is incomprehensible. What it means of course, is that our Metropolitan Opera family has lost one of the most important, beloved artists and friends in its entire history.17

Tatiana Troyanos was the child of divorced parents who had pretensions of operatic careers. Growing up she was looked after by Greek relatives and lived for ten years in the Brooklyn Home for Children in Forest Hills, New York. Troyanos, like many other successful vocal artists, studied piano for seven years at the home. She attended the Juilliard Preparatory School and eventually the college, where she studied with Hans Heinz (1905–1982). She was in the chorus of The Sound of Music on Broadway when she was engaged at the New York City Opera. Troyanos made her operatic debut as Hippolyta in Britten’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream in April 1963. The New York City Opera took advantage of Troyanos’s versatility and musicianship, for she also sang Jocasta in Oedipus Rex and Marina in Boris Godunov with Norman Treigle in the title role until 1965. Troyanos was then offered a comprimaria contract by the Metropolitan, but like other young American artists, she chose to go to Europe for seasoning and repertoire building. She was engaged at the Hamburg Staatheater where she remained as a member of the ensemble and later as a guest artist for the next ten years. She built an extensive repertoire at Hamburg, and she gained international attention in 1966 in what would become her signature roles at the Aix-en-Provence festival as the composer in Ariadne auf Naxos and Covent Garden in her first Octavian in Der Rosenkavalier. With a home base at Hamburg, Troyanos guested at most of the major opera houses in Europe. She attracted special attention as Baba the Turk in The Rake’s Progress on a visit by the Hamburg company to the new Metropolitan Opera in 1967. In the opening week of the Kennedy Center in 1971, Tatiana Troyanos as Handel’s Ariodante opposite Beverly Sills was especially acclaimed. Other important U.S. engagements were Charlotte in Werther at the Chicago Lyric, Dido in Dido and Aeneas at Dallas, Romeo in Bellini’s I Capuletti e I Montecchi at the Opera Company of Boston, and



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at San Francisco, Poppea in L’incoronazione di Poppea by Monteverdi. Robert Commanday’s review in the Chronicle stated The means by which Poppea seduces Nero . . . could liquefy even stone the way the sensational new mezzo Tatiano Troyanos sang. The rich variety of her tone by itself would be enough, from the voluptuous lower register to the beaming, thrilling highs. But how Miss Troyanos turned the exquisitely etched dissonant tones in Monteverdi’s harmony, how she caressed her imperial lover with vocal phrases, poisoned his mind against Seneca, exulted in triumph—these things elevated Miss Troyanos’s Poppea from mere courtesan to a woman who shaped history.18

In the spring of 1976, Tatiana Troyanos made her debut at the Metropolitan Opera as Octavian, with the composer following closely. At the Met, the homeless girl from Queens finally found her home. Troyanos sang 276 performances at the Met of twentytwo roles in an incredible variety of styles and periods. Strangely enough, she sang only four Carmens there. The trouser roles of Octavian, the composer, Sesto, Giulio Cesare, Hänsel, and Orlovsky account for 114 performances. Other roles that required more dramatic singing were Amneris, Santuzza, Eboli, Waltraute in Götterdämmerung, Kundry in Parsifal, Venus in Tannhäuser, Brangäne in Tristan und Isolde, and Dido in Les Troyens. Troyanos created two roles—Sister Jeanne in Penderecki’s The Devils of Loudun (Hamburg, 1969) and Queen Isabella in Phillip Glass’s (b. 1937) The Voyage (The Metropolitan, 1992). In her La Scala debut in 1977, she sang Adalgisa opposite Monserrat Caballé in Norma, the first worldwide opera telecast. In 1984 she sang in the world premiere of act 1 of Rachmaninoff ’s unpublished Monna Vanna with the Philadelphia Orchestra. Troyanos also sang in concert performances of rare operas such as Handel’s Deidamia (1741), Mozart’s Mitridate (1770), Roberto Devereux by Donizetti, and Bartók’s Bluebeard’s Castle (in the original Hungarian) with major orchestras. Claramae Turner (1920–2013) was an American contralto who was best known for her portrayal of Nettie Fowler in the 1956 Richard Rogers (1902–1979) and Oscar Hammerstein (1895–1960) film Carousel. Her rendition of “You’ll Never Walk Alone” provided inspiration for countless moviegoers and, later, television viewers. The San Francisco Opera was Turner’s artistic home where she debuted as a voice in Italo Montemezzi’s (1875–1952) L’amore dei tre re conducted by the composer in 1942. During the 1940s Turner sang a variety of supporting roles, finally graduating to major parts at the San Francisco Opera—Hérodiade, Carmen, Azucena, Amneris, Ulrica, Klytämnestra, Neris in Medée by Cherubini, and Madame de Croissy in Les Dialogues des Carmélites in the U.S. premiere of Poulenc’s masterpiece. In 1946 Turner created the role of Madame Flora in the first performance of Menotti’s The Medium at Columbia University. The first professional performance came in 1947 with Marie Powers in the title role. In November 1946 Claramae Turner made her debut at the Met as Marthe in Faust. In four seasons there she sang 105

performances, almost all in supporting roles. In 1953 Turner made her debut at the New York City Opera as Madame Flora. While there she sang many leading roles, including Carmen, The Witch in the company’s premiere of Hänsel und Gretel, Jocasta, Katisha in The Mikado, la principessa, Frugola, and Zita in Il Trittico by Puccini, the mother in Louise by Charpentier, Madame de Croissy in Les Dialogues des Carmélites, and Diana Orsini in Bomarzo by Alberto Ginastera (1916–1983). Turner also sang Fricka in the Chicago Lyric’s first Die Walküre in 1956, Ulrica, Azucena, and the matron from Milwaukee in Lord Byron’s Love Letter by Rafaello de Banfield (1922–2008). At San Diego she sang Baroness Grunwiesel in the U.S. premiere of Der Junge Lord by Henze. Claramae Turner was what is called a “crossover artist” these days. She often sang a popular song that was written for her about her love for San Francisco as an encore at her recitals. She never recorded the tune, but ten years later Tony Bennett (b. 1926) recorded “I Left My Heart in San Francisco.” The rest, as they say, is history. Josephine Veasey (b. 1930) is an English mezzo-soprano who began in the chorus of Covent Garden in 1949 and returned in 1955 to make her solo debut as Cherubino. Her roles at the Royal Opera House included Magdalene in Die Meistersinger, Rosina, Marina in Boris Godunov, Dorabella, Carmen, Waltraute, Fricka, Amneris, Preziosilla in La Forza del Destino, Dido and Cassandra in Les Troyens, Princess Eboli, the title role in Iphigénie en Aulide, Brangäne, and Venus in Tannhäuser. In 1962 Veasey created the role of Andromache in King Priam by Michael Tippett and in 1976 the emperor in the premiere of Henze’s We Come to the River. At Glyndebourne, Veasey sang Zulma in L’italiana in Algeri in 1957, then Cherubino, Clarice in Rossini’s La pietra del paragone, Charlotte, and Octavian. At Salzburg she sang the Rheingold Fricka and then both Frickas at the Metropolitan in 1968. In 1969 Veasey debuted at the Paris Opéra as Dido and returned as Kundry in 1973. She also sang at La Scala and the Vienna Staatsoper. Although particularly associated with Berlioz and Wagner, Veasey sang in a famous production of Norma at the Théâtre Antique d’Orange in France as Adalgisa opposite Monserrat Caballé and Jon Vickers in 1974. She made her final appearance as Herodias at Covent Garden in 1982. Dunja Vejzović (b. 1943) is a Croatian mezzo-soprano who studied at the Zagreb Academy of Music and made her professional debut as Ariel in Oluja (The Tempest) by Stjepan Šulek (1914–1986). In 1971 Vejzović became a member of the Nuremberg Opera where she built her repertoire in a number of major roles—the title role in Orfeo, Carmen, Venus in Tannhäuser, a woman in Intolleranza by Luigi Nono, Charlotte in Die Soldaten by Bernd Alois Zimmerman (1918–1970), Dido, Klytämnestra in Elektra, Azucena, Marina in Boris Godunov, Marie in Wozzek, Amneris, Countess Geschwitz in Lulu, and Dalila. In 1978 Dunja Vejzović made her Bayreuth debut as Kundry and her Metropolitan Opera initial performance as Venus. In 1980 and 1984 she sang Kundry and Ortrud at Salzburg

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under von Karajan. In 1982, Vejzović began a relationship with La Scala where she sang Didon in Les Troyens, la principessa in Suor Angelica, Venus in Tannhäuser, Senta in Der fliegende Holländer, and Kundry in Parsifal conducted by Riccardo Muti. Vejzović has collaborated with famed director Robert Wilson (b. 1941) on Alceste and Kundry. Other roles include Brünnhilde in Die Walküre (Monte-Carlo, 1979), Hérodiade (Barcelona, 1983), Médée (Paris, 1986), and Wozzeck (Berlin, 1987) under Claudio Abbado. Other operas in Dunja Vejzović’s repertoire are Schoenberg’s Erwartung, Wagner’s Rienzi, Tristan und Isolde (Brangäne), and Siegfried, Massenet’s Le Cid and Thérèse, Bluebeard’s Castle by Bartók, Oedipus Rex, Verdi’s Attila, Don Carlo, I due Foscari, Macbeth, and Nabucco, Fidelio, Gounod’s Sapho, and Fierrabras by Schubert. Shirley Verrett (1931–2010) was born in New Orleans and grew up in Los Angeles. She attended the Juilliard School and won the Metropolitan Opera National Council Auditions in 1961. Like Grace Bumbry and Christa Ludwig, Verrett was one of the mezzo-sopranos who successfully moved up to the soprano category later in her career. Her professional debut (as Shirley Carter) was as Britten’s Lucretia in 1957. Verrett played Irina in Weill’s Lost in the Stars during the New York City Opera’s American opera season in 1958. She then traveled to Europe where she debuted in Nicolas Nabokov’s (1903–1978) Rasputins Tod at Cologne. Verrett became one of the outstanding Carmens of her time, first performing the opera at Spoleto in 1962, then at the Bol’shoy in 1963, the New York City Opera in 1964, La Scala in 1966, the Metropolitan in 1968, and Covent Garden in 1973, where she had debuted as Ulrica in 1966. Verrett’s other notable alto roles were Elizabeth in Maria Stuarda, Gluck’s Orfeo, Léonor in La favorite, Amneris, Eboli, Azucena, Lady Macbeth, Judith in Bluebeard’s Castle, Neocle in The Siege of Corinth, and Dalila. At the first Metropolitan Opera performance of Les Troyens, Verrett accomplished a Lilli Lehmann–like feat. Because of Christa Ludwig’s illness, she played both Dido and Cassandra. In the 1970s Shirley Verrett began to sing some soprano roles such as Tosca, Aida, and Norma, while retaining most of her alto parts. In 1990 she sang Dido in Les Troyens at the inauguration of the Opéra Bastille and sang her first Santuzza at Sienna. In 1994 she debuted on Broadway as Nettie Fowler in Carousel. Her autobiography is entitled I Never Walked Alone. In 1996 Verrett joined the faculty of the University of Michigan School of Music in Ann Arbor, where she died in 2010. Thelma “Tippy” Votipka (1906–1972) was not a headliner, but she was one of the most valuable members of the Metropolitan Opera Company. Votipka studied with Anna Schön-Rene and made her debut as a member of Vladimir Rosing’s (1890–1963) American Opera Company as the countess in The Marriage of Figaro in Washington, D.C., on December 14, 1927. Her debut at the Met was on December 16, 1935, as Flora in La Traviata, and she went on to sing 1,422 performances there, more than any other woman in

the company’s history. Her final performance was as Mamma Lucia in Cavalleria Rusticana on May 11, 1963. For the final gala performance at the old house in 1966, Thelma Votipka returned to take part in the quintet from Carmen. Beverly Wolff (1928–2005) was an American mezzosoprano during the great years of the New York City Opera who had a long career from the early 1950s to the early 1980s. Wolff was one of a golden generation of American singers who dominated the New York City Opera roster during the general directorship of Julius Rudel (1921–2014). Her combination of stylish, intelligent singing and “big brass sound,” as she termed it, was a key element in some of the company’s most celebrated productions.19 Wolff ’s career was largely confined to the United States because she put her life as a wife and mother ahead of her career. She generally spent three weeks at home for every two weeks of work. Wolff was also among the large number of fine alto singers who began musical careers as instrumentalists. She was a trumpeter who was a soloist with the Atlanta Symphony while still a teenager. Encouraged to begin a singing career, Wolff attended the Academy of Vocal Arts in Philadelphia where she appeared as a soloist with the Philadelphia Orchestra while still a student. In 1952 she made her professional debut as Dinah in Bernstein’s Trouble in Tahiti on CBS television. In 1953 Wolff sang Idamante in Mozart’s Idomeneo and Mistress Quickly for the New England Opera Theater. After taking time out to start a family, Beverly Wolff made her debut with the New York City Opera in 1958, reprising Dinah in the Bernstein work. During the next thirteen years at the New York City Opera, Wolff took part in several important productions. She sang Sesto in Handel’s Giulio Cesare with Beverly Sills, Maureen Forester, and Norman Treigle and Sara in Donizetti’s Roberto Devereux with Sills and Domingo. Other roles were the title part of Carry Nation by Douglas Moore, which she created in Lawrence, Kansas, in 1966 and subsequently sang at San Francisco as well as at the New York City Opera. Wolff created the part of Leonora in Menotti’s The Most Important Man in 1971 and sang Carmen, Cherubino, Siebel, and Desideria in Menotti’s The Saint of Bleeker Street. In March 1963 she created the part of the executive director in Menotti’s Labyrinth for the NBC Opera and in 1973 sang the first performance of the title role in Ned Rorem’s Berthe. Beverly Wolff also sang important performances with other American opera companies. At San Francisco she appeared as Judith in Bluebeard’s Castle, Giulietta in The Tales of Hoffmann, Marfa in Kát’a Kabanová by Leoš Janácˆek (1854–1928), and Ottavia in L’incoronazione di Poppea. She sang Amneris with the Philadelphia Opera Company, Adalgisa opposite Beverly Sills’s Norma at the Opera Company of Boston, and Ulrica at the Chicago Lyric. Beverly Wolff was a fine Handel singer as well. She sang the U.S. premiere of the eponymous Rinaldo in a concert performance at Carnegie Hall in 1972, Daniel in Belshazzar in 1973, and Ruggiero in Alcina in 1974, all with the Handel Society of New York. She sang the U.S. premieres of the title roles of



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Poro and Radamisto at the Kennedy Center Handel Festival. In 1972 she performed Clarice in Rossini’s La pietra del paragone at Alice Tully Hall. Wolff sang a total of twenty-five performances with the New York Philharmonic from 1965 to 1978, making her debut in Rossini’s Stabat Mater. Beverly Wolff retired from singing in the early 1980s and began teaching at Florida Southern College in 1981. She died of complications from heart surgery on August 14, 2005. Dolora Zajick (b. 1952) is last, but certainly not least, in our survey of contemporary alto artists. Zajick is a mezzosoprano who is identified with the great dramatic alto parts of Giuseppe Verdi. One might say that she owns the role of Azucena, for she has sung it more times (fifty-four) than any other artist in the Met’s history. In October 2015, Peter Gelb, the manager of the Met, presented Zajick with a commemorative golden anvil to mark her achievement. It should be noted that she has also sung Amneris seventy-six times in her career at the Metropolitan, for a total of almost 250 performances of various roles. Dolora Zajick was born in Salem, Oregon. She was a premed student at the University of Nevada, Reno, and was a member of the Nevada Opera chorus when her talent was noticed by Ted Puffer (1928–2003), a voice teacher and conductor. She switched majors and graduated with a master’s degree in music. Zajick went on to study at the Manhattan School of Music. In 1982 she won the bronze medal in the Tchaikovsky Competition in Moscow and entered the Merola Program at the San Francisco Opera. In 1986 Zajick debuted at the San Francisco Opera as Azucena, and her international career was established. Besides Azucena and Amneris, Dolora Zajick is renowned for Princess Eboli, Ulrica, and Lady Macbeth, as well as Marfa in Khovanshchina by Musorgsky, Ježibaba in Antonin Dvořak’s (1841–1904) Rusalka, the princess in Francesco Cilea’s (1866– 1950) Adriana Lecouvreur, Santuzza, Adalgisa, Joan of Arc in The Maid of Orleans, and The Countess in Pique Dame by Tchaikovsky, Dalila, Hérodiade, Léonor in La favorite, La Zia Principessa in Suor Angelica, Ortrud, and Madame de Croissy in Les Dialogues des Carmélites. In 2005, Dolora Zajick created the part of Elvira Griffiths in Tobias Picker’s An American Tragedy. Besides being a pillar of the Metropolitan Opera, Dolora Zajick has appeared in many of the great opera houses of the world, including La Scala, Lyric Opera of Chicago, the Houston Grand Opera, Vienna Staatsoper, Arena di Verona, Opéra Bastille, Teatro Real Barcelona, Teatre del Liceu, Madrid, Covent Garden, the Salzburg Festival, and the Chorégies d’Orange Festival.

In addition to her performing career, Zajick is an accomplished visual artist, an author on the science and technique of music, a gardener, and has established an institute to train young dramatic voices to cope with the dramatic works of Wagner and Verdi.

NOTES 1.  John Pennino, Risë Stevens: A Life in Music (Fort Worth, TX: Baskerville Publishers, 2005), 98–99. 2. Pennino, Risë Stevens, 294 3.  John Ardoin, Callas: The Art and the Life (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1974), 4. 4.  Rodolfo Celletti, A History of Bel Canto (New York: Oxford University Press, 1991), 178–79. 5. Alan Blyth, “Marilyn Horne,” http://oxfordmusiconline .com:80/article/grove/music/13359 (accessed 24 August 2015). 6. J. B. Steane, The Grand Tradition (London: Duckworth, 1974), 396–97. 7. Alan Blyth, “Cecilia Bartoli,” http://oxfordmusiconline. com:80/article/grove/music/41895 (10 October 2015). 8.  Martin Bernheimer, “Obituaries: Frances Bible,” Opera News (May 2001). 9. Matthew Westphal, “Vienna State Opera Fires Olga Borodina,” Playbill, 20 June 2006. 10.  Harold Rosenthal, “Helga Dernesch,” The New Grove Dictionary of Opera, vol. 1, ed. Stanley Sedie (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997), 1128. 11.  Sandra Martin, Working the Dead Beat: 50 Lives That Changed Canada (Toronto, ON: House of Anansi, 2012), 3. 12. Alan Kozinn, “Margaret Harshaw Dies at 88, A Wagnerian Opera Singer,” New York Times, 11 November 1997. 13. John Freeman, “The Great Gatsby,” Opera News (March 2000). 14. Alan Blyth, “Lorraine Hunt-Lieberson,” http://oxfordmusi conline.com.80/article/grove music/46063 (accessed 12 November 2015). 15. Anthony Tommasini, “Lorraine Hunt-Lieberson, Luminous Mezzo, Dies at 52,” The New York Times, 5 July 2006. 16.  Péter P. Várnai, “Ella Némenthy,” The New Grove Dictionary of Opera, vol. 3, 570. 17.  James Levine, “Remembering Tatiana,” program booklet for “Music in Memory of Tatiana Troyanos, Concert at the Metropolitan Opera,” 24 April 1994. 18. Quoted in Robert Wilder Blue, “Remembering Tatiana Troyanos,” http://reocities.com/Vienna/6754/blue2.html (accessed 6 December 2015). 19.  Anonymous, “Obituaries: Beverly Wolff,” Opera News 75, no. 9 (March 2011).

Selected Bibliography Books

Advaita Ashrama. The Life of Swami Vivekanand. Himalayas: Advaita Ashrama, 1915. Ardoin, John. Callas: The Art and the Life. New York: Holt, Rinehart, and Winston, 1974. Ashbrook, William. Donizetti and His Operas. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983. Baldauf-Berdes, Jane. Women Musicians of Venice, 1525–1855. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993. Barbier, Patrick. Opera in Paris, 1800–1850: A Lively History. New York: Hal Leonard, 1995. Bartoli, Cecilia. Sacrificium. Edited by Markus Wyler. London: Decca Music Group, 2009. Berlioz, Hector. Memoirs of Hector Berlioz from 1803 to 1865. New York: Dover, 1966. Bolt, Rodney. The Librettist of Venice. New York: Bloomsbury, 2006. Brenet, Michel. Les Concerts en France sous L’ancien Régime. Paris: Fischbacher, 1900. Brown, William Earl. Vocal Wisdom: Maxims of Giovanni Battista Lamperti. New York: Arno, 1931. Buckler, Julie. The Literary Lorgnette: Attending Opera in Imperial Russia. Stanford: Stanford Uviversity Press, 2000. Budden, Julian. The Operas of Verdi. 4 Vols. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1992. Buffen, F. Foster, ed. Musical Celebrities. London: Chapman & Hall, 1893. Burney, Charles. A General History of Music: From the Earliest Ages to the Present Period. Vol. 4. London: Payne & Son, 1789. ———. The Present State of Music in France and Italy. 1773. Facsimile edition, New York: Broude Bros., 1969. Busch, Hans, trans. Verdi’s Aida: The History of an Opera in Letters and Documents. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1978. Bushnell, Howard. Maria Malibran: A Biography of a Singer. University Park, PA: Penn State University Press, 1979. Caprioli, Leonella Grasso. “Singing Rossini.” In The Cambridge Companion to Rossini, ed. Emanuele Seneci, 189–204. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004. Cather, Willa. The Kingdom of Art: Willa Cather’s First Principles and Critical Statements, 1893–1896. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1967. Celletti, Rodolfo. A History of Bel Canto. New York: Oxford University Press, 1991.

Chernin, Kim, with Stendhal. Cecilia Bartoli: The Passion of Song. New York: Harper Collins, 1997. Chorley, Henry F. Thirty Years’ Musical Recollections. New York: Knopf, 1926. Chusid, Martin. Verdi’s Il trovatore: The Quintessential Italian Melodrama. Rochester, NY: University of Rochester Press, 2012. Clayton, Ellen Creathorne. Queens of Song. 2 Vols. London: Smith, Elder, 1863. Clive, Peter. Brahms and His World. Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, 2006. Conway, David. Jewry in Music: Entry to the Profession from the Enlightenment to Richard Wagner. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2012. Curtiss, Mina. Bizet and His World. New York: Vienna House, 1958. Davenport, Marcia. Mozart. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1932. Duprez, Gilbert-Louis. Souvenirs d’un Chanteur. Paris: Michel Levy Frères, 1880. Einstein, Alfred. Mozart: His Character, His Work. New York: Oxford University Press, 1945. Eisenbeiss, Philip. Bel Canto Bully. London: Haus Publishing, 2013. Ellis, John, and Arthur Mendel. Studies in the History of Musical Pitch, 1880. Reprint, Amsterdam: Fritz Kunf, 1968. Emerson, Isabelle. Five Centuries of Women Singers. Westport, CT: Praeger, 2005. Ferris, George T. Great Singers, First Series. New York: D. Appelton, 1888. ———. Great Singers, Second Series. New York: D. Appelton, 1892. Finck, Henry Theophilus. Richard Strauss: The Man and His Works. New York: Little, Brown, 1917. Fitzgerald, Gerald, ed. Annals of the Metropolitan Opera, 1883–1985. Boston: G. K. Hall, 1989. Fitzlyon, April. Maria Malibran: Diva of the Romantic Age. London: Souvenir Press, 1987. ———. The Price of Genius. New York: Appleton-Century, 1964. Forbes, Elizabeth. Mario and Grisi: A Biography. London: Victor Gollanz, 1985. Fuller-Maitland, J. A., Waldo Selden Pratt, and Charles Newell Boyd, eds. Grove’s Dictionary of Music and Musicians. New York: McMillan, 1911. Garcia, Manuel II. Hints on Singing. London: Ascherberg, Hopwood, and Crew, 1894.

223

224

Selected Bibliography

Gossett, Philip. Divas and Scholars: Performing Italian Opera. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2007. Gregoire, Edourd. Panthéon Musical Populaire. Brussels: Schott Frères, 1876. Grout, Donald J. A Short History of Opera. New York: Columbia University Press, 1965. ———. A Short History of Western Music. New York: Norton, 1960. Haböck, Franz. Die Gesangkunst der Kastraten. Vienna: Universal Edition, 1923. Heartz, Daniel. Haydn, Mozart, and the Viennese School, 1740–1780. New York: Norton, 1995. Heriot, Angus. The Castrati in Opera. 1927. Reprint, New York: Da Capo, 1975. Hogwood, Christopher. Handel. London: Thames & Hudson, 1984. Holden, Amanda, ed. The New Penguin Opera Guide. New York: Penguin Putnam, 2001. Horne, Marilyn, with Jane Scoville. Marilyn Horne: The Song Continues. Fort Worth, TX: Baskerville Publishers, 2004. Huneker, James. Dramatic Opinions and Essays by G. Bernard Shaw. New York: Brentanos, 1922. Jacobi, Peter. The Messiah Book: The Life and Times of Handel’s Greatest Hit. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1982. Jerrman, Edward. St. Petersburg: Its People, Their Life and Institutions. New York: Barnes, 1855. Jordan, Ruth. Fromental Halévy: His Life in Music, 1799–1862. New York: Hal Leonard, 1996. Keates, Jonathan. Handel: The Man and His Music. New York: Random House, 2009. Kelley, Thomas Forrest. First Nights at the Opera. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2004. Kendall-Davies, Barbara. The Life and Works of Pauline Viardot Garcia. Vol. 1: 1836–1863. Amersham, UK: Cambridge Scholars Press, 2003. Klein, Herman. Herman Klein and the Gramophone. Reprint, New York: Hal Leonard, 1990. Kutch, Karl-Joseph, and Leo Riemans. Grosses Sängerlexikon. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2004. Leavey, R. M., and J. O’Rorke. Annals of the Theater Royal, Dublin. Dublin: Joseph Dollard, 1880. Leblache, Luigi. Leblache’s Abridged Method of Singing. Cincinnati: J. Church, 1873. Lee, Vernon [Violet Paget]. Studies of the Eighteenth Century in Italy. London: Unwin, 1907. Leonard, Maurice. Hope and Glory. Brighton, UK: Victorian Secrets, 2012. ———. Kathleen, The Life of Kathleen Ferrier. London: Hutchinson, 1988. Loewenberg, Alfred. Annals of Opera, 1597–1940. Geneva: Societas Bibliographica, 1955. Lysons, Daniel. History of the Origin and Progress of the Meeting of the Three Choirs of Gloucester, Worcester, and Herford. London: Cadwell & Davies, 1812. Mackinlay, Malcom Sterling. Garcia the Centenarian and His Times. 1908. Reprint, New York: Da Capo Press, 1976. Mancini, Giambattista. Practical Reflections on Figured Singing. Translated and edited by Edward V. Foreman. 1774. Reprint, Champaign, IL: Pro Musica Press, 1967. Mann, William. The Operas of Mozart. New York: Oxford University Press, 1997.

Marek, George. Beethoven: Biography of a Genius. New York: Funk & Wagnalls, 1969. Markstrom, Kurt. The Operas of Leonardo Vinci, Napoletano. Hillsdale, NY: Pendragon Press, 1954. Martin, Sandra. Working the Dead Beat: 50 Lives That Changed Canada. Toronto, ON: House of Anansi, 2012. McCullough, David. The Greater Journey. New York: Simon & Schuster, 2011. McHenry, Robert, ed. Merriam-Webster Biographical Dictionary. Springfield, MA: Merriam-Webster, 1995. Meersman, Hans. Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. New York: Dover, 1972. Merlin, Countess Maria de. Memoirs of Maria Malibran. Vol. 1. London: Henry Colburn, 1840. ———. Memoirs of Maria Malibran, Vol. II. London: Henry Colburn, 1844. Michotte, Edmond. Richard Wagner’s Visit to Rossini and an Evening at Rossini’s at Beau Sejour. Translated and edited by Herbert Weinstock. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1968. Millington, Barry, ed. The Wagner Compendium: A Guide to Wagner’s Life and Music. London: Thames & Hudson, 1992. Millner, Frederick L. The Operas of Johann Adolf Hasse. New York: UMI Research Press, 1979. Montague, Lady Mary Wortley. The Letters and Works of Lady Mary Wortley Montague. London: George Bell & Sons, 1898. Mordden, Ethan. Opera Anecdotes. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988. Mount Edgecumb, Lord Richard. Musical Reminiscences of the Earl of Mount Edgecumb. 1834. Reprint, New York: Da Capo Press, 1973. Newman, Ernest. The Life of Richard Wagner. 4 Vols. New York: Knopf, 1942. Osborne, Charles. The Bel Canto Operas of Rossini, Donizetti, and Bellini. Portland, OR: Amadeus Press, 1994. ———. The Complete Operas of Verdi. New York: Da Capo, 1969. Osborne, Richard. Rossini: His Life and Work. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007. Pacini, Giovanni. Le mie memorie artistiche. Florence: Tipi dei Successori le Monnier, 1875. Palmer, R. R. A History of the Modern World. New York: Knopf, 1963. Paton, John Glenn. 26 Italian Songs and Arias. Van Nuys, CA: Alfred Publishing, 1991. Pennino, John. Risë Stevens: A Life in Music. Fort Worth, TX: Baskerville Publishers, 2005. Phillips-Matz, Mary Jane. Verdi: A Biography. New York: Oxford University Press, 1993. Pleasants, Henry. The Great Singers: From the Dawn of Opera to Our Own Time. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1966. Pollack, Howard. Marc Blitzstein: His Work, His World. New York: Oxford University Press, 2012. Poriss, Hilary. Changing the Score. New York: Oxford University Press, 2009. Radomski, James. Manuel Garcia: Chronicle of the Life of a Bel Canto Tenor at the Dawn of Romanticism. New York: Oxford University Press, 2000. Rasponi, Lanfranco. The Last Prima Donnas. New York: Knopf, 1982. Riesemann, Oskar von. Moussorgsky. London: New York: Knopf, 1929. Riggs, Geoffrey S. The Assoluta Voice in Opera. Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2003.

Rosand, Ellen. Opera in Seventeenth-Century Venice: The Creation of a Genre. Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2007. Rous, Samuel Holland, ed. The Victor Book of the Opera. 3rd rev. ed. Camden, NJ: Victor Talking Machine, 1915. Rutherford, Susan, and Hilary Poriss. The Cambridge Verdi Encyclopedia. Edited by Roberta Montemorra Marvin. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014. Scott, Michael. The Record of Singing. Vol. 1. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1977. ———. The Record of Singing. Vol. 2. London: Duckworth, 1979. ———. The Record of Singing. Vol. 3. London: EMI Records, 1979. Sedie, Stanley, ed. The New Grove Dictionary of Opera. 4 vols. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997. Shakespeare, William. The Tempest. New York: Spencer Press, 1958. Sokol, Martin. The New York City Opera. New York: Macmillan, 1981. Steane, J. B. The Grand Tradition. London: Duckworth, 1974. Stendhal [Marie-Henri Beyle]. Life of Rossini. Translated by Richard N. Coe. 1823. Reprint, London: Calder, 1956. Stern, Kenneth. Giuditta Pasta: A Life on the Lyric Stage. Palm Springs, CA: Operaphile Press, 2013. Swafford, Jan. Beethoven: Anguish and Triumph. New York: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2014. ———. Johannes Brahms. New York: Knopf, 1997. Taruskin, Richard. Defining Russia Musically. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2001.

Books 225 Tosi, Pier Francseco. Observations on the Florid Song. Translated and annotated by J. E. Galliard. Edited by Michael Pilkington. 1743. Reprint, London: Stainer & Bell, 1987. Ulrich, Bernhard. Concerning the Principles of Vocal Training During the A Cappella Period and until the Beginning of Opera (1474– 1640). Translated by John Seal. 1910. Reprint, Minneapolis: Pro Musica Press, 1973. Vol’f, Aleksandr Ivanovitch. Kronika peterburghskikh teatrov s kontsa 1826 do nachala 1855 goda. St. Petersburgh: Tip. R. Golike, 1877. Wagner, Richard. My Life. Translated by Andrew Gray. Reprint, New York: Da Capo, 1992. Walker, Alan. Franz Liszt: The Virtuoso Years: 1811–1847. Vol. 1. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1987. Walkley, A. B. Playhouse Impressions. London: Unwinn, 1892. Weinstock, Herbert. Donizetti and the World of Opera in Italy, Paris, and Vienna in the First Half of the Nineteenth Century. New York: Pantheon Books, 1963. ———. Rossini: A Biography. New York: Knopf, 1968. ———. Vincenzo Bellini: His Life and His Operas. New York: Knopf, 1971. Werfel, Franz, and Paul Stefan. Verdi: The Man in His Letters. New York: Vienna House, 1973. Wolff, S. Un demi-siecle d’Opéra-Comique 1900–1950. Paris: André Bonne, 1953.

Selected Bibliography Articles, Essays, and Web Sites

Anonymous. “Death of Madame Grassini.” The Musical World XXV (1850). ———. “Foreign Musical Report, Rome.” The Harmonicon. Edited by W. Pinnock. Vol. 4. London: Samuel Leigh, 1826. ———. “Giuseppe Cicognani.” www.quellusignolo.fr/castrats/cicog nani.html. ———. “The Kiev Opera” http://tchaikovsky-research.net. ———. “Leipzig, 12, Febr.” Deutsche Allegemeine Zeitung (1858). ———. “Letter from Louis Viardot.” The Musical World XXXIII (1855). ———. “Lohengrin.” Review. Chicago Tribune 14 November 1891. ———. “Madame Viardot in Poland.” The Musical World XXXV (1857). ———. “Obituaries: Beverly Wolff.” Opera News 75, no. 9 (March 2011). ———. “Orfeo et Euridice.” Review. Chicago Tribune, 11 November 1891. ———. “Prospectus for Covent Garden, 1854.” The Musical World XXXII (1854). ———. “Rosina Brandham.” London Times, 31 December 1906, 6. ———. “Rossini.” The Harmonicon. Edited by William Ayerton. Vol. 2. London: Samuel Leigh, 1824. ———. “Rossini Festival Review.” Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung 28 (1822). ———. “Statistics, 2013/14.” www.operabase.com/visual.cgi?lang=en& splash=t. ———. “Théatre royale de l’opéra italienne.” Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung 28 (1822). ———. “Il Trovatore.” The Opera Glass. www.opera.stanford.edu. Arnold, Dennis and Tim Ashley. “Meyerbeer, Giacomo.” www.oxford musiconline.com/article/opr/t114e4393. Bernheimer, Martin. “Obituary: Frances Bible.” Opera News (May 2001). Blue, Robert Wilder. “Remembering Tatiana Troyanos.” http://reoci ties.com/Vienna/6754/blue2.html, 10/01/15. Blyth, Alan. “Lorraine Hunt- Lieberson.” http://oxfordmusiconline .com.80/article/grove music/46063. Casaglia, Gherardo. “Donizetti.” http://amadeusonlinenet/almanacco. Cooper, Michael. “Mets Maestro Heading back to His Podium.” New York Times, 23 September 2013, A1. Eder, Bruce. “Marie Powers.” www.allmusic.com/artist/marie-powers -mn0002095935/biography. Eisen, Cliff, et al. “Giovanni Manzuoli.” In Mozart’s Words. www.mo zartways.com01/04/2015. Erickson Raymond. “Review.” Musical America, March 16, 1957. Freeman, John. “Review: The Great Gatsby.” Opera News (March 2000).

Girard, Victor. “Emma Calve.” Liner notes. West Chester, PA: Marston Records, 1998. Gossett, Philip. “Rossini Otello.” Liner notes. Phillips Recording, 9500 608. Amsterdam: Phillips Records, 1979. Henderson, W. J. “Metropolitan Opera Premiere, Fidelio.” http:// archives.metoperafamily.org. Jahn, Michael. “La Cenerentola in Vienna.” Program for the Vienna State Opera’s La Cenerentola, Season 2012. Vienna: Vienna State Opera. Kopitz, Klaus Martin. “Caroline Unger.” Musik und Gender im Internet. http://mugi.hfmt-hamburg.de/A_lexartikel/lexartikel.php?id= unge1803. Kozinn, Alan. “Margaret Harshaw Dies at 88, A Wagnerian Opera Singer.” New York Times, 11 November 1997. Lannoy, Eduard von. “Caroline Unger.” Allgemeine Theaterzeitung und Originalblatt für Kunst. Literatur, Musik, Mode, und geselliges Leben 32, no. 76 (April 16, 1839). Levine, James. “Remembering Tatiana.” Program Booklet for “Music in Memory of Tatiana Troyanos.” New York: The Metropolitan Opera, April 24, 1994. Liszt, Franz. “Pauline Viardot-Garcia.” Neue Zeitschrift für Musik 50, no. 5 (1859). Martin, George Whitney. “Verdi Onstage in the United States: Le trouvère.” The Opera Quarterly 21, no. 2A (spring 2005). Mason, James. “Curiosities of Music.” The Leisure Hour 34 (1885). Meyers, Eric. “Sweet and Low.” Opera News, December 28, 1996. Operabase.com. “Listing of Performances from 2011.” http://amadeu sonlinenet/almanacco. Parisi, Susan. “Settima Caccini.” The New Grove Dictionary of Opera. Vol. 1. Edited by Stanley Sedie. New York: Oxford University Press, 1997. Rellstab, Ludwig. “Mad. Viardot at Berlin.” The Musical World XXXVI (1858). Roco, Octavia. “Sills Relives Her Finest Hour.” San Francisco Chronicle, September 2000. Rogers, Francis. “Giuseppina Grassini.” The New Music Review and Church Music Review, 7, nos. 73–84 (December 1907–November 1908). Rosenthal, Harold. “Helga Dernesch.” The New Grove Dictionary of Opera. Vol. 1. Edited by Stanley Sedie. New York: Oxford University Press, 1997. Rushton, Julian. “Berlioz and the Mezzo-Soprano.” Berlioz Scenes from the Life and Work. Edited by Peter Bloom. Rochester, NY: University of Rochester Press, 2008.

227

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Selected Bibliography

Smart, Mary Ann. “The Lost Voice of Rosine Stoltz.” Cambridge Opera Journal 6, no. 1 (March 1994). Snider, Jeffrey. “In Search of the Soprano Sfogato.” Journal of Singing 68, no. 3 (January–February 2012). Taruskin, Richard. “Sergey Prokofiev.” The New Grove Dictionary of Opera. Vol. 3. Edited by Stanley Sedie. New York: Oxford University Press, 1997. Taylor, John, and John Scott. “Report of Music.” The London Magazine 9 (June 1824).

Tommasini, Anthony. “Lorraine Hunt-Lieberson, Luminous Mezzo, Dies at 52.” New York Times, 5 July 2006. Truhn, H. “Pauline Viardot-Garcia.” Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung 7 (1847). Weatherson, Alexander. “Puntitura for Pauline Viardot.” Atti del convegno della celebrazioni del Bicentario. La vocalit’ e i cantanti. Bergamo, Italy. September 25–27, 1997. Westphal, Matthew. “Vienna State Opera Fires Olga Borodina.” Playbill, 20 June 2006.

Alto Singer Index

Abbadia, Luigia, 159 Alboni, Marietta, 77, 92, 118, 181 Allen, Betty, 207 d’Alvarez, Marguerita, 183 Anday, Rosina, 195 Anderson, Marian, 186, 207 Andry, Yvonne, 195 Anibaldi, Domenico, 40, 41 Appiani, Giuseppe, 26 Arbell, Lucy, 146 Arkhipova, Irina, 177 Arndt-Ober, Margarete, 172–77 Bailac, Germaine, 134 Baker, Janet, 47, 198–99 Baldi, Antonio, 32 Ballard, Simone, 195 Baltsa, Agnes, 160, 172, 207–8 Bandram, Rosina, 181 Barbier, Jane, 31 Barbieri, Fedora 207 Barnett, Alice, 181 Bartoli, Cecilia, xv, 3, 6, 7, 20, 23, 39–42, 45, 47, 61–63, 149–50, 204–6 Basmon, Rosa, 13 Bedini, Domenico, 47 Bellinzaghi, Giovannina, 159 Berbié, Jane, 207–8 Berenstadt, Gaetano, 24 Berganza, Teresa, 47, 62, 204 Bernacchi, Antonio, 20, 23–24, 29, 32–33, 43 Berselli, Matteo, 32–33 Bertolli, Francesco, 33 Besanzoni, Gabriella, 166 Bible, Francis, 208 Bichurina, Anna, 178 Bloch, Rosine, 161, 164 Bonazzi, Elaine, 208 Bordoni, Faustina, 7, 25, 26, 31, 39–42, 52 Borghi-Mamo, Adelaide, 125–160 Borodina, Olga, 208

Brambilla, Marietta, 87, 153 Branchu, Alexandrine Carolina, 134 Brandi, Antonio, 23 Brandt, Marianne, 130, 170 Branzell, Karin, 194 Braunhofer, Maria Anna, 44 Brema, Maria, 182 Brohly, Suzanne, 147 Buccini, Eloisa, 156 Bulgarelli, Mariana Benti (La Romania), 26 Bumbry, Grace, 3, 60, 165, 208–10 Burgess, Sally, 190 Bussani, Dorothea, 45 Butt, Clara, 43, 183 Caffarelli, (Gaetano Majorano), 7, 25–26, 35, 40, 42–43 Calvé, Emma, 144–45, 165, 192 Campioli, Antonio, 40 Canonici, Giacinta, 151 Carestini, Giovanni, 7, 20, 25–26, 30, 34–35, 40, 42–43 Carey, Annie Louise. 163, 184 Carpano, Adelaide, 63 Casaloni, Annetta, 160 Castagna, Bruna, 165 Catalani, Adelaide, 151 Cawse, Harriet, 167 Cecconi, Teresa, 149, 151 Chabert, Marguerite, 141 Chabrand-Albani, Margherita, 63, 65 Charbonnel, Marie,147 Charles-Cahier, Sara, 186 Charton-Demeur, Anne-Arsène, 134 Chavanne, Irene von, 171 Cibber, Susanna, 37 Coates, Edith, 197 Cocognani, Giuseppe, 44 Colbran, Isabella, 58, 62–63, 66, 69–79, 83–84, 86, 88, 92, 96, 101–102, 152, 207 Comelli (Chaumel) Rubini, Adelaide, 74, 88, 149, 152 Console, Tommaso, 45 Cortez, Viorica, 208–9 229

230

Alto Singer Index

Cosotto, Fiorenza, 160, 165, 189, 190 Cosselli, Anna Scudellari, 151 Costa-Greenspon, Muriel, 196 Crescentini, Girolamo, 50, 58, 71–72, 87, 89 Crespin, Régine, 190 Croiza, Claire, 190 Csillag, Róza, 168 Culp, Julia, 182

Hasselbeck, Olga, 190 Hauk, Minnie, 184 Hill, Carmen, 183 Homer, Louise, 185–86, 194 Höngen, Elisabeth, 211 Horne, Marilyn, xv, 6, 20, 29, 61–62

Dalis, Irene, 165, 173 Deller, Alfred, 198 Dernesch, Helge, 209 Deschamps-Jéhen, Blanche, 144, 147 Dietz, Sophie, 169 Dini, Eufemia Barlani, 164 Donato, Joyce Di, xv, 27, 31, 61–62, 70, 72, 74, 150, 172, 206–7 Dufflot-Maillard, Hortense, 134 Dunn, Mignon, 65, 208 Durastanti, Margherita, 19, 31–32, 43, 60

Kalter, Sabine, 174 Kaménskaya, Mariya, 176 Kasarova, Vessalina, 211 Klose, Margarete, 194 Komlósi, Ildikó, 190, 211 Kožená, Magdalena, 211 Kraft, Jean, 212 Krutikova, Aleksandra, 176 Kuhlmann, Rosemary, 199

Eckerlin, Fanny, 51 Elias, Rosalind, 172, 190, 199 Ernst, Johann, 44 Evans, Nancy, 198 Ewing, Maria, 193 Fabbri, Guerrina, 164 Fassbaender, Brigitte, 172, 209 Ferrier, Kathleen, 194, 197–98 Fontana, Giacinto (Farfallino), 26 Fornia, Rita, 190 Forrester, Maureen, 209, 220 Fricci, Antonietta, 162 Gaetani, Jan De, 209 Gafforini, Elisabetta, 64 Gagrina, Valentina, 196 Galli, Catarina, 36, 44 Galli-Marié, Celestine, 142–44, 181 Garanča, Elina, 210 Gay, Maria, 166 Geneaux, Vivica, xv, 25, 62, 210 Georgi-Belloc, Teresa, 58, 60, 62, 66 Gerhardt, Elena, 182 Gerville-Réache, Jeanne, 147 Giaconia, Giuseppina, 190 Gilmore, Grace, 210 Gizziello, Gioachino, 29 Goggi, Emilia, 160 Goldberg, Fanny, 157 Gorr, Rita, 165, 189–90 Graham, Susan, 172, 210 Grandi, Margherite, 146–47 Grassini, Josephina (Giuseppina), 51, 58, 82 Grisi, Giuditta, 149 Grossi, Eleanora, 162 Guadagni, Antonio, 37, 43–44 Guéymard-Lauters, Pauline, 135, 161 Hamari, Julia, 210 Harshaw, Margaret, 211

Ilyina, Mariya, 195

Lane, Gloria, 196, 199 Larmore, Jennifer, xv, 160, 165, 212 Leonova, Dar’ya, 176 Levitskaya, Aleksandra, 176 Leyna, Lotte, 193, 198 Lieberson, Lorraine Hunt, 212 Lipton, Martha, 212 Löwe-Destinn, Marie, 168–69 Ludwig, Christa, 3, 172, 190, 202, 220 Lunn, Louise Kirkby, 182 Lussan, Zélie de, 183 Macé-Montarouge, Marguerite, 141 Mackinlay, Antoinette Sterling, 182 Madiera, Jean, 213 Mailac, Pauline, 135 Malanotte, Adelaide, 60–61, 84 Malibran, Maria, (Garcia), 3, 62–63, 66, 77, 85, 91–92, 96, 99– 111, 113–14, 149–50, 152, 154–55, 181, 205 Manca di Nissa, Bernadette, 213 Manna, Carolina Bassi, 74 Mantelli, Eugenia, 166 Manzuoli, Giovanni, 44–45 Manzzochi, Almerinda, 155 Marchesina, Maria Antonia, 37 Marchesina, Santa, 123 Marchetti-Fantozzi, Maria, 47 Marchisio, Barbara, 149–50 Marcolini, Marietta, (Maria), 59–63, 70 Mariani, Rosa, 58, 76, 133 Marsee, Susan, 213 Mattiucci, Franca, 213 Matzenauer, Margarete, 165, 190–91, 198 Mazzanti, (first name unknown), 151 Mazzarella, Rosina, 156 Megane, Leila, 183 Meier, Waltraud, 213 Menghini-Cattaneo, Irene, 192 Mentzer, Susanne, 214 Merighi, Antonia, 25–26, 33 Merriman, Katherine Ann (Nan), 214 Metzger-Lettermann, Ottilie, 173



Alto Singer Index 231

Meyer, Kerstin, 172, 214 Michel, Solange, 214 Miller, Auguste von, 134 Miller, Mildred, 172, 214 Minelli, Giovanni Battista, 29 Mingardo, Sara, 214 Minton, Yvonne, 172, 215 Molé-Truffier, Marie, 141 Mombelli, Maria Ester, 59–61, 75, 151 Mombelli, Mariana (Anna), 61 Monticelli, Angelo, 37 Morandi, Rosa, 59, 74, 151 Nantiér-Didieé, Constance, 161 Neghi, Caterina Maria, 34, 41 Némenthy, Ella, 215 Nicolino (Nicoló Grimaldi), 25–26, 32, 35 Nittinger, Irma, 173 Obraztsova, Elena, 177, 190 Olezewska, Maria, 172, 195 Onégin, Sigrid, 193–94 Orlandi, Elisa, 152–53 Otter, Ann Sofie von, 172, 189, 215 Pacchierotti, Gasparo, 7, 18, 50, 69 Paolelli, Giulia Saus, 23 Parlamagni, Annetta, 75 Parsi-Pettinella, Armida, 166 Pasqua, Giuseppina, 162, 164 Pasta, Giuditta, 47, 52, 58, 61, 66, 70–71, 74, 81–93, 96, 101– 102, 109, 115, 117, 149, 152 Pavlovska, Irène, 195 Pederzini, Gianna, 189 Perini, Carolina (Anchulina), 47 Perini, Flora, 216 Petrovitch, Genevra, 164 Petrova-Zvantseva, Vera, 179 Pickens, Jane, 199 Piltz, Maria Vilgelmina, 178 Pina, Sonia, xv, 216 Pinotti, Elisabetta, 73 Pisaroni, Benedetta Rosmunda, 61, 63, 73–74, 88, 105, 133, 151, 170 Pistocchi, Antonio, 27 Platanova, Yulina, 177 Podleś, Ewa, xv, 61–62, 216 Posi, Antonio, 29, 34 Powers, Marie, 199, 219 Pozzi, Nicolo, 40 Puzzi-Toso, Giacinta, 154 Quivar, Florence, 216 Rankin, Nell, 165 Rastovtseva, Aleksandra, 178 Ravogli, Giulia, 165 Renard, Marie, 145 Resnick, Regina, 3, 176–77, 217–18 Reuss-Belce, Luise, 135 Righetti-Giorgi, Geltrude, 64–65, 70

Robinson, Anastasia, 31–32 Rodriguez, Marietta Biancolini, 164 Ronzi de Begnis, Giuseppina, 76, 92, 152–54 Royer, Jacqueline, 147 Sadoven, Hèléne, 197 Sala, Adelaide, 64 Santoline, Diomilla, 153 Sarfaty, Regina, 217 Savanelli, Anna, 60 Sbriscia, Zelina, 161 Scalchi, Sofia, 165 Scherler, Barbara, 217 Schneider, Hortense, 141 Schumann-Heinke, Ernestine, 171, 186 Schütz-Oldosi, Amalie, 75, 155 Seehofer, Emma, 169 Selyuk-Roznatovskaya, Serafina, 178 Senesino, (Francesco Bernardi), 7, 26, 31–36, 43 Sharley, Denise, 190 Shaw, Mary, 159 Simionato, Giuletta, 62, 165, 192–93, 202 Sinclair, Monica, 198 Slavina, Mariya, 176, 178 Spech, Adelina, 153 Stade, Frederica von, 172, 189, 204–5 Stevens, Risë, 172, 201–2 Stignani, Ebbe, 191 Stoltz, Rosine, 122, 137–39, 156–57, 181 Strakova, Varvara, 179 Supervia, Concita, 191–92 Swarthout, Gladys, 218 Tangeman, Nell, 199 Tarasova, Marianne, 196 Tedesco, Fortunata, 168 Terrani, Luisa Valentini, 218 Tesi, Victoria, (Tramontini), 7, 26, 39, 40, 43 Thebom, Blanche, 197 Thomas, Marjorie, 198 Thorberg, Kerstin, 172 Todi, Luisa, 52 Töpper, Herta, 190 Tourangeau, Hugette, 218 Tourel, Jennie, 196 Troyanos, Tatiana, 165, 172, 190, 218–19 Turner, Claramae, 219 Ugalde, Marguerite, 141 Unger (Ungher), Carolina, 75, 86, 95–98, 109, 149, 151–154 Vanini, Francesca (Boschi), 31 Varobieva-Petrova, Anna, 175 Vasiliéva, Nadezhda, 196 Veasey, Josephine, 219 Vejzovic, Dunja, 219 Velluti, Giovanni Battista, 58–59, 62–63, 85, 87, 102, 111, 133 Verrett, Shirley, 3, 160, 220 Viardot, Pauline, 3, 46, 62, 70–71, 92–93, 98, 100, 111, 113–30, 133–34, 144, 156, 159–60, 168, 170, 194, 201–2 Villanueve, Louise (Luisa), 46

232 Vonterthon, Joseph, 44 Votipka, Thelma “Tippy”, 220 Wächter-Wittman, Thérèse, 168 Wagner, Johanna, 168 Waldmann, Maria, 162, 164, 168

Alto Singer Index Walker, Edyth, 185 White, Wendy, 199 Wolff, Beverly, 220 Zajick, Dolora, 160–221 Zbrujeva, Eugenia, 178

General Index

Abbado, Claudio, 215, 220 Adam, Adolphe, 141 Adamo, Mark, 206 Addison. Joseph, 181 Adés, Thomas, 39 Agujari, Lucrezia, 50 d’Albert, Eugen, 194 Albinoni, Tommaso, 32, 40 Albrecht, Gerd, 218 Ambrosi, Antonio, 66, 75 Amicis, Anna Lucia, 43–44 d’Amico, Matteo, 214 Amorevoli, Angelo, 40 Andreozzi, Gaetano, 50–52, 62 Angeles, Victoria de los, 204 Ansani, Giovanni, 100 Arditi, Luigi, 128, 160, 194 Arfvidsson, Ulrica, 161 Argento, Dominick, 205, 213 aria agitato, 19 Ariosti, Attilio, 33 arresti (arbitri), 62 Artôt, Désirée, 130 Astrua, Giovanna, 25 Auber, Daniel François Espirit, 133 Augier, Emile, 123 Bach, Jan, 213 Bach, Johann Christian, 44 Bach, Johann Sebastian, 40, 129, 198, 202, 206, 210, 212 Bachicha, Stephen, 214 Balakirev, Mily A., 177 Balducci, Giuseppe, 96 Balfe, Michael William, 111, 125, 127, 138, 142, 181 Banderale, David, 96 Banfield, Rafaello de, 219 Barbaja, Domenico, 57, 63, 65, 70, 72–74, 75–76, 85–87, 96, 108, 137, 151–52, 155–56 Barbarolli, Sir John, 198 Barber, Samuel, 185, 200, 229 Barbier, Jules, 141–42

Barbieri-Nini, Marianna, 159 Barbot-Douvry, Carolina, 161 Bardari, Giuseppe, 154 Barenboim, Daniel, 206, 214 Barroilhet, Paolo, 139 Bartók, Bela, 190, 211, 215, 219–20 Bartolini, Lorenzo, 76 basses-dessus, 43 Battistini, Mattia, 166 Bazin, François, 138 Beale, Thomas Willert, 127 Beard, John, 36 Beaudelaire, Charles, 98 Beaumarchais, Pierre, 45, 117 Beecham, Sir Thomas, 147, 173, 183, 194 Beethoven, Ludwig van, 53, 63, 95, 105, 110, 116, 118, 129, 142, 167, 169, 171, 210, 214 Begnis, Giuseppe de, 65 Bellini, Vincenzo, 24, 26, 73, 77–78, 81, 86, 88, 89–92, 98, 101, 109–10, 119, 149–50, 207, 212, 215, 218 Belmont, Mrs. August (Eleanor Robson), 202 Bendidio, Isabella, 5 Bendidio, Lucrezia, 5 Bene, Adriana Ferrarese del, 46–47 Benedetti, Michele, 73 Benedict, Sir Julius, 96, 126 Bennett, Tony, 219 Berg, Alban, 193, 212, 215, 217 Berio, Luciano, 207 Bériot, Charles August de, 106, 109–10, 113, 117 Berlioz, Hector, 105–6, 114–15, 120–22, 128–29, 133–35, 138, 141–42, 146, 165, 192, 198–99, 206–8, 210–12, 214, 219 Bernhardt, Sara, 146 Bernheimer, Martin, 208 Bernstein, Leonard, 196, 199, 202, 207, 213, 220 Berselli, Matteo, 32 Bertoni, Ferdinando, 51 Billington, Elizabeth, 52 Bing, Rudolf, 198, 202, 204, 207, 214 Bizet, Georges, 141–44, 184 Björling, Jussi, 207 233

234

General Index

Blake, Rockwell, 73 Blech, Leo, 194 Bliss, Arthur, 197 Blitzstein, Marc, 199, 217 Bloch, Ernest, 147, 189 Böhm, Karl, 47, 210, 217 Boito, Arrigo, 72, 145, 147, 164–65 Bonaparte, Lucien, 60 Bonaparte, Napoleon, 51–53, 76, 82 Bonci, Alessandro, 191 Bond, Dorothy, 147 Boniventi, Giuseppe, 33 Bononcini, Giovanni, 26, 32–33 Bordogni, Marco, 77, 83, 105 Borodin, Alexander, 125, 176–78, 216 Bouhy, Jacques, 183 Boulanger, Nadia, 199 Bouquet, August, 100 Braga, Gaetano, 160 Brahms, Johannes, 129–30, 198–99, 213, 229 Braunhofer, Maria Anna, 44 Brecht, Bertold, 193 Brewbaker, Daniel, 214 Britten, Benjamin, 3, 197–99, 208, 211–12, 215, 218, 220 Brivio, G.F., 36 Broschi, Riccardo, 7, 33 Browning, Elizabeth Barrett, 98 Buchardo, Carlos López, 215 Bülow, Hans von, 169, 171 buffo opera, 25 Bunn, Alfred, 109 Burgess, Anthony, 207 burletta. See opera buffa Burney, Dr. Charles, xv, 7, 27, 34–35, 37, 44, 50 Busotti, Sylvano, 207 Bussani, Francesco, 46 Byron, Lord George, 74, 153, 219 Caballé, Monserrat, 73, 107, 154, 156, 203, 209, 219 Caccini, Giulio, 5 Cage, John, 207 Caldara, Antonio, 31, 33 Callas, Maria, 70, 72, 83–84, 88, 114, 149–150, 152, 190–91, 203, 207, 212 Calzabigi, Raniero, 44 cambio voce, 27 Camerata, 23 Cammarano, Salvatore, 122, 156 Campanini, Italo, 165 Campeggi, Francesco, 43 Camporési, Violante, 74 Caradori-Allen, Maria, 111 Carafa, Michele, 73, 86 Carlson, David, 208 Carpenter, John Alden, 192 Carré, Michel, 142 Carreras, José, 210 Caruso, Enrico, 87, 161, 166, 173, 183, 186, 190, 193 Carvalho, Léon, 128–29, 142, 144–45 Carvalho, Maria Carolina, 128–29, 145

Casaccia, Carlo (Casaccello), 65 Castellan, Jeanne, 118, 122, 126 Catalani, Adelaide (Adel), 151 Catalani, Alfredo, 165 Catalani, Angelica, 51–52, 59, 62, 82, 84, 86, 100, 102, 108 Cather, Willa, 183–84 Cavalli, Francesco, xv, 23–24, 218 Cesti, Antonio, xv, 23 Chabrier, Emmanuel, 208 Chailly, Riccardo, 216 Chaliapin, Feodor, 106, 146–47, 176, 178, 192 Chapi, Roberrto, 204 Charpentier, Gustave, 141, 147, 212, 219 Charpentiér, Marc Antoine, 212 Chausson, Ernest, 198 Chelard, Hippolite, 108 Chéreau, Patrice, 210 Cherubini, Luigi, 50, 52–53, 84, 134 Chopin, Frédéric, 113, 115–16, 120–24, 127, 194, 216 Chorley, Henry F., 78, 84, 88–89, 90–92, 100, 110, 115–16, 122– 24, 129, 159, 168–69, 185 Christie, William, 206 Chung, Myung-Whung, 215 Cilea, Francesco, 175, 177 Cimarosa, Domenico, 46, 51, 57, 63, 70, 107, 114–15 Cinti-Damoreau, Laure, 66, 77 Clementi, Muzio, 121 Coates, Albert, 195, 197 Coccia, Carlo, 87, 96, 108, 154–55 Coltellini, Marco, 45 Commetant, Oscar, 143–44 contra alto, 5 contratenor altus, 5 Cooper, James Fenimore, 103 Copeland, Aaron, 199 Corelli, Franco, 26, 91, 192 Corsi, Jacopo, 23 Cosselli, Domenico, 151 Costa, Sir Michael, 90, 122, 126 Costello, Elvis, 215 Courbet, Gustave, 98 Craft, Robert, 197 Crivelli, Gaetano, 58 Crosby, Bing, 202 Crosnier, François-Louis, 160 Crumb, George, 209 Cui, Cesar, 175, 177 Curioni, Alberico, 86, 91 Cuzzoni, Francesca, 7, 19, 32–33, 35, 39, 41, 52, 154 da capo aria, 25 Dallapiccola, Luigi, 213 Damrosch, Leopold, 170 Damrosch, Walter, 183 Daniels, David, xv Dardanelli, Girolama, 71 Dargomyzhski, Alexander S., 124, 175 David (Davide), Giacomo, 50, 58 David (Davide), Giovanni, 58, 72–74, 87, 108 David, Felicién, 160



General Index 235

Davis, Anthony, 217 Davis, Sir Colin, 211, 215 Debussy, Claude, 106, 141, 147, 189, 211 Deinet, Anna, 169 Delacroix, Eugène, 115–16, 119, 122, 155 Della Casa, Lisa, 172 De Moyana, Pietro Antonio, 152 Desmoutiers, Giséle, 190 Destinn, Emmy, 169, 186, 190 Diaghilev, Sergey, 177, 196 Di Stefano, Giuseppe, 192 divisions from the chest, 29 Domingo, Plácido, 208, 220 Donizetti, Gaetano, 24, 26, 37, 73–74, 76–77, 81, 88–90, 92, 96, 110, 117–18, 122, 137–38, 150–57, 162, 168–69, 177, 203–4, 206–7, 209, 215, 219, 220 Donzelli, Domenico, 64, 85, 91, 106, 151, 153 dramma semiserio, 63 Duende, 101 Dukas, Paul, 147, 190 Dumas, Alexandre, 97 Dun, Tan, 214 Duni, Egidio, 33 Dupin, Amantine Lucille-Aurore. See Sand, George Duponchel, Henri, 138 Duprez, Gilbert-Louis, 87, 96, 109, 122, 137–39, 153–55 Duse, Eleanora, 145 Eames, Emma, 166 Eaton, John, 212 Eddy, Nelson, 202 Edison, Thomas A., 189 von Einem, Gottfried, 214 Elgar, Sir Edward, 182–83, 198–99, 215 Engleberg, Sebastian, 204 Enzinger, Christian, 44 Erbse, Heimo, 211 Erlanger, Camille, 147 Escudier, Leon, 100, 124, 137, 139 Escudier, Marie-Pierre Pascal, 100 Essler, Fanny, 105 Fabri, Annibale Pio, 27 Faccio, Franco, 161–62, 164 falcon soprano, 133 Falcon, Marie Cornélie, 96, 123, 133 Falla, Manuel de, 204 falsetto singing, 5 Farinelli, (Carlo Broschi), 7, 26–27, 30, 33, 39, 50, 69 Farinelli, Giuseppe, 71, 82–83 farsa, 62 Fassbaender, Willi-Domgraf, 209 Fastlinger, Josephine, 168 Fauré, Gabriel, 130, 190 Federici, Vincenzo, 51, 63 Fermata, 62 Ferrar, Geraldine, 186, 202 Ferrero, Lorenzo, 213 Ferretti, Jacopo, 65, 73, 151, 153–54 Ferrucci, Luigi Christosomo, 59, 69

Fétis, François-Joseph, 104, 107 Fiedler, Max, 182 Fioratura, 70–71, 101, 205 Fioravanti, Valentino, 59, 63, 70 Fitzgerald, Barry, 202 Flagstad, Kirsten, 74, 185, 194, 211 Fleming, Renée, 209 Florez, Juan Diego, 64 von Flotow, Friederich, 164, 213 Floyd, Carlisle, 208, 214, 217 Fo, Dario, 65 Fodor-Mainvielle, Josephine, 65, 82–83, 85, 96 Folignatus, Petrus Paulus, 5 Formes, Karl Johann, 126 Franchetti, Alberto, 165, 128, 216 Freschi, Giovanni Domenico, 24 Furtwängler, Wilhelm, 194, 211 Gabrielli, Caterina, 43–44 Galerati, Caterina, 32 Galant style, 25, 39 Galli, Filippo, 66, 74, 90, 104 Galli-Curci, Amelita, 149, 150, 213 Galuppi, Baldassare, 36, 57 Garcia, Manuel del Popolo Vicente, 58, 62, 64–65, 71, 75, 82–85, 99, 100, 102–3, 105 Garcia, Manuel Patricio Rodriguez, 75, 99 104, 130, 203, 302 Gardelli, Lamberto, 210 Garden, Mary, 149, 189 Gardiner, John Eliot, 206, 211, 215 Gasbarri, Gaetano, 60 Gasparini, Francesco, 32 Gasparini, Michaelangelo, 40 Gaveaux, Pierre, 137 Gedenov, Stephan, 177 Gencer, Leyla, 156 gender switching (En travesti), 3 génie oblige, 116 Gesualdo, Carlo, 197 Giacomelli, Geminiano, 35 Gibelli, Lorenzo, 50 Gigli, Beniamino, 192 Gilbert , W. S., 181–82, 197–98 Ginastera, Alberto, 219 Giordano, Umberto, 164–65, 190 Giulini, Carlo Maria, 210 Gizzi, Domenico, 29 Glass, Philip, 200, 218 Glazunov, Alexander, 178 Glick, Srul Irving, 210 Glinka, Mikhail, 90, 124, 164–65, 175–76 Gluck, Christoph Willibald (Ritter von), 37, 43–44, 49, 70, 114, 119, 126–27, 129, 134, 141, 168, 182, 190–91, 194–95, 197, 199, 204, 206, 208, 211, 214–16, 220 Gnecco, Francesco, 90 Goehr, Alexander, 214 Goethe, Johann Wolfgang, 6, 45, 129, 130, 133, 142, 144 Gogol, Nicholai, 124 Golden Age of Singing, (First), 26 Golden Age of Singing, (Second), 49

236

General Index

Goldoni, Carlo, 45, 65 Gönnenwein, Wolfgang, 210 Gordon, Ricky Ian, 205 Gossett, Philip, xiii, 61–62, 65–66, 85, 150, 203 Gounod, Charles, 114–15, 122–24, 135, 143, 146–47, 184, 206, 220 Granados, Enrique, 204, 216 Granara, Antonio, 96 Graun, Karl Heinrich, 42, 127 grazie soprafine, 29 Grieg, Edvard, 186, 215 Grisar, Albert, 142 Grisi, Giulia, 52, 77–78, 88, 91, 93, 96, 109, 114–17, 120–21, 124, 127–28, 153–54, 156 Grün, Friederike, 168 Guardasoni, Domenico, 47 Guglielmi, Alessandro, 51 Guglielmi, Giacomo, 65, 102 Guiraud, Ernest, 143–44 Guridi, Jésus, 204 Gutheil-Schroder, Marie, 201 Hahn, Renaldo, 146 Halévy, Fromenthal, 104, 114, 119, 122–23, 133, 138, 142, 150, 160, 168, 206 Halévy, Ludovic, 142 Halleck, Fitz-Greene, 103 Hammerstein I, Oscar, 147, 183, 219 Hammerstein II, Oscar, 219 Handel, George Friederic, 23, 31–37, 39, 49, 57, 60, 116, 121, 125, 133, 198, 204, 207–8, 210, 215–16, 218, 220–21 Hanslick, Edward, 98 Harbison, John, 210, 212 Harnoncourt, Nikolaus, 206 Hasse, Johann Adolf, xv, 25, 33, 35, 37, 39–42, 210 haut-contre, 43, 52 Haydn, Joseph, 57, 105, 121, 206, 215 Hayes, Catherine, 122 Heggie, Jake, 205–6 Heine, Heinrich, 121 Heinz, Hans, 218 Helden voice, 167, 169, 172, 186 Henze, Hans Werner, 207, 212, 217, 219 Hérold, Ferdinand, 100 Hindemith, Paul, 212 hoch-dramatisch Sopran, 167, 169, 185, 190, 211 Homer, Sidney, 185 Honneger, Arthur, 190, 195 Horn, Charles Edward, 108 Horowitz, Vladimir, 83, 202 Imbrie, Andrew, 213 Intermedii, 5 Isbin, Sharon, 214 Ivanoff, Ivan, 77 Janáček, Leoš, 173, 194, 206, 212, 220 Janowski, Marek, 215 Jaubert, Carolina, 114 Jommelli, Niccoló, 44, 57 Jurinac, Sena, 172

Kagen, Sergius, 209 Kaiser, Reinhard, 167 Kalman, Emmerich, 194 von Karajan, Herbert, 198, 206–7, 210, 220 Kastle, Leonard, 200 Kaufmann, Anna, 169 Kelterborn, Richard, 217 Kemble, Adelaide, 87 Kern, Jerome, 205 Kipnis, Alexander, 174 Kleiber, Erich, 194, 201, 217 Klein, Herman, 185 Klemperer, Otto, 198, 210, 215 Korngold, Erich Wolfgang, 195 Krauss, Clemens, 217 Lablache, Luigi, xii, 3, 77, 86, 90, 107–8, 111, 114–16, 123, 149, 152–54 Laborde, Rosine, 145–147 Lafayette, Gilbert Motier, Marquis de, 107–8 Lalo, Edouard, 147 Lamartine, Alphonse de, 104 Lamperti, Francesco, 162, 201 Lamperti, Giovanni Battista, 172 Larson, Libby, 214 Lasalle, Jean, 134 Latilla, Gaetano, 25 Lavigna, Vincenzo, 70 Lear, Evelyn, 172 Legrenzi, Giovanni, 24 Legros, Joseph, 52 Lehmann, Henri, 97 Lehmann, Lilli, 154, 170, 193, 220 Lehmann, Lotte, 172, 193, 201, 214 Leigh, Vivian, 214 Leinsdorf, Erich, 218 Lenau, Nikolaus, 97 Leo, Leonardo, xv, 25, 32, 40 Leroux, Xavier, 216 Lescuyer, Alphonse, 137 Leslie, Henry, 127 Levasseur, Nicholas Prosper, 122 Levine, James, 26, 213, 216 Levy, Martin David, 217 Lewald, Fanny, 98 Lewis, Brenda, 199 Lhérie, Paul, 185 Lieberson, Peter, 212 Lillo, Giuseppe, 96 Lind, Jenny, 78, 118, 120, 127 Liparini, Caterina, 151 Lipparini, Ludovico, 71, 78 Liszt, Franz, 85–86, 95–98, 104, 110, 113, 116, 127, 134 Ljungberg, Göta, 186 Locle, Camille du, 142–44, 161 London, George, 217 Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth, 78 Lotti, Antonio, 26, 33 Lougouvé, Ernest, 106 Louzières, Achille de, 143



General Index 237

Lucca, Pauline (Paolina), 162 Lucia, Fernando de, 145–46, 189, 191 L’vov, A, 118 Lynch, Dominick, 102 Machover, Tod, 206 Maeterlinck, Maurice, 189 Magnani, Girolamo, 163 Magnard, Lucien, 147 Mahler, Gustav, 172–73, 186, 195, 198–99, 202, 210, 213, 215–16 Maillart, Aimé, 142–43 Malibran, Eugéne François, 103, 105–6, 108–10 Mancini, Giambattista, 30, 32, 40, 43 Manzoni, Alessandro, 163 Mapleson, Colonel James Henry, 127 Mara (Gertrude Elizabeth Schmelling), 52 Marcello, Benedetto, 40 Marchesi, Luigi, 53, 58, 78n4 Marchesi, Mathilde, 145, 162, 184 Marchisio, Carlotta, 149 Mario, Giovanni Matteo de Candia, 116, 120–24, 128 Marliani, Marco Aurelio, 138, 168 martellato, 205 Martinelli, Giovanni, 193 Mascagni, Pietro, 145, 164–66, 192 Massé, Victor, 144, 147 Massenet, Jules, 130, 133, 141, 144–47, 171, 181–83, 190, 197, 204–5, 207–8, 210, 214, 216, 218, 220 Materna, Amalie, 170, 185, 213 Maurel, Victor, 72, 145 Maw, Nicholas, 215 Mayr, Giovanni Simone, 51, 57–58, 60, 63, 70, 82, 84, 87–89, 91, 151 Mayr, Richard, 195 Mazzola, Caterina, 47 Mazzoleni, Ester, 166 Mehta, Zubin, 206 Meilhac, Henri, 142, 144 Melba, Nellie, 144, 147 Melchior, Lauritz, 174, 186, 194–95 melodramma eroico, 62, 151 melodramma giocoso, 62, 70 Mendelssohn, Fanny, 98 Mendelssohn, Felix, 117, 123 Menotti, Gian Carlo, 189–90, 196, 199, 200, 208, 212–14, 217, 219–20 Mercadante, Saverio, 59, 77, 84, 92, 96, 152, 154, 156, 160–61 Méric, Josephine de, 92 Méric-Lalande, Henriette, 96–97, 106, 149, 153 Mérimée, Prosper, 142, 144, 185 Merlin, Countess Maria de, 99–102, 104–5, 109, 111, 114 Mermet, August, 138 Merritt, Chris, 73 Méry, Joseph, 161 Metastasio, (Piero Antonio Domenico Trapassi), 26, 39–41, 45, 87 Meyerbeer, Giacomo, 63, 78, 85–87, 89, 96, 102, 114, 117–122, 133, 152, 160, 168–69, 190 Meysenberg, Charles, 105, 113 Micheroux, Alexandre, 89 middle register, 29 Milanov, Zinka, 70, 150, 217

Milhaud, Darius, 195 Milnes, Sherrill, 209 Mingotti, Regina, 41 Minkowski, Marc, 211–12, 215 Molière, (Jean-Baptiste Poquelin), 52 Mombelli, Andrea, 58, 60 del Monaco, Mario, 209 Monelli, Savino, 66 Montagna, Antonio, 33 Montemezzi, Italo, 219 Monteverdi, Claudio, 23, 198, 205, 208, 211–12, 215–16, 219 Montsalvatge, Xavier, 204 Moore, Douglas, 212, 219–20 Morales, Manuela, 101 Moreschi, Antonio, 5 Moriani, Napoleone, 97 Morlacchi, Francesco, 62 Mosca, Giuseppe, 70 Moscheles, Ignaz, 86, 113 Mottl, Felix, 135 Mount-Edgecombe, Lord Richard, 50, 60 Mozart, Franz Xavier Wolfgang, 95 Mozart, Leopold, 41 Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus, 41, 44–47, 49, 52, 57, 59–60, 69, 82, 89, 95, 98, 103, 123, 160, 168–69, 171–72, 189, 197, 199, 204–7, 209–13, 215, 219–21 Münchinger, Karl, 210 musico, 6, 60, 74, 78, 84–85, 88 musico assoluto, 86 Musorgsky, Modest, 175–78, 179n1, 197, 208 de Musset, Alfred, 114–15 Mustafá, Domenico, 145 Muti, Riccardo, 213, 215 Muzio, Claudia, 160, 197 Muzio, Emanuele, 163 Myuzumi, Toshiro, 217 Nabokov, Nicholas, 22 Nasolini, Sebastiano, 51, 82 Nast, Minnie, 172 National Enquirer, 35 Neumann, Johann Gottlieb, 53 Neway, Patricia, 200 Nicolai, Otto, 96 Nicolini, Giuseppe, 62, 82, 89 Niedermeyer, Louis, 138 Niemann, Albert, 170 Nikisch, Arthur, 182 Nilsson, Birgit, 191 Nilsson, Christine, 165 Nono, Luigi, 213, 219 Nordica, Lillian, 186 Nourrit, Adolf, 77, 96, 113, 122–23, 137 Novello, Clara, 126 Novotná, Jarmila, 173 Nozzari, Andrea, 58, 71–74, 85 Nupin, Christopher, 218 Offenbach, Jacque, 141–42, 144, 190 Olivier, Lawrence, 214 Oliviero, Magda, 212

238

General Index

Olssohn, Garrick, 216 opera buffa, 45, 57 orchiectomy, 6 Orgeni, Agalia, 130, 172, 185, 195 Orlandi, Ferdinando, 82 Orlandini, Giuseppe Maria, 40 Ormandy, Eugene, 213 ospedali, 6 Pacini, Giovanni, 74, 81–82, 86, 95–96, 108, 117, 152, 156, 160, 213 de Padilla, Désirée Artôt, 98 Paer, Ferdinando, 52, 57, 62, 70, 82–84, 100 Paganini, Niccoló, 75, 78n25 Paget, Violet (Vernon Lee), 50 Paisiello, Giovanni, 45, 51, 57, 64, 70, 83–84, 100 Pallavicino, Carlo Francesco, 24–25, 40 Panizza, Ettore, 215 particelle, 66 Pasatieri, Thomas, 205 Pasquini, Giovanni Claudio, 41 Paterni, Giovanni, 153 Patti, Adelina, 77–78, 93 Pavarotti, Luciano, 161, 211 Pavesi, Sefano, 65, 70, 82 Pears, Peter, 197–98 Pélissiér, Olympe, 76, 84, 92 Penderecki, Krzysztof, 212, 218 Peperara, Laura, 5 Pergolesi, Giovanni Battista, 57 Peri, Achille, 160 Peri, Jacopo, 23 Perrin, Émil, 161 Persiani, Fanny Tacchinardi, 114–16, 120, 156, 165 Persiani, Giuseppe, 96, 109 Pertile, Aureliano, 166, 191 Pescetti, Giovanni Battista, 33 Petrov, Osip, 175 Pianizza, Giacomo, 153 Picker, Tobias, 212, 221 Pillet, Léon, 115, 122, 137, 139 Pinotti, Elisabetta, 73 Pinza, Ezio, 160 Pisaroni, Benedetta Rosmunda, 61, 63, 73–74, 88, 104, 105, 133, 151, 170 Pizzetti, Ildebrano, 191, 195 Plançon, Pol, 147, 186 Poggi, Antonio, 156 Poleri, David, 196 Pollarollo, Carlo Francesco, 24, 32–33, 35, 40 Ponchielli, Amilcare, 147, 164 Ponnelle, Jean-Pierre, 204 da Ponte, Lorenzo, 45–46, 103 Porpora, Niccoló, xv, 6, 26, 35–36, 39, 41 Portugal, Marcos Antonio, 51 Poulenc, François, 189–90, 213 Price, Stephen, 102 prima donna assoluto, 63, 86 primo musico (musichetto), 61, 88 Prokofiev, Sergey, 190, 195–96 Puccini, Giacomo, 57, 73, 147, 164–65, 197, 200, 219

Pucitta, Vincenzo, 52 Puffer, Ted, 221 Pugni, Cesare, 152 Purcell, Henry, 181, 198, 204, 215, 218 Puzzi, Giovanni, 116, 154 Quanz, Johann Joachim, 31, 43 Raaf, Anton, 30, 52 Rachmaninoff, Sergey, 178, 219 Raeburn, Christopher, 205 Raimondi, Pietro, 87, 96 Rameau, Jean-Phillippe, 205, 212 Rattle, Sir Simon, 211 Ravel, Maurice, 84, 177, 190, 196, 208 Ravogli, Sofia, 165 recitativo secco, 74 Reeves, Sims, 126 Reicha, Antoine, 105 Reichardt, Johann Friederich, 53 Reimann, Aribert, 212 Reina, Domenico, 96 Reiner, Fritz, 174 Respighi, Ottorino, 191, 218 de Reszke, Edouard, 165 de Reszke, Jean, 144, 146–47, 166, 183, 186, 190 Rethberg, Elisabeth, 193 Ricci, Luigi, 96, 109 Richter, Hans, 182 Richter, Karl, 210 Rieschi, Luigi, 96 Rietz, Julius, 127, 129 Rilling, Helmut, 210 Rimsky-Korsakov, Nikolai, 147, 175, 177–79, 197, 216 Rinucchini, Ottavio, 23 Rococo style, 25 Rode, Pierre, 51 Roger, Gustave, 120–22 Rogers, Richard, 205, 219 Romani, Felice, 74, 89, 90–91, 149, 151, 153–54 Ronconi, Georgio, 123, 125, 153, 155–56 Roosevelt, Eleanor, 207 Roqueplan, Nestor, 123 Rorem, Ned, 208, 220 Rosing, Vladamir, 220 Rosponi, Lanfranco, 199 Rossi, Lauro, 109, 160 Rossini, Gioachino, 3, 39, 44, 50, 57, 59–78, 81–93, 95, 97, 100– 2, 104, 108, 111, 114, 116–17, 119, 121–22, 127, 133–34, 138, 151–52, 161, 203–4, 206–7, 210, 213, 216, 218 Rossini, Giuseppe, 76 Rossinus, Hieronymous, 5 Roussel, Albert, 190 Royer, Alphonse, 139 Royer, Ernest, 146–47 Rubini, Giovanni Battista, 58, 63, 72, 74, 77, 84–86, 88–90, 96, 113, 116–18, 126, 151–54, 156 Rubinstein, Anton, 124, 129, 174, 176 Rubinstein, Nicholai, 176 Rudel, Julius, 220 Ruffo, Tita, 147

Ruggeri, Giovanni Maria, 33 Ruiz-Garcia, Josefa, 99 Russ, Giannina, 147 Sabatier, François, 97 Sainton-Dolby, Charlotte, 126 Saint-Saëns, Camille, 113–14, 129–30, 133, 147, 178, 182–83 Sala, Martin, 45–46 Salieri, Antonio, 45, 134, 206 Salimbeni, Felice, 41 Salvi, Matteo, 157 Sanctis, Giovanni de, 5 Sand, George, 107, 114–16, 118–20, 123–24 Sandström, Sven-David, 215 Sargent, Sir Michael, 198 Sarro, Domenico, 32, 35 Sarti, Giovanni Vincenzo, 44, 50, 216 Sarti, Giuseppe, 52–53 Sartorio, Antonio, 24 Sbigioli, Amerigo, 151 Scarlatti, Alessandro, 25–26, 32–33, 39, 167, 216 Scheffler, Ary, 115, 124 Schiller, Friederich, 154, 161 Schmidt, Giovanni, 156 Schnorr von Carolsfield, Ludwig, 169 Schoeck, Othmar, 217 Schoenberg, Arnold, 193, 210, 209, 220 Scholl, Andres, xv Schön-René, Anna Eugénie, 194, 210–12, 220 Schopenhauer, Artur, 50 Schorr, Friederich, 199 Schröder-Devrient, Wilhelmine, 88, 97, 107, 110, 167–68 Schubert, Franz, 76, 95, 97–98, 126, 129, 142 Schuller, Gunter, 214 Schumann, Clara, 114, 117, 119, 127 Schumann, Robert, 76, 98, 117, 121, 127, 142 Schumann, Elisabeth, 195 Schwarzkopf, Elisabeth, 182, 198 Scolari, Giuseppe, 52 Scribe, Eugène, 122 Searle, Humphrey, 214 Sellars, Peter, 212 Sembrich, Marcella, 149, 186 Serafin, Tullio, 192, 213 Serov, Alexander N., 175–78 Serrano, José, 204 Shakespeare, William, 117 Shaw, George Bernard, 165, 185 Shaw, Harold, 216 Sheridan, Richard, 196 Shostakovich, Dmitry, 177, 196 Sibelius, Jean, 215 Siddons, Sara, 86, 128 Siebert, Wilhelm Dieter, 217 Siems, Margarethe, 172 Siepi, Cesare, 182 Sills, Beverly, 156, 204, 210, 218, 220 Smart, Sir George, 111 Smetana, Bedřich, 174 Söderstrom, Elizabeth, 172 Soler, Vicente Martin y, 45–46

General Index 239 Solti, Sir Georg, 209 Sondheim, Stephen, 205 Sonntag, Henriette, 74, 87–88, 95, 104–6, 109, 119, 127 soprano sfogato, 69, 81, 87, 99, 152, 161, 167, 203, 208, 210, 213 Souzay, Gérard, 190 Spohr, Louis, 64, 125 Spontini, Gaspare, 63, 74, 134, 152 Sprechstimme, 193, 209 Steele, Richard, 32 Steffani, Agostino, 24–25 Stehle, Sophia, 169, 207, 214 Stendhal, (Marie-Henri Beyle), 50, 52, 57, 60, 62, 64, 66, 70, 72–76, 81, 85, 88–89, 104, 147, 151, 203 Stiches (Briones) Joachina, 99, 114 Stokowski, Leopold, 182, 193, 196, 229 Stolz, Teresa, 162–64 Storace, Nancy, 69, 78n4 Stracciari, Riccardo, 166 Strada del Pò, Anna Maria, 33 Strakosch, Maurice, 93, 184 Strauss, Franz, 170 Strauss, Johann the Younger, 173 Strauss, Richard, 26, 167, 169, 172–73, 183, 186, 193–95, 197, 199, 202, 207, 209, 211–12, 215, 217–18 Stravinsky, Igor, 177, 190, 196–97, 199, 203, 207–9 Strehler, Georgio, 204 Strepponi, Feliciano, 96 Strepponi, Giuseppina, 156 Strindberg, August, 217 Sulek, Stjepan, 219 Sullivan, Arthur, 181–83, 197–98 Susa, Conrad, 205 Süssmayer, Franz, 47 Sutherland, Joan, 70, 91, 150, 192, 203 Tacchinardi, Niccola, 58 Tadolini, Eugenia, 128, 156 Taglioni, Maria, 105 Talma, François Joseph, 51, 86 Tamagno, Francesco, 162 Tamberlik, Enrico, 125–26 Tamburini, Antonio, 77, 88, 92, 96, 116, 118, 150, 152, 154 Tartini, Giuseppe, 29 Tasso, Torquato, 61, 72, 153 Tattola, Andrea Leone, 73 Tauber, Richard, 194 Tchaikovsky, Pyotor Illyich, 125, 130, 142, 144–45, 175–76, 178– 79, 182, 190, 200, 209, 221 Tebaldi, Renata, 83 tempest aria, 19 Ternina, Milka, 170, 186 tessitura, 23, 25, 29, 69, 71, 90, 152, 160, 169 Thomas, Ambroise, 135, 142, 144–47, 205, 212 Thompson, Virgil, 208 Tichatschek, Joseph Alois, 119 Tieck, Ludwig, 97, 98 Tippet, Michael, 197, 215, 219 Tommasini, Anthony, 212 Toscanini, Arturo, 166, 186, 190–91, 194, 199, 200 Tottola, Andrea Leone, 73 Tourel, Jennie, 196–97

240

General Index

Traetta, Tommaso, 44 travesti roles, 82 Treigle, Norman, 209–10, 218, 220 Tritto, Giacomo, 62 Turgenev, Ivan Sergeyevich, 117–20, 130, 133, 147, 178, 182–83 Turina, Joachim, 204 Unger, Karl, 95 Upshaw, Dawn, 209 Urlus, Jacque, 174 Usiglio, Emilio, 160 Vaccai, Nicola, 78, 96, 108, 110 Veracini, Francesco Maria, 33 Verdi, Giuseppe, 26, 57, 72–73, 77, 87, 118–19, 121–22, 125–26, 128, 133, 135, 146, 150–51, 153, 156, 159–64, 167–69, 184, 186, 189, 191, 194–98, 200, 202–4, 207–8, 211–13, 216, 220, 221 Verni, Andrea, 65 Vianese, Auguste, 128 Viardot, Louis, 106, 108, 114, 116, 120, 124, 130 Vickers, Jon, 89, 176, 197, 210, 219 Vieuxtemps, Henri-François Joseph, 116 Villa-Lobos, Heitor, 204 Vinci, Leonardo, xv, 25–26, 40 Vivaldi, Antonio, 206, 210, 216, 218 Vivekananda, Swami, 146 Vogl, Johann Michael, 95 Vogler, Abbé Georg, 121 Voltaire (François-Marie Arouet), 61, 75, 84 Wagner, Richard, 26, 44, 97, 121, 126, 129, 133, 146–47, 153, 160, 163–64, 167, 171, 173, 184–86, 194–95, 197–99, 201, 204, 209–10, 213, 219–21

Wagner, Wieland, 190 Walpole, Horace, 34, 37 Walter, Bruno, 186, 194, 198, 210, 213 Walton, William, 198–99, 207, 209 Ward, Robert, 212 Warren, Leonard, 161 Weber, Aloysia, 95 Weber, Carl Maria von, 121, 138, 145, 167–68, 190–195 Weidt, Lucie (Lucy), 173 Weigl, Joseph, 152 Weill, Kurt, 193, 199, 209, 220 Weisgall, Hugo, 212, 217 Wellesley, Arthur, Duke of Wellington, 52 Whitman, Walt, 78 Wieck, Clara. See Schumann, Clara Williams, Grace, 197 Williams, Ralph Vaughan, 198, 229 Wilson, Grant, 103 Wilson, Robert, 220 Windgassen, Wolfgang, 172–73 Winschermann, Helmut, 210 von Winter, Peter, 52, 63 Wissmer, Pierre, 214 Wolf, Hugo, 142, 215 Wolff, Albert, 216 Wolf-Ferrari, Ermanno, 183, 190 Zandonai, Riccardo, 185, 216 Zeani, Pietro Andrea, 24 Zecchini, Amalia, 159 Zelter, Carl Friederich, 121 Zimmermann, Bernd Alois, 219 Zuchelli, Carlo, 86

About the Author

Dan H. Marek has appeared as a principal tenor with leading opera companies including the Metropolitan Opera, where he sang nineteen roles, including the inaugural performance of the Met at Lincoln Center in Barber’s Antony and Cleopatra. Other companies include the New York City Opera, the Salzburg Opera in Austria and France, the Baltimore Opera, Central City Opera, the Southern California Opera, and the Kentucky Opera. Marek is also a versatile orchestral soloist, chosen by Leopold Stokowski for a memorable Beethoven Ninth in Carnegie Hall and for many performances of Messiah in such venues as the Kennedy Center, Carnegie Hall, and the Mormon Tabernacle to critical acclaim. As a recitalist, Dan Marek is equally at home in French, Italian, German, or English repertoire. He has sung many of the great song cycles including such diverse works as Dan H. Marek by Louis Marek Beethoven’s An Die Ferne Geliebte, Schubert’s Die Schöne Müllerin, Die Winterreise, and Schwanengesang, Schumann’s Dichterliebe, Brahms’s Four Serious Songs, Vaughan-William’s On Wenlock Edge and Four Hymns, and Gruenberg’s Animals and Insects. Marek has also commissioned Three Marian Eulogies by Daniel S. Godfrey, performed for the College Music Society Convention. Current and former voice students of Dan H. Marek perform at major opera houses (Metropolitan, New York City Opera, San Francisco, Chicago, Houston, La Scala, Berlin Komische, Bonn, and Royal Opera, Stockholm, Sweden). Marek has been on the voice faculty of Mannes College of Music since 1974 and was appointed chairman of the voice department, a newly created post. Marek was formerly adjunct associate professor of voice at City University of New York. He was also on the faculty of the American Institute of Musical Studies, Graz, Austria, and formerly head of the voice department at Syracuse University, where he held the rank of associate professor. Syracuse students of Professor Marek won several important national competitions including the National Opera Association and the Chicago Lyric Competition. In 1979, Dan H. Marek founded the Mozart Opera Project at Mannes whose graduates are singing in major opera houses the world over. In 2004, Dan Marek began a series of annual master classes at the Opera På Skäret Festival in Sweden, and students of the classes are singing professionally in Sweden and elsewhere in Europe. Articles by Dan H. Marek on vocal subjects appear regularly in The Classical Singer magazine and have been published in The Music Journal and The NATS Journal. In January 2007, Mr. Marek published a comprehensive book on vocal history and singing technique, Singing: The First Art, published by Scarecrow Press. In 2013, Dan H. Marek published Giovanni Battista Rubini and the Bel Canto Tenors: History and Technique, also by Scarecrow Press.

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