The tumultuous personal life of the great tenor Enrico Caruso, as dramatic as any opera, is illuminated by a treasure trove of letters and other documents offered for sale at Christie’s
In 1897, a young and little-known tenor called Enrico turned up at composer Giacomo Puccini’s house to audition. It was for the part of Rodolfo in the latter’s new opera, La Bohème. Puccini initially had low expectations, yet within a few bars of the aria ‘Che gelida manina’ stood converted. He asked the singer, ‘Who sent you to me? God?’
Enrico Caruso would go on to have one of the
all-time great opera careers. At the height of his fame, after a performance in
New York, the bosses at the Metropolitan Opera simply gave him a blank cheque
to fill in. Luciano Pavarotti said that ‘when we tenors talk, we always say
Caruso first — and then the others’.
Born in Naples in 1873, Enrico was the third
of seven children. The Carusos were poor, and from the age of about 10 he
apprenticed as a mechanic. A love of song soon manifested itself, though, and
he began singing Neapolitan classics in bars and cafés.
Caruso made his operatic debut in his home
town’s Teatro Nuovo in 1895. He would steadily go on to conquer the great opera
houses of the world, such as London’s Covent Garden, where he sang for eight
seasons between 1902 and 1914, and the Metropolitan across the Atlantic, where
he sang on more than 850 occasions, including 17 opening nights (a record only
surpassed by Plácido Domingo at the turn of the millennium).
He was blessed with a rich, versatile voice,
but what set Caruso apart was the way he combined refinement with passion,
mixing the old tradition of bel canto singing with the new trend of verismo.
He was also a beneficiary of fortunate timing,
coming of age as he did at the same time as the gramophone. His myriad
recordings earned him a mass appeal worldwide, in most cases among listeners
who never saw him on stage. His 1902 rendition of the aria ‘Vesti la giubba’
from I Pagliacci became the first record
of any kind to sell a million copies.
Not for nothing is Caruso often called opera’s first superstar.
He also had a personal life as colourful and
dramatic as any opera he appeared in. Caruso spent lavishly on homes, clothes,
hotel suites, jewellery and a string of lovers. He had two children with the
singer Ada Giachetti, before starting a long-term relationship with her sister
Rina and ultimately marrying the American heiress Dorothy Park Benjamin in
1918. He died three years later, from pleurisy, aged 48.
‘These letters take us inside Caruso’s mind,
as he grew from provincial tenor into the world’s most famous singer’ — Thomas
Venning
At the insistence of the Italian king, Victor
Emmanuel III, Caruso’s funeral was held at the Basilica di San Francesco di
Paola in Naples, an honour usually reserved for royalty.
A huge archive of Caruso’s personal documents
is currently being offered at Christie’s for private sale. It includes 282
letters and telegrams sent by him, and 423 sent to him, dating from across his
career.
‘These letters tell a gripping story,’ says
Thomas Venning, head of Books and Manuscripts at Christie’s in London. ‘They
take us inside Caruso’s mind, as he grew from provincial tenor into the world’s
most famous singer — as well as bringing us the point of view of those close to
him, drawn along by this human whirlwind. He seems to have been on a constant emotional rollercoaster.’
The archive — which also includes a host of
Caruso’s financial documents, plus a handful of photographs, newspaper cuttings
and court papers — was given by the increasingly infirm singer to his friend
Antonino Perrone fu Antonio in May 1921. This was shortly before he left the US for the final time, and
three months before his death. Perrone, who lived in Boston, was probably
chosen as the recipient because he could be trusted with keeping this highly
personal archive out of the public eye.
That he certainly achieved. The documents were unknown to Caruso’s
20th-century biographers, including even his own son, Enrico Jr., when writing
1990’s Enrico Caruso: My Father and My Family. They came to light only in 2014,
when offered at auction at Christie’s. Now, in the centenary year of Caruso’s
death, they come to the market again.
Below we look at five of the archive’s most
revealing letters.
Milan, 1897: ‘I’d give my life to get drunk
with you on the crazy joy of happiness, of love...’
Caruso began a relationship with the soprano
Ada Giachetti during the summer season at the Teatro Goldoni in Livorno in
1897. The pair sang together as Violetta and Alfredo in La Traviata, and at
that stage she was the more famous, having built up a reputation in Italy’s
regional opera houses. Two years on from his debut, Caruso’s career hadn’t
quite taken off yet. It’s thought that he and Ada (who had a husband and child)
shared lodgings in Livorno and soon started an affair.................
https://www.christies.com/features/the-private-papers-of-opera-singer-Enrico-Caruso-11492-1.aspx?sc_lang=en&cid=EM_EMLcontent04144B52Section_A_Story_1_0&COSID=42665747&cid=DM440457&bid=250779434.
AND...
Art exhibitions and events
Our pick of this year’s standout exhibitions and openings, from the Grand Egyptian Museum in Giza to Hong Kong’s spectacular new waterfront arts hub
- 3
- São Paulo Museum of Art (MASP)
Opened 4 December 2020
Installation view of Degas at MASP. Photo: Eduardo Ortega
MASP’s latest exhibition is showing all 76 together for the first time in 14 years. The accompanying text pays special attention to the sitter for one of his most famous works, Little Dancer. While the subject is traditionally viewed as a chic young girl, Marie van Goethem was in reality the diligent daughter of a working-class mother striving for social mobility. Marie was later dismissed from the Paris Opéra for missing classes, probably because she was forced into prostitution by her mother — a tragic narrative often overlooked in the history of the artist’s work.
The show also includes a series of photos of Degas’s works in the collection shot by the photographer Sofia Borges. The unnatural angles and hyper-zoomed focuses of the images offer a fresh perspective on what some refer to as ‘the first modern sculptures’.
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