Great Singers in Donizetti

Note by Boris Semeonoff











Great Singers in Donizetti 1906-1947

I have before me as I write Charles Osborne's scholarly work (Methuen, 1994) entitled, on the cover, The Bel Canto Operas. Turning to the title page, one finds the added phrase 'of Rossini, Donizetti and Bellini'. These three composers are of course the leading exponents of an operatic genre that is easier to recognise than to define, but two relevant points should be noted at this stage: first, that many other composers working in what is now known as the 'bel canto' tradition were highly successful in their own day; second, that the term 'bel canto' has been variously used, and indeed became current only in the latter part of the nineteenth century, when fashion in opera had veered in another direction. 'Bel canto' literally means 'fine (or beautiful) singing', and while it could be claimed that it represents an ideal relevant to all operatic and indeed any other form of vocal performance, it is now generally understood to denote a style of dramatic music in which matter may be said to be subservient to manner. Vocal technique was also a preoccupation in opera prior to the time of Donizetti and his contemporaries; indeed, florid display as seen most typically in the da capo aria, tended to hold up the action in the development of what was often a rudimentary plot involving characters usually derived from mythology or classical antiquity. 'Set pieces' are still to be found in the 'bel canto' operas, but with increased dramatic relevance - they are now characteristically part of the action rather than a formal expression of a state of mind.

A name particularly significant in relation to developments in operatic composition at the turn of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries is that of Simon Mayr, a Bavarian by birth who, having settled in Bergamo in northern Italy, became thoroughly assimilated into Italian culture and the life of the local community. In particular he was instrumental in founding a free music school, where one of his first pupils was Donizetti. Born in Bergamo to poor parents, he could not otherwise have been able to embark on a career, and his lifelong gratitude to and affection for his teacher constitutes an outstanding aspect of his personality.

Donizetti composed his first opera Il Pigmalione, a one-act 'scena lirica', at the age of nineteen, while still a student at Bologna. Never performed in the composer's life-time, its 'prima' took place - appropriately at Bergamo - in 1960; its first production outside Italy was at the Buxton Festival in 1987, where it served as a curtain-raiser to Rossini's L'Occasione fa il Ladro. Donizetti's first opera to be performed, two years later, in Venice, was Enrico di Borgogna. During the next two years, opera for Donizetti appears to have taken second place to the composition of chamber and sacred music. However, in 1822 four of his operas received their initial performances, in Rome, Naples or Milan, a level of productivity that was maintained almost unabated until illness put an end to his career in 1844, at the age of forty-seven.

Statements as to the total number of operas Donizetti composed vary from around sixty-five to a little over seventy, depending on whether or not one includes operas of which the score has been lost, or which were left incomplete or for which only isolated numbers were written. The list could be even longer if one admitted variant versions of an opera prepared to meet special circumstances. An extreme instance, in which both versions of what is virtually the same opera, is that of Poliuto, written to an Italian text, becoming Les Martyrs, with a French libretto, for production in Paris. A case might be made out for according similar separate status to the French version of Lucia (now 'Lucie') di Lammermoor, in which not only was new music introduced, but also changes made in respect of characters and story line. Movement in the opposite direction, so to speak, may be seen in the case of La Fille du Regiment becoming La Figlia di Reggimento, resulting in what Ashbrook (see below) refers to as 'a stylistic hybrid'.

Smaller changes, however, were extremely prevalent in Donizetti's time; indeed the need for a rifacimento (lit. 'remaking') was almost to be expected. Operatic composition may be said to have been, in a very real sense, the music industry of the time, with the composer functioning almost as a tradesman, under contract to deliver a given number of operas in a given time. Local requirements, unforeseen strictures on the part of the censors, availability of singers, or even the whim of an individual singer - all these were factors that might be operative. It must also be stressed that new operas, rather than 'revivals', were the staple fare of the numerous opera-houses, often two or more in a town that by present-day standards would not be considered large. Consequently, if an opera that had not been well received contained material that the composer felt was worth salvaging, he had no compunction in transferring it to another context. Such recycling was a conspicuous feature in Donizetti's practice, perhaps the best known example being that of Spirto gentil, originally written for inclusion in Le Duc d'Albe, a fairly late opera (1839) that was not performed until nearly half a century after the composer's death.

Whatever the numerical total of Donizetti's output, its chronological mid-point may be said to be marked by the production of Anna Bolena (1830), now usually considered to be the first of his mature operas. It is only relatively recently that Anna Bolena has returned to the repertoire, thanks largely to the pioneering interest of Maria Callas. Judging by what turns up in the second-hand music and booksellers' stocks, and by what was recorded in the early days of the gramophone, it would seem that the Donizetti operas popular at that time, but thereafter much neglected, were Lucrezia Borgia, Linda di Chamounix and the Italianized La Favorita and La Figlia del Reggimento. In contrast, Lucia di Lammermoor, Don Pasquale and, to a lesser extent, L'Elisir d'Amore have been perennial favourites. And following a period of neglect of Donizetti in general, interest began to grow, around 1960, in the composer's operas based on identifiable, if not always authentic episodes in history, such as Anna Bolena (see above), Maria Stuarda (including a production with a young Pavarotti in the cast, at the Edinburgh International Festival of 1969) and Roberto Devereux.

In the intervening period, particularly the decade preceding World War II, Donizetti's reputation was at a low ebb. Thus, an entry in The Gramophone Encyclopaedia of Recorded Music (New York, 1936) reads '...on the whole Donizetti's music is characterised only by its fluency, sentimentality and grace...'. And even Grout in his highly respected A Short History of Opera (Columbia University Press, 1947) writes '...it is undeniable that [Donizetti's] music at its best has a primitive dramatic power even when its substance is only rudimentary... The score of Lucia is worked out with more critical care and its effects are less often marred by trivial melodic episodes...'.

Such views may be tenable on what may be called academic grounds; in the composer's lifetime criticism was often based on less worthy motives. William Ashbrook, in the original version of his book on Donizetti (London, 1965), writes that at the time when Donizetti was active in France 'his ease in dominating every lyrical stage in Paris' naturally aroused the hostility of French composers. Ashbrook further specifies 'two composers in particular who hoped to bring about musical revolution; to them Donizetti became a symbol of all that was debased and wrong in the musical taste of the day. To Berlioz, Donizetti was the most repulsive because the most ubiquitous representative symptom of the Italianization of French musical taste. To Richard Wagner... the spectacle of Donizetti's fortune was an object of envy and contempt. Partisans of Berlioz and Wagner have tended to dismiss Donizetti out of hand.' This is an attitude that has clearly persisted, with some, well into the present century. Resilient by nature, Donizetti was able to stand up to criticism - even to joke about it. But particularly hurtful must have been the egotistical jealousy, verging on paranoia, of Bellini, for whose music, in contrast, Donizetti had sincere admiration, which he expressed freely.

Reading about Donizetti's apparently tireless activity, one is tempted to apply to him the currently fashionable label of 'workaholic'. Up to a point that is no doubt fair enough, provided one does not adduce the connotation of insensitivity which is sometimes believed to be associated with absorption in one's work. On balance, Donizetti was - to use another colloquialism - 'happy in his work'. But on the personal side he also had to cope with a great deal of unhappiness. His adored wife Virginia Vascelli died at the age of twenty-nine, and of their three children two were still-born and the third lived only a few days. In his grief, and indeed throughout his life, Donizetti found support in the friendship of his brother-in-law, Antonio Vascelli ('Toto'). Another close and faithful friend was Antonio Dolci, who had been a fellow student of his at Mayr's music school, and who did his best to make life tolerable for him during his last illness. From early in 1843 Donizetti began to be assailed by a variety of symptoms which progressively weakened him and were probably exacerbated by treatments based on misdiagnoses. It now seems certain that he was suffering from a form of syphilis, prevalent at the time, from which there was then little chance of recovery and which eventually reduced him to a virtually vegetative state.

To attempt to arrive at a dispassionate assessment of Donizetti's position in the development of opera is a daunting task, particularly in the light of the conflicting opinions alluded to above. He is undoubtedly correctly identified as one of an outstanding triumvirate of 'bel canto composers', but there is little, at least in his mature output, that closely resembles the sometimes overblown flamboyance of much of Rossini, nor - with the possible exception of L'Elisir d'Amore - the elegiac Chopinesque elegance so characteristic of Bellini. Rather I would maintain that he points forward to Verdi, or at least the early Verdi. Had he lived as long as Verdi, who knows what he might have achieved. At fifty-one, the age at which Donizetti died, Verdi's major masterpieces - Don Carlo , the Requiem, Aida, Otello and Falstaff were still in the future. I am not suggesting that Donizetti in old age could have achieved as much, and of course any speculation is basically idle. I am convinced, however, that there is enough in Donizetti's legacy to give a great deal of pleasure to all but the most sophisticated opera-goer.

The Singers

Of the singers represented in this compilation, no less than nine (Gigli, Martinelli, Schipa, Lauri-Volpi, Battistini, De Luca, Pinza, Tetrazzini and Onegin) have been the subject of an integral Prima Voce issue, while five others (Boronat, Bori, Dal Monte, Storchio and Stracciari) have appeared on discs devoted to a specific opera house. It is therefore perhaps unnecessary to deal with these singers here, particularly since many of them can be said to have been household names worldwide, at least in their own lifetime. But since opera and the tenor voice are for many enthusiasts just about synonymous, some comment on the tenors noted above will not be out of place.

More than seventy years after his death, Caruso's name is still one to conjure with - even a sort of touchstone by which other tenors are judged. When that sad and untimely event took place, people at once started to speculate about a 'successor', and the names that came up most often were those of Gigli and - some way behind - Martinelli. Neither Gigli nor Martinelli really resembled Caruso in terms of either vocal quality or general approach: indeed the whole concept of a 'second Caruso' is essentially meaningless, but Gigli undoubtedly caught the public imagination in a manner unequalled until very recent times. Martinelli, on the other hand, was more of a connoisseur's artist - perhaps even an acquired taste.

Whether Schipa too may have been regarded as a potential successor to Caruso is a question to which the following anecdote may suggest an answer. In her remarkable and deeply moving biography of her husband, Caruso's widow Dorothy writes: 'We never went together to hear opera... Once we went to a recital - the debut of Tito Schipa, who was giving a programme of Neapolitan songs. We arrived late, sat in the back of the hall where no one could see us and left in fifteen minutes. "Why did we go at all?" I asked. "Because he is a tenor. But it's all right" he said cryptically.' Put what construction you will upon this story: my own preferred interpretation is that Caruso anticipated public opinion in recognising Schipa's artistry, both in its own right and as different from his own.

Two tenors represented in this issue - De Lucia and Albani - were senior to Caruso, De Lucia indeed by thirteen years, which may be regarded as half a generation. De Lucia is often bracketed with Alessandro Bonci (whom, regretfully, it has not been feasible to include here) as representing the best of the bel canto tradition. It should be realised, however, that De Lucia in his lifetime achieved fame mainly as a dramatic, even a verismo singer. He was a noted Canio and created a number of verismo roles in lesser known operas, including that of Osaka in Mascagni's Iris.

Very little is known for certain about Carlo Albani, a fact admitted even by Kutsch and Riemens in their authoritative Unvergängliche Stimmen. It is sad that a singer of such obvious talent should now be remembered for an incident in which, following his having broken a contract with the Manhattan Opera, he was arrested on stage in Boston during a performance of Il Trovatore. Apart from a few Red Victors, his records were made in Europe for Pathé, Edison and Odeon and appear to have had little currency outside their country of origin.

Two tenors junior to Caruso by a few years, but still undoubtedly 'Golden-Agers' in the Hurst-Bauer sense are Anselmi and Giorgini. Anselmi's name was relatively unfamiliar in English-speaking countries, even those who began to engage in serious record-collecting in the nineteen-thirties. This could be for two reasons: first, that he recorded exclusively for Fonotipia and on Edison Diamond discs and second because he made only sporadic appearances at Covent Garden, the last being in 1909. Where his star shone brightest was in Tsarist Russia; witness the frequency with which his postcards turn up along with those of native Russian singers. He has been described as 'the perfect singer', combining the virtues of his contemporaries with absence of their faults.

A number of unresolved queries arise in relation to the career, both on the stage and in the recording studio, of Aristodemo Giorgini. His early appearance in opera attracted strongly contrasted comments, and while his recordings for the Gramophone and Typewriter Company (as it was then) were given prestigious Red Label status from the start, those records had a short catalogue life and were never re-issued in double-sided form. On the other hand, when HMV began to issue complete electrically-recorded operas in their cheap Plum Label series, Giorgini was engaged to sing in La Bohème (as were Schipa in Don Pasquale and Journet in Faust).

Passing now to singers who were born in the eighteen-eighties, we have two tenors, who, coincidentally, have the same initials, but whose backgrounds and careers could hardly have been more different. Alfred Piccaver was born in England and brought up in America, but spent most of his life in Europe, notably at the Hofoper in Vienna, where he was principal tenor for nearly thirty years. He had a big voice, well suited to the dramatic roles he himself preferred, but he was never oblivious to the need for restraint when appropriate.

Like Piccaver, Aureliano Pertile had a big voice, which he too could use on occasion to produce effects that have been described as exquisite. He may be described in many respects as the archetypal Italian tenor; immensely popular in his own country, he also had a wide-ranging international career, enjoying particular success at Covent Garden and in South America. In 1924 he created the title role in Boito's Nerone conducted by Toscanini with an outstanding cast that included Journet, Galeffi, Raisa and - in a minor role - Pinza. Eleven years later Mascagni's now forgotten opera with the same name had its premiere with the composer conducting, Pertile in the title role and a cast including such well-known singers as Bruna Rasa, Carosio, Granforte and Pasero. Pertile sings in three complete opera sets - two (Aida and Il Trovatore) for HMV on their Black Label (i.e. their intermediate price series), and one, a rather unsatisfactory Carmen in Italian, for Columbia.

In other circumstances Renato Zanelli's name might have appeared alongside those of tenors we have been discussing. A Chilean by birth, Zanelli had a successful if fairly brief career (about seven years) as a baritone in South America and the United States. Having changed over to tenor, he embarked on an even more brilliant and more truly international career, cut short through illness at the early age of forty-three. His beginnings as a baritone are reflected in the dramatic tenor roles in which he excelled, particularly that of Otello.

Present-day record collectors tend to think of Ernesto Badini as a singer of secondary importance, but in his day he was not only immensely popular at La Scala and elsewhere in Italy, but also had a distinguished international career. He created the baritone roles in Mascagni's Il Piccolo Marat and Giordano's La Cena delle Beffe and understudied Galeffi in the premiere of Boito's Nerone noted above. That he was equally at home in standard nineteenth century opera and in verismo is witnessed by his participation in a number of complete opera recordings - in Don Pasquale with Schipa, already mentioned, and, in the HMV pre-electric Green Label series, in Il Barbiere di Siviglia, La Traviata, Pagliacci (as Silvio) and La Bohème.

The voice of Mariano Stabile is one about which amazingly different opinions have been expressed. There can be no doubt, however, about his command of words, his talent for characterization, or, where appropriate, his sense of fun. The patter duet from Don Pasquale on the present disc serves as a vivid memento of the New London Opera Company's production at the Cambridge Theatre in 1947. His most famous role was in what is perhaps the greatest of all operatic character parts - that of Verdi's Falstaff.

Among the basses presented here, pride of place must go to Marcel Journet. Next to Plançon (see NI 7860), Journet was undoubtedly the most important bass, in western Europe, of the earliest recording period. His career extended from 1894 almost up to the time of his death in 1933. Although he had all the attributes essential to a true bass, he was also able to undertake baritone roles and, unusually for a French bass, his enormous repertoire included a substantial element of Wagner. On the recording side he is perhaps, principally noted for the number of contributions he made to the high-priced ensemble discs, with Caruso and others, that were once the glory of the HMV catalogue.

On a purely chronological criterion, Francesco Navarrini should have had total precedence in this survey. Born in 1853, he may be said to have belonged to a different generation from that of nearly all other singers on these discs and it is interesting to note that much of his quite extensive repertoire consisted of operas either totally forgotten or at best seldom performed today. But his sensitive and unaffected style of singing may be described as timeless, a quality further evidence of which may be heard in his rendering of Il lacerato spirito on Prima Voce NI 7858 (Great Singers at La Scala).

Reverting to the topic of complete opera recordings, a name one encounters particularly often in this connection is that of Salvatore Baccaloni. Baccaloni is commonly recognised as the outstanding basso buffo of his generation, but he also sang (and may be heard on records) in other roles, covering virtually the whole of the standard bass repertoire. Similarities in both style and vocal quality suggest that Martin Lawrence may be regarded as a British Baccaloni, but his career was much less impressive and the only record by him other than the duet with Stabile that I have been able to trace is a war-time Topic Records disc of a monologue from the Russian composer Koval's oratorio/opera Yemelian Pugachov. Originally a Carl Rosa singer, he made one Covent Garden appearance - in Beecham's 1951 revival of The Bohemian Girl.

Arriving - at last - at female voices, the most important name is that of Olimpia Boronat, who can be heard on Prima Voce NI 7865 (Great Singers at the Mariinsky Theatre) but was inadvertently omitted from the survey accompanying that disc. Italian by birth and upbringing and Polish by marriage, she is nevertheless commonly thought of as a Russian singer; she even gets an entry in Pruzhansky's National Singers 1750-1917, where she is listed as Baronat - apparently in accordance with Polish usage. She may be said to have had two careers, both fairly short, separated by an interval of eight years following her marriage in 1893. During both periods she mainly sang in Russia, where she was a favourite at the Imperial Court.

Two further female singers, although considerable artists, can by present-day standards only be described as oddities. In The Record Year (1952) Desmond Shawe-Taylor calls attention to Maria Galvany's 'incredible speed and adroitness', which he likens to sleight-of-hand. Such qualities are fine in their proper place, but Galvany seemed determined to apply them in everything she sang. Despite this idiosyncrasy (or perhaps because of it?) she had a highly successful career, mainly in her native Spain and in South America, and on records was partnered by such leading singers as Francesco Marconi and Titta Ruffo.

Curious in a different way was Clara Butt. Her exceptional height for a woman - over six feet - and the phenomenal depth and power of her contralto voice, with an almost baritonal quality in its lower register, made it impossible for her to take up a normal operatic career, although an appearance as Orpheus at the Lyceum won the approval of Bernard Shaw. She had an extremely successful career as a concert and oratorio singer, particularly at the choral festivals that were so popular at the time. She became something of a national institution, recognition of her achievements and of her work for charity earning her the award, in 1920, of the DBE. She made electric as well as acoustic recordings for Columbia, but the former are of little consequence; her most desirable records are those she made for HMV between 1910 and 1916, single-sided and with her own Dark Blue label.

Probably the singer in this survey least familiar to record collectors is the Romanian soprano Anna Rosza. Initially trained in the United States, as a mezzo-soprano, she sang mainly in her own country. Her versatility is shown in her having undertaken roles ranging from coloratura to dramatic. She is now best known for her participation in the HMV Plum Label set of La Traviata, with Alessandro Ziliani. In the 'celebrity' Red Label series she partnered, on single discs, Pertile in Lucia di Lammermoor (this issue, disc 2, track 10), Apollo Granforte (La Traviata again) and Antonio Cortis (in Carmen, as Micaëla), thus illustrating the practice, prevalent at the time, of recording an acknowledged 'celebrity' along with a partner of somewhat lower standing.


© 1998 Boris Semeonoff

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