OPERA The Italian Opera Company of Chicago

Victor Maurel (1848-1923)
Baritone Victor Maurel began his career as a very young man in his native France, debuting in Marseilles in 1867 and at the prestigious Paris Opéra the following season. Within a few years he had starred in operas in all the major houses of Europe. He is best remembered and projected the greatest influence, however, with his work for Giuseppe Verdi. He was the composer’s personal choice for what are now some of the most important baritone roles in the dramatic repertoire. In 1881, Maurel performed the title role of the revised Simon Boccanegra at La Scala. This was indeed an important occasion because it marked the first time Verdi collaborated with Arrigo Boito as librettist.

When Verdi and Boito combined their talents the next time, it was even more of an occasion. After more than a decade of a gentle, but relentless courtship of Verdi by Giulio Ricordi for Boito, Otello was premiered at La Scala in 1887. This was a critical event for the 73-year-old composer because this was the first time in 40 years (since Giovanna d’Arco) that Verdi allowed a premiere of his to be staged at the storied Milan theater. As Verdi and Boito conceived the work, perhaps the greatest dramatic focus is assigned to Iago. As a matter of fact Verdi had actually wanted to name the work after his ultimate villain before agreeing to use Shakespeare’s original title. That Verdi would choose Maurel to create this role unmistakably demonstrates the high esteem held by the composer for this baritone. Once again, for his last opera, Verdi chose Maurel to create the title role in Falstaff, but not before the baritone created the role of Tonio in Leoncavallo’s Pagliacci.

Incidentally, note the titles and subjects of the three Verdi operas just named – Simon Boccanegra, Otello and Falstaff. For Verdi, male characters had at the very least become the equals of women in opera.

Jean De Reszke (1850-1825)
Interestingly, Polish-born Jean de Reszke, known as one of the great tenors of all time, began his career as a baritone. The older brother of one of the great basses of the period, Edouard de Reszke, Jean debuted as Alfonso in La favorita at the Fenice in 1874. He excelled in such roles as Verdi’s Melitone and Rossini’s Figaro before converting to a tenor in a Madrid production of Meyerbeer’s Robert le diable in 1879. Not happy with his performance, de Reszke did not sing again until 1884, when he triumphed as John the Baptist in the Paris premiere of Massenet’s Hérodiade.

De Reszke was now unquestionably a tenor, but with a distinct baritonal quality to his sound. This was surely of use to him when he became the Metropolitan Opera’s leading interpreter of Wagner, beginning in the mid-1890s. The big and dark tone that de Reszke made famous was very well received by the opera fans of this time and the singer became the world’s leading tenor. His successor at the Met and the number one tenor in opera would also have a very deep vocal tone.

Enrico Caruso (1873-1921)
The monopoly on universal fame, inside and outside of the opera house, held by various prima donnas for almost a century, ended decisively with the advent of Enrico Caruso. He was the most famous, and arguably the best, opera singer who ever lived. His very name is synonymous with the art of singing. His legacy to the world was not only in the realm of opera because he virtually created the recording business. There was just something about the sound of his voice and the way he sung that encouraged people from all walks of life and levels of cultural awareness to purchase his records by the millions. (Naturally they also bought millions of phonographs, too.) Ever since he died at the too young age of 48, the world has been waiting for the “next Caruso.” Rightly or wrongly, all tenors since then have been judged by his standards. Because of him, the center of opera moved from Italy to America, from La Scala to the Met.

Born and raised in Naples, he embodied the bel canto style that originated in Caruso’s native city. Even with that famous “baritone” dimension in his huge voice, he was first and foremost a lyrical singer. It is not surprising that when he made his La Scala debut in 1900 he did not really please with his Rodolfo, but his Nemorino a few days later was a resounding triumph. His most powerful declamations were always shaped with the most sensitive phrasing imaginable. The proof is in his numerous recordings, supposedly with “improved” fidelity, but not really that much better than the originals. It is the voice, and the hypnotic personality in it, not the technology, that impresses.

There are so many stories about this larger-than-life artist that this cannot be the time to wade into them. What is most relevant to our emphasis here, however, is that so many of these tales are about his personal, not stage, life. There is his confrontation with the San Carlo Patiti, his survival in the San Francisco earthquake, the infamous “monkey house” incident, his brush with the Black Hand and his phantom romance with Emma Trentini, just to name a few. I’ll give you one that you can enjoy with your family and friends over and over again. Caruso was very moderate in his habits, but he regularly enjoyed a cocktail at midday. When he recorded the great duet from Madama Butterfly with Geraldine Ferrar in New York, the morning session ended without a cut and the tenor and soprano went out for a spot of lunch. When they resumed in the afternoon, the company “wrapped” an outstanding performance. It was so good that the producers ignored an intentional joke by Mme Ferrar. If you listen closely you can hear her sing, in English, very distinctly, “He’s had a highball.” Caruso, of course, was unflappable and continued to create perhaps the definitive interpretation of this duet, joke and all.