During the month of August, Dead Tenors’ Society is paying tribute to the greatest of all tenors, Enrico Caruso (1873-1921). Last week, we examined the tenor’s early years, up to 1902. This week’s installment revisits the late 1890s, and Caruso’s first years at the Metropolitan Opera.

Here is part two.

The world premieres of Cilea’s L’Arlesiana (1897) and Giordano’s Fedora (1898) helped to establish Caruso as an artist of international caliber. Despite his new found fame, Caruso was unable to enjoy the fortune that should have accompanied it. A hastily signed agreement with his first teacher, Guglielmo Vergine, had already come back to haunt him. The terms of this dubious contract had the tenor paying Vergine 25% of his total earnings during the first five years of his singing career. It seems that the two men interpreted this agreement differently. Caruso assumed that he would pay his teacher for five calendar years, whereas Vergine insisted that he would receive payment for five actual years of singing…a feat which would have taken the tenor the better part of a century to achieve! A few years and numerous court cases later, Caruso emerged victorious and was freed from Vergine’s clutches.

By 1903, Caruso was a bona fide opera star. He had made debuts at the major theaters of Europe and South America, including Milan’s La Scala, Teatro Carlo Felice in Genoa, London’s Covent Garden, Moscow’s Bolshoi Opera, Teatro San Carlo in Naples, Monte Carlo’s Salle Garnier, and the Teatro Solís in Montevideo. His Metropolitan Opera debut as the Duke in Rigoletto took place on November 23, 1903. The reputation of his predecessor, Jean de Reszke (1850-1925), however, proved to be the bane of his existence during his early days with the company. No matter what Caruso sang, critics insisted on comparing him to de Reszke…“Caruso has no such violin note in his voice as the wonderful De Reszke”, “Caruso is not another Jean De Reszke”, etc. Amusingly, one of these same dissenting critics described “La donna è mobile” as a drinking song that ended with a high C! Apparently, many early 20th century critics were every bit as misinformed as they are today…

Caruso was able to emerge from the shadow of his older colleague and enjoyed an extraordinary career at the Met. Although he made frequent guest appearances in the major theaters of Berlin, Vienna, Warsaw, Prague, Barcelona, Rio and Havana, the Met remained his artistic home for the remainder of his career. During the first five years of his residency at the Met, Caruso added such roles as Raoul in Les Huguenots, Lionel in Martha, Pinkerton in Madama Butterfly, Vasco in L’Africaine and Manrico in Il Trovatore to his repertoire. His fame and fortune were practically unparalleled in the opera world, and he was able to enjoy the fruits of his labors at his palatial Italian estate. Sadly, Caruso’s personal life was starting to fall apart.

The tenor had begun a relationship with soprano Ada Giachetti (1874-1946) in 1897. Although Giachetti was already married (there was no divorce in Italy at the time), she and Caruso lived as man and wife for a decade. The two performed together frequently during their early years together, but at Caruso’s insistence, Giachetti curtailed her public appearances after the birth of their two sons. Giachetti’s resentment over her interrupted career (as well as the tenor’s occasional affairs) caused the couple to grow apart. Caruso, however, remained hopeful for a reconciliation. At the end of the 1907-08 opera season, he sailed to Italy to reunite with Giachetti and visit his ailing father in Naples. After three days at sea, a cable arrived informing him of his father’s death, and upon arriving at his estate, he discovered that Giachetti had run off to South America with the family chauffer. Caruso later admitted that thoughts of suicide consumed him, and vocal issues plagued him during the following year…but more on that next week in part 3 of our tribute.

During this period, Caruso continued to record prolifically. After making his initial discs for G&T in 1902, the tenor made records for Zonophone and the Anglo Italian Commerce Company. Caruso began his association with the Victor Talking Machine Company in February of 1904 and apart from a pair of discs made for G&T in April, never recorded for any other label for the rest of his life. From his final European session for G&T (Milan, April 8, 1904), Caruso sings “Je crois entendre encore” (“Mi par d’udir ancora” in Italian) from Bizet’s Les Pêcheurs de Perles. I find this a very appealing performance. There is a freshness and lyricism to Caruso’s singing, an ethereal, dreamlike quality that is missing from the 1916 Victor recording. The two B flats on the repeated phrase “O l’ebbrezze del sogno d’amor” are thrilling. Some complain about it, but I enjoy the strange little yodel on the ascent to the climactic B natural of “Divin sovvenir”. All in all, a fine example of Caruso’s early vocalism.

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