opera-ghosts

[opera-ghosts]

OPERA COSTUMES NOW SUIT THE ROLE, NOT THE SINGER March 11, 1984, New York Times

Back in 1875 the famous diva Celestine Galli-Marie was about to create the title role in a new opera called ''Carmen.'' In preparation for the premiere, she ordered a suitable costume - one that was supposed to combine authentic Spanish flavor with a romantic sense of the picturesque in a manner befitting a star of the Paris Opera-Comique. Thus first- nighters witnessed Bizet's spitfire emerge from her shabby cigarette factory immaculately attired in a close-fitting frock of canary satin trimmed with black silk ball fringe, a black velvet bolero, and a wide- brimmed hat with ball fringe to match. ''Gypsy chic,'' one might have called it.

Two decades later, when Emma Calvé performed the same role at the Metropolitan, wearing a seedy shawl (her own, of course), the Diamond Horseshoe gasped in disbelief: they couldn't tell Carmen apart from the chorus. Even her tenor, Jean de Reszke, was stunned. Before singing the role of Don Jose, a sergeant of the Dragoons, he had purchased a gleaming pair of boots suitable for a general. Though they weren't aware of it at the time, Calve was helping to usher in a new age.

The concept of stage costume has changed considerably since opera's palmy days. During the 19th century it didn't matter whether the stars played courtiers or courtesans, barons or beggars, so long as they were arrayed in suitable finery. Elegance and opulence were the rule, and every singer of repute owned a personal stage wardrobe from crowns to shoes.

One can only imagine, therefore, the sort of stage picture that resulted when an international cast assembled to sing, say, ''Les Huguenots,'' ''I Puritani'' or ''Der Freisch"utz'' dressed in a blinding assortment of color schemes, styles and decorations. Certainly it was closer to a fancy-dress ball than an integrated production.

''Obviously this practice is discouraged nowadays,'' says Peter Hall, the most recent head of the Metropolitan Opera costume department. ''Productions should be absolutely complete. Moreover, period is often changed by directors wishing to break with tradition, and things become rather heated when somebody comes along dressed 200 years out of date.''

To the Victorians, richness of effect was paramount, hence old-style costume decoration was very fussy, with all manner of contrasting fabrics used in combination with yards of beads, ribbons, plumes, fake gems, and embroidery, not to mention the pleats and tucks that must have been an absolute terror to clean and press.

''Things are very much simpler today than they were at the turn of the century,'' says Mr. Hall. ''While some designers, such as Zeffirelli, look at old portraits and copy those styles exactly, another school will look at authentic styles and re-interpret them somewhat. Last comes the 'self-indulgent' school that says, 'I'm not going to listen to the music anyway - I'll just do what I think is nice. Obviously that is the wrong way to go about it, for in the end the music should be reflected in the look of sets and costumes. I don't think that you can do Monteverdi in space suits. It has been done, in fact, but the result was hardly successful.''

Space suits or not, stage costume has always tended somehow to mirror its own time. Whether Nellie Melba was singing Gilda, Violetta or the Countess in ''The Marriage of Figaro,'' her ''period'' gowns - which were supposed to represent roughly the years 1470, 1850 and 1785 respectively - emphasized the hour- glass figure dictated by fashion at the fin de si ecle. Photographs of Emma Eames as Tosca show her wearing a bosomy costume that is little more than a gored Edwardian morning dress with an appropriate picture hat. Further on in time, Maria Jeritza's Tosca boasted the svelte lines popular during the 1920's and 30's.

Make-up and coiffure also have a lot to do with period feeling, but most singers have tended to wear whatever is popular or flattering. For instance, dark eyelids, kewpie-doll lips and headbands worn low over the brow usually indicate performances of the post-World War I era, whether the role depicted is Tha"is, Lakme or the "Agyptische Helena, and everyone is familiar with the all-purpose hairdo that Dame Joan Sutherland lets down only for mad scenes.

Men have been just as fashion conscious. When large, waxed moustaches were the rage, Caruso, Florencio Constantino, Mattia Battistini and many others sported them even when portraying normally clean-shaven 18th-century characters in powdered wigs.

Renaissance and earlier historical styles gave Victorian and early 20th- century designers the chance to indulge in amazing flights of fancy shackled by considerations of modesty. A copy of Harper's Weekly from 1855 contains engravings of Giulia Grisi and Marietta Alboni as the protagonists of Rossini's ''Semiramide.'' As the exotic Queen of Babylon, Grisi wore a pointed bodice, short puff sleeves, multi-layered skirt over numerous petticoats, floor-length veil and Statue-of-Liberty coronet that were merely outlandish variations on the outfit worn by Queen Victoria to the opening of the Crystal Palace in 1851.

Alboni sang Arsace, a trouser role, in a short flounced skirt worn over voluminous pantaloons tucked into dainty suede-topped boots (to give the impression of pants while hiding her legs) . With her little painted moustache - lest anyone mistake her for a woman - she looked rather like Prince Albert in drag.

Biblical and ancient garb were generally treated more like upholstery than attire on the stage prior to 1920. Old production shots of ''A"ida'' show the singers draped like ottomans in layers of heavy, embroidered fabric that would have caused real-life Egyptians to drop from heat stroke. The traditional get-up for ''Samson and Delilah'' resembled the wares of a Levantine rug merchant.

''Once again, it is the music that governs the look,'' says Mr. Hall who remembered a production of ''Samson'' 20 years ago ''for which I had not paid as much attention to the score as I might have. We designed rough, tweedy things with heavy Sumerian fringes. Then, upon hearing the priestesses' music in Act I, I realized that it calls for silk and flowing drapery.''

Nowadays, some sopranos are sufficiently alluring to make sense of more revealing attire when necessary. Gwyneth Jones, for example, sang the ''Tannh"auser'' Venus at Bayreuth clad in little more than a fishnet. It is still a rare tenor, however, who can portray Radames, Samson or Siegfried bare-chested in the appropriate heroic - or sub-tropical - manner. Indeed, Peter Hoffmann, is the only exception that comes to mind. As Siegmund in the Bayreuth centennial production of the ''Ring,'' he managed to strip to the waist before his battle with Hunding in ''Die Walk"ure'' without looking foolish.

Simplification and a greater striving for comfort and economy have had a marked effect not only on contemporary costumes themselves, but on their accessories. Although Mr. Hall personally favors ''full period costumes using fabrics as close to the original as possible,'' synthetics and substitutes can frequently be more practical and less costly. ''I like wool to be wool and silk to be silk, but obviously things are so expensive nowadays that one can't always do it. Materials that were extravagant at $25 a yard 10 years ago are now $125. It is still more economical to buy leather in skins than the imitations, however. For one thing, imitations can't be cleaned, nor can they be shaped like the real article.''

Stage jewelry and armour tend to be much lighter today than formerly. Old opera crowns used to be made of gilded metal, but the Met usually uses gold kid on a felt or elastic base. ''In Italy,'' says Mr. Hall, ''armour is still often made by property departments using brass and tin. We're inclined to use felt or vacuform (a plastic) with a metalic coating. Jewelry has also been greatly simplified. The old practice was to set false gems and pearls in brass prongs, then to sew the entire setting to the fabric. ''Now we sew on the pearls and gems directly, and apply gold braid afterward to suggest the setting.''

Robert Tuggle, archivist of the the Met, who acts as curator of the historic collection along with restoration consultant Gail Frohlinger, recently commented that, ''Even though luxurious silks and handmade laces have yielded to less opulent fabrics and trimmings, the general level of costumes is higher today than it used to be. The greater attention now being paid by designers to the chorus and smaller roles has fostered productions for which the workmanship on minor costumes is on a par with that given the stars.''

Recalling the violent upheavals that formerly took place when divas and dressmakers disagreed, Mr. Hall observed that there are relatively few donnybrooks in the Met's costume department today because singers are more serious about their work than their forebears used to be. They still have their quirks, however. ''One singer will not permit wool or velvet to cover his chest - only hard satin, because he says his voice bounces off it.'' Another once insisted that his voice was going up inside his helmet and being trapped there - although it didn't cover his face at all. ''So we made small holes on each side - like a rain hat - and he was delighted.'' Some singers avoid certain colors, either due to vanity or superstition, while others take a liking to one color or even to a particular garment. Luciano Pavarotti, it seems, belongs to the second category. ''He has a pronounced tendency to wear his favorite black suede vest in everything,'' said Mr. Hall, ''and you may quote me on that because I'm sure he knows it himself.''

Whether he does know it or not, whether it stems from superstition or from a desire for personal comfort, we can regard the tenor's habit, perhaps, as a holdover from the palmy days, a slender link with those bursting steamer trunks of the opulent past. There have been many changes in the philosophy of the dressing room over the years, but it's nice to know that some customs remain immutable.

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From Hillandale News 157 by City of London Phonograph and Gramophone Society 1987-08:

Before describing the records by particular artists, a word about the impression the records made on people who listened to them. First, Ira Glackens in 1938: ’’The great virtue of the best of the collection is that in spite of technical shortcomings . . . here we actually have great singers in action. These are not over-glossed studio recordings sung before an uninspiring horn with a scratch orchestra, but veritable snatches, echoes of the Golden Age of Opera with all the atmosphere of time and place.*” He further commented "The tone of the best is startlingly lifelike and recognisable, though of course on a Lilliputian scale.”

Jean de Reszke enjoyed an astonishingly high reputation in his time. Although he probably recorded for Fonotipia, no commercial recordings were ever released, so the Mapleson cylinders (and possibly a Bettini cylinder (Ref 6)) provide his entire recorded output, and so must be of supreme interest. Stratton commented ’’Just what sort of impression does (de Reszke's voice) make ? Unlike some of the otherwise unrecorded artists to be heard from the cylinders Jean de Reszke’s voice sounds to have had a lot of character - even as faintly heard . . . If one drops the needle anywhere on one of the cylinders of Jean de Reszke there emerges a pliant, mellow tone quite as unlike any other tenor as Planton is unlike any other bass . . . (This) is wedded to an evenness of colour over the whole range . . . And because the voice is even right up to the A’s (in ’’Siegfried”), his singing sounds appropriately youthful as well as forceful . . . The fragments of the duet from (”Le Cid”) with Breval are especially worth listening to, for the tenor gives us some of his most remarkably fluent singing . . . ascending to B flats and even B naturals! … As for the bits from the formidable Act IV duet in "Les Huguenots" (with Nordica) . . . Nordica comes through best, but Jean de Reszke can be heard about midway in the extracts singing he great tune . . . (at) a very slow tempo." Clearly Stratton was very favourably impressed.

Glackens listened to the cylinders on an acoustic phonograph, so did not have any modern aids to extracting the best sound. He was disappointed with the de Reszke/Breval duet, but was impressed by some of the "Siegfried" cylinders. "In one of these, Siegfrieds's cries are so good that at last one may say that Jean de Reszke is actually singing on the phonograph. The voice gives the impression of being very smooth and of a dark colour. There is no apparent strain or change of register as the A's pour out, vigorous and lusty; nor does the voice give any sign of age or weariness. It is a beautiful one, strong, clear as crystal." Glackens also thinks highly of a concerted item from Act 11 of "Lohengrin": "The chorus sings, and then Jean is heard, the voice emerging with great beauty and clarity . . . The orchestra is excellent, with a range and tone not associated with pre-electric recordings."

Contrast this with the remarks of the severe critic Michael Scott (Ref *7):"The best of Mapleson’s efforts (with de Reszke ?) are some excerpts fromVasco’s "O Paradis'*. He takes this aria more slowly than we are accustomed to from most singers on 78 records. The grand manner is contrived less by large breath spans than by artful phrasing and expressive use of portamento. The tone of the voice . . . sounds attractive, the legato is suave and elegant. The graces to the vocal line are done with chiselled finesse … It does not seem to have been a brilliant or heroic-sized instrument and there is a very abrupt shift into the head register; the B flat having a large measure of falsetto, though to judge from the audience's reaction the effect was pretty stunning." Well, praise I suppose, and one longs to hear the de Reszke cylinders.

What of Lucienne Breval, who sang with de Reszke in the "Le Cid" duet? Of Swiss descent, Breval also did the rounds of the Paris Opera, Covent Garden, and the Met, and was one of the greatest French singers of her day. Glackens is promising about one of her cylinders: "Of the two (de Reszke) cylinders with Lucienne Breval only one is of the slightest interest. Jean is heard faintly, then Breval sings clearly a short dramatic passage. After a silence the two voices sing together, Breval completely dominating the situation . . . The other duet is a series of faint muffled sounds with a few high notes at the end . . Breval, so long Queen of the Paris Opera and creator there of some of Wagner's heroines, gives the impression of a strong dramatic soprano with a full, round voice rather like Eva Turner's." Yes, promising.

Stratton maintained that: "The voice . . . has a good upward sweep, and she seems to have been entirely up to the demands of this exacting music. One cannot say, however, that she emerges with any particular vocal personality. This is in marked contrast to the fragments in which Emma Calvé is to be heard.'"

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REMEMBRANCE OF THINGS PAST: Adelina Czapska (1891-1985) and Stanisław Gruszczyński (1891-1959) in Giordano‘s „Andrea Chénier“ at the Teatr Wielki Warszawa in 1925.

[opera-ghosts]

On this postcard printed in Russia 1900 we see the great baritone Mattia Battistini (1856-1928).

Favourite of the Romanov's Family Mattia Battistini

Mattia Battistini was the most acclaimed singer of his time by the Russian aristocracy. He returned to Russia regularly for 23 seasons! Many times he have been in Odessa. An interesting story happened in our city was found in the diaries of the famour russian singer Yuriy Morfessi.

Mattia Battistini was born in Rome and brought up largely at Collebaccaro di Contigliano, a village near Rieti, where his parents had an estate.

A 22-year-old Battistini made his operatic debut at the Teatro Argentina, Rome, as Alfonso in Donizetti's La favorita, on 11 December 1878. During the first three years of his professional career he toured Italy, honing his voice and gaining invaluable experience by singing principal roles in such varied operas as La forza del destino, Il trovatore, Rigoletto, Il Guarany, Gli Ugonotti, Dinorah, L'Africana, I Puritani, Lucia di Lammermoor, Aida, and Ernani.

From 1892 onwards, Battistini established himself as an immense favourite with audiences at Russia's two imperial theatres in Saint Petersburg and Moscow: Mariinsky and Bolshoi. He returned to Russia regularly, appearing there for 23 seasons in total, and touring extensively elsewhere in Eastern Europe, using Warsaw as his stepping-stone.

Battistini recorded a lot and willingly; there are several dozen titles in his discography. These are not only arias from Italian operas - Verdi, Donizetti, Rossini; today you can listen to him performing Mozart, Weber and even Wagner. Battistini enjoyed the special favor of the royal Romanov family and became a favorite artist of the Russian nobility. The financial situation of Battistini was luxurious, any of his wishes were fulfilled. He traveled to Warsaw, Saint Petersburg, Moscow and Odessa like a prince, travelling in his own private rail coach with a retinue of servants and innumerable trunks containing a vast stage wardrobe renowned for its elegance and lavishness.

The singer's repertoire also included Russian music that was new at that time: in 1899 he performed in Tchaikovsky's Eugene Onegin on the stage of the Warsaw Opera House. Onegin performed by the recognised master of bel canto is an unexpected look at the music of Tchaikovsky for the modern listener.

He gave his last concert performance one year before his death, his voice was still in very fine condition. His career lasted almost 50 years!

An interesting story happened with the famous Russian singer of Greek origin Yuriy Morfessi during the Mattia Battistini's tour in Odessa.

Yuriy Morfessi wanted to become an architect, with the support of the Greek community he entered the school, but one day, returning home from classes, he noticed a large crowd on Primorsky Boulevard. People surrounded a strange apparatus with a bell, and the owner of this curiosity called out to the crowd: “Great Century's Wonder - a gramophone machine! It will record your voice, and whoever likes the recording will receive it for only 20 kopecks, which will make a step towards immortality, preserving his voice for posterity."

From the bell just sounded an anecdote with a stench, which was reveling in the big guy who was standing there and then who had just sounded that vulgarity, clearly anticipating the reaction of the descendants. Yuriy sighed, felt a few coins in his pocket, which he grabbed from breakfast in pencils, and handed the owner the gramophone. He put a brown plate on a rotating disk and turned the bell towards the next contender for immortality. Yura thought for a second what to say to the descendants, but did not say anything, and sang "The Weeping Willows Slumber", my mother's favourite romance. And when he finished, he felt that someone was pulling him to the side by the sleeve.

A short, elegant man said, Boy, you have a nice tone. It makes sense for you to see a specialist." The specialist turned out to be the famous Italian baritone Mattia Battistini, who was just on tour in Odessa. Battistini did not know the Russian language, and spoke delicious: "Bravissimo!"

From Yuriy Morfessi Diary:

Teachers, they directly advised: why do you need science, Morfessi? You will enter the theater, and life will teach you everything else. I myself was drawn to the theater ... I saved up money in order to listen to the operetta and the Italian opera that often came to us from the upper tiers of the gallery. Odessa was a very musical city, and who among the Italian stars did not tour with us: Marcella Zembrich, Mazini, Tamagno, Giraldoni and many others and, of course, the divine Battistini.

I remember my acquaintance with Battistini. Acquaintance is too loud, even blasphemous. With awe I stepped into the Londonskaya Hotel occupied by the king of baritones. You shouldn't tremble! A great artist, wrapped and caressed by world fame. I knew his biography. I knew that, unlike other Italian singers, Battistini was from an aristocratic family and in his youth served in the guard of his king. I also knew that many crowned heads of Europe, including our emperor, treated him with particular favor precisely because, being a great singer, he was also a man of high society.

After all this, my trepidation of a sixteen-year-old provincial youth is understandable. But the first impression dispelled all my fears. Battistini was charmingly simple with me. Sovereign simplicity, disarming and conquering. But there was something majestic about his manner. Many years later, remembering this meeting, after I got to St. Petersburg and saw the great light myself, I realized the simplicity of Battistini's evasion.

With a captivating smile, straightening the folds of the most wonderful business card - I have never seen one like this before - Battistini sat down at the piano, took a note and addressed me in French:

"Repeat!"

I, who had had time to listen to Battistini in a number of operas, took this note in his own style and spirit.

Removing his long, thin fingers from the key, the demigod looked at me in amazement.

"Young man, you have a rare imitative talent! You convey my voice with indescribable accuracy!

And, turning to my patron, Battistini continued: - He needs to go to Italy and go directly to the famous Cotoni. If he is even the second Cotoni, he will make himself a world name. Send it to Italy without wasting time! The wizard Cotoni will process his voice ...

I never got to Italy ... Everyday reality surrounded me from all sides, taking something, giving something in return. Where could one think of Italy! And here, in Odessa, my artistic career grew by leaps and bounds...

From: odessa-journal.com

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December 17.1908 at The Metropolitan Opera a wonderful cast for Pietro Mascagni „Cavalleria Rusticana”

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OTD in Music History: French composer Augusta Holmes (1847 - 1903) is born in Paris. Holmes was ostensibly the daughter of an elderly Irish army officer named Charles William Scott Dalkeith Holmes – but rumors long swirled that she was actually the illegitimate offspring of her much more famous godfather, French poet Alfred de Vigny (1797 - 1863). Whatever the case, Holmes was unquestionably one of the most striking women of her age. Beautiful, charming, witty, intelligent, cultured, and artistically gifted, she collected a long list of famous suitors in her younger years. Richard Wagner (1813 - 1883) had a brief affair with Holmes in the 1860s. Cesar Franck (1822 - 1890), who also taught her, dedicated several compositions to Holmes (much to the chagrin of his perpetually jealous wife). Conductor Hans Richter (1843 - 1916) fell hard for her, and Nicolai Rimsky-Korsakov (1844 - 1908) described her as being “extremely beautiful." Even Camille Saint-Saens (1835 - 1921), a barely-closeted gay man, seriously proposed marriage to her at one point; upon hearing news of her death many years later, he sadly recalled that “we were all in love with her once upon a time… indeed, my own Autumn leaves flutter at the bright memory of those Spring days..." But Holmes's legacy is more than just a laundry list of her famous suitors. She was also a highly gifted musician in her own right, and one who managed (against all odds) to make a name for herself as a composer at a time when women were strongly discouraged from even taking the field. Like many other female composers of her era – including Fanny Mendelssohn-Hensel (1805 - 1847) and Clara Schumann (1819 - 1896) – Holmes published a number of early works under a male pseudonym ("Hermann Zenta"). By the end of her life, however, Holmes had abandoned this pretense. In 1889, for example, she was publicly commissioned to write a piece (“Ode Triomphale”) in honor of the Centennial of the French Revolution, which was premiered to great acclaim at the Palace of Industry. PICTURED: An autograph letter that Holmes wrote to a friend in 1890.

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OTD in Music History: Giacomo Puccini's (1858 - 1924) final completed opera, "Il trittico" ("The Triptych") -- which is actually a suite of three separate but (supposedly) thematically-interrelated one-act operas -- receives its world premiere at the Metropolitan Opera House in New York City in 1918. The three one-act operas that make up "Il trittico" are "Il tabarro" ("The Cloak"), "Suor Angelica" ("Sister Angelica"), and "Gianni Schicchi." "Il tabarro" is a dark and brooding tragedy that features the sort of gritty violence commonly associated with the so-called "verismo" opera movement with which Puccini was closely identified early in his career. "Suor Angelica" is an uplifting and melodramatically sentimental tale of religious redemption. "Gianni Schicchi" is a broad farce that deals with themes of greed and deception. The critical reviews for "Il trittico" at its premiere were mixed. Most critics of the time agreed that "Gianni Schicchi" was the best of the three, and today it remains by far the most frequently performed of the bunch. (Despite Puccini's clear desire that this trio should always be performed as a set, over the years it has also become very common to break them up... indeed, it is not unusual to see one of these operas paired up with another one-act opera written by an entirely different composer.) PICTURED: A dramatic formal photo portrait of Puccini (c. late 1910s). Also shown is an autograph letter that Puccini sent to his editor at the famous Ricordi music publishing house in 1919, heatedly passing along some corrections to errors that he had apparently found in the proof version of the first edition printed score of "Il trittico."

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OTD in Music History: Legendary concert pianist Josef Lhevinne (1874 - 1944) is born in Russia. Lhevinne graduated from the Moscow Conservatory at the top of an especially auspicious class that included both Alexander Scriabin (1872 - 1915) and Sergei Rachmaninoff (1873 - 1943), winning the "gold medal" for piano in 1892. In 1898, Levin married Rosina Bessie (1880 - 1976), a fellow Moscow Conservatory graduate and the winner of the "gold medal" for piano in her own year. The pair soon began to give concerts together, a practice that they carried on right up until Lhevinne's death. Fleeing the growing social and political unrest that was increasingly plaguing Russia, the Lhevinnes relocated to Berlin in 1907 and immediately established themselves as preeminent performing artists. Unfortunately, they were declared "enemy aliens" shortly after the outbreak of World War I; functionally trapped and unable to give concerts, they also lost access to all of the money they were holding in Russian banks in the wake of the 1917 Revolution and were forced to endure years of hardship. After WWI ended and they were free to travel once again, they emigrated to New York City where Lhevinne happily resumed his concert career and the pair both assumed joint teaching posts at Juilliard. Although Lhevinne left behind tragically few recordings, his 1928 disc of the Schulz-Evler arrangement of Johann Strauss II's (1825 - 1899) "Beautiful Blue Danube Waltz" and his 1935 rendition of two of Frederic Chopin's (1810 - 1849) Op. 25 Etudes (Nos. 6 & 11) have assumed almost mythic status among pianists and connoisseurs. In the words of Former Chief NYT Music Critic Harold C. Schonberg (1915 - 2003): "Lhevinne's tone was like the morning stars singing together, his technique was flawless even if measured against the fingers of [Josef] Hofmann and Rachmaninoff, and his musicianship was sensitive." PICTURED: A lovely formal photo portrait of Lhevinne at the piano, which he signed and inscribed for a fan in San Francisco in 1925. Also shown is one of Lhevinne's personal calling cards, which he inscribed to music critic and writer Arthur Abell (1868 - 1958) in Berlin in 1909.

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OTD in Music History: Composer and master orchestrator Ottorino Respighi (1879 - 1936) watches as one of his greatest masterpieces, the famous tone poem “Pines of Rome,” receives its world premiere in Rome exactly 100 years ago. Respighi is widely recognized hailed as one of the greatest orchestrators in history -- but few people are aware that he actually studied with the man who literally “wrote the book” on modern orchestration, Nicolai Rimsky-Korsakov (1844 - 1908), for several months in Russia during 1900-1901. Respighi's remarkable gift for orchestration is on resplendent display in his most famous work, a celebrated trilogy of tone poems centered on Rome and entitled “Fountains of Rome” (1917), “Roman Festivals” (1928), and of course the famous "Pines of Rome.” While the entire trilogy remains popular, the lushly scored “Pines of Rome” is easily the most frequently performed and recorded out of all of Respighi’s works; indeed, it is arguably one of the most popular purely orchestral works ever written by any Italian composer, period! PICTURED: A beautiful large photographic portrait of Respighi which he signed and inscribed to a friend in 1931. The friend in question was Alberto De Angelis (1885 - 1965), a writer and journalist who covered musical matters in Italy. The inscription reads: "Ad Alberto De Angelis in ricordo d’una gradita visita ai 'Pini'" ("To Alberto De Angelis in memory of a welcome visit to the 'Pines'"), an apparent nod to his own "Pines of Rome."

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Exactly 111 years ago at The Metropolitan Opera a performance from Richard Wagner “Tannhäuser” with (1867-1935). Look in the Bio of him what a bad Debut it was at the MET, but after this he was a leading Wagner Tenor there.

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Faustina Bordoni possessed remarkable beauty of figure and face, an expression full of fire and intelligence, to which she united tact, amiability, and prudence. As singers the rivals were nearly equal ; for Faustina, while surpassing the Cuzzoni in power of execution, had not the command of expression which made the latter's art so pathetic and touching. Dr. Burney, the musical historian, and father of Madame d'Arblay, describes Cuzzoni in these words : " A native warble enabled her to execute divisions with such facility as to conceal every appearance of difficulty ; and so soft and touching was the natural tone of her voice, that she rendered pathetic whatever she sang, in which she had leisure to unfold its whole volume. The art of conducting, sustaining, increasing, and diminishing her tones by minute degrees, acquired for her among professors the title of complete mistress of her art. In a cantabile air, though the notes she added were few, she never lost a favorable opportunity of enriching the cantilena with all the refinements and embellishments of the time. Her shake was perfect ;she had a creative fancy, and the power of occasionally accelerating and retarding the measure in the most artificial manner by what the Italians call tempo rubato. Her high notes were unrivaled in clearness and sweetness, and her intonations were so just and fixed that it seemed as if it were not in her power to sing out of tune." The celebrated flute-player Quantz, instructor of Frederick II., also gave Dr. Burney the following account of Faustina's artistic qualities : " Faustina had a mezzo-soprano voice, that was less clear than penetrating. Her compass now was only from B flat to G in alt ; but after this time she extended its limits downward. She possessed what the Italians call un cantar granito ; 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 shake that she put it in motion upon short notice, just when she would. The passages might be smooth, or by leaps, or consisting of iterations of the same note ; their execution was equally easy to her as to any instrument whatever. She was, doubtless, the first who introduced with success a swift repetition of the same note. She sang adagios with great passion and expression, but was not equally successful if such deep sorrow were to be impressed on the hearer as might require dragging, sliding, or notes of syncopation and tempo rubato. She had a very happy memory in arbitrary changes and embellishments, and a clear and quick judgment in giving to words their full value and expression. In her action she was very happy ; and as her performance possessed that flexibility of muscles and face-play which constitute expression, she succeeded equally well in furious, tender, and amorous parts. In short, she was born for singing and acting."

Faustina Bordoni, who from the time of her radiant debut was known as the " New Siren," was the daughter of a noble Venetian family, formerly one of the governing families of the republic. Born in the year 1700, she began to study her art at an early age under Gasparoni, who developed a beautiful and flexible voice to the greatest advantage. She made her first appearance at the age of sixteen in Pollarolo's " Ariodante," and her beauty, which was ravishing, her exquisite voice, dramatic power, and artistic skill, gave her an immediate place as one of the greatest ornaments of the lyric stage. She came into rivalry with Cuzzoni even at this early period, but carried off the palm of victory as she did in after-years. Venice, Naples, Florence, and Vienna were successively the scenes of her triumphant reign as an artist, and she became acknowledged as the most brilliant singer in Europe. At Vienna she was appointed court singer at a salary of fifteen thousand thalers. Here she was found by Handel, who carried her to London, where she made her debut May 5, 1726, in that great composer's " Alessandro," very appropriately singing Stcttira to the Boxana of Cuzzoni. Faustina's amiable and unobtrusive character seems to have made her an unwilling participant in the quarrels into which circumstances forced her, and to have always deserved the eulogium pronounced by Apostolo Zeno on her departure from Vienna : "But whatever good fortune she meets with, she merits it all by her courteous and polite manners, as well as talents, with which she has enchanted and gained the esteem and affection of the whole court." Throughout life a sweet temper and unspotted purity of character made her the idol of her friends as well as of the general public. Faustina seems to have left London gladly, though her short career of two years there was a brilliant artistic success. The scandalous bickerings and feuds through which she passed made her departure more of a pleasure to herself than to the lovers of music in turbulent London.

She returned" to Venice in 1728, where she met Adolph Hasse, who was leader of the orchestra at the theatre in which she was engaged. Faustina, in the full bloom of her loveliness, was more than ever the object of popular adulation ; and many of the wealthy young nobles of Venice laid their names and fortunes at her feet. But the charming singer had found her fate. She and Hasse had fallen in love with each other at first sight, and Faustina was proof against the blandishments of the gilded youth of Italy. Hasse was the most popular dramatic composer of the age, and had so endeared himself to the Italian public that he was known as "il caro Sassone" a title which had also been previously given to Handel. Hasse had commenced life as a tenor singer, but his talent for composition soon lifted him into a higher field of effort. His first opera was produced at Brunswick, but its reception showed that he must yet master more of the heights and depths of musical science before attaining any deserved success.So he proceeded to Italy, and studied under Porpora and Alessandro Scarlatti. In a few years he became a celebrity, and the opera-houses of Italy eagerly vied with each other in procuring new works from his fecund talent. Faustina, then at the zenith of her powers and charms, and Hasse, the most admired composer of the day, were congenial mates, and their marriage was not long delayed.

Of this composer a few passing words of summary may be interesting. His career was one long success, and he wrote more than a hundred operas, besides a host of other compositions. Few composers have had during their lifetime such world-wide celebrity, and of these few none are so completely forgotten now. The facile powers of Hasse seem to have reflected the most genial though not the deepest influences of his time. He had nothing in common with the grand German school then rising into notice, or with the simple majesty of the early Italian writers. Himself originally a singer, and living in an age of brilliant singers, he was one of the first representatives of that school of Italian opera which was called into being by the worship of vocal art for its own sake. He had an inexhaustible flow of tunefulness, and the few charming songs of his now extant show great elegance of melodic structure, and such sympathy with the needs of the voice as make them the most perfect vehicle for expression and display on the part of the singer. For ten years, that most wonderful of male singers, as musical historians unite in calling Farinelli, charmed away the melancholy of Philip V. of Spain by singing to him every evening the same two melodies of Hasse, taken from the opera of " Artaserse."

In 1731 the celebrated couple accepted an offer from the brilliant Court of Dresden, presided over by Augustus II., as great a lover of art and literature as Goethe's Duke of Saxe-Weimar, or as the present Louis of Bavaria. This aesthetic monarch squandered great sums on pictures and music, and gave Hasse unlimited power and resources to place the Dresden opera on such a footing as to make it foremost in Europe. His first opera produced in Dresden was the masterpiece of his life, " Alessandro dell' Indie," and its great success was perhaps owing in part to the splendid singing and acting of Faustina, for whom indeed the music had been carefully designed. As the husband of the most fascinating prima donna of her age,Hasse had no easy time. His life was still further embittered by the presence and intrigues of Porpora,his old master and now rival, and jealousy of Porpora's pupil, Mingotti, who threatened to dispute the sway of his wife. Hasse's musical spite was amusingly shown in writing an air for Mingotti in his " Demofoonte." He composed the music for what he thought was the defective part of her voice, while the accompaniment was contrived to destroy all effect. Mingotti was nothing daunted, but by hard study and ingenious adaptation so conquered the difficulties of the air, that it became one of her greatest show-pieces. A combination of various causes so dissatisfied the composer with Dresden, that he divided his time between that city, Venice, Milan, Naples, and London, though the Saxon capital remained his professed home. One of his diversions was the establishment of opera in London in opposition to Handel ; but he became so ardent an admirer of that great man's genius, that he refused to be a tool in the hands of the latter's enemies, though several of his operas met with brilliant success in the English capital.

Dresden life at last flowed more easily with Hasse and Faustina on the advent of Augustus III., who possessed his father's connoisseurship without his crotchets and favoritism. Here he remained, with the exception of a short Venetian sojourn, till late in life. On the evening of Frederick the Great's entrance into Dresden in 1745, after the battle of Kesselsdorf, Hasse's opera of " Arminio " was performed by command of the conqueror, who was so charmed with the work and Faustina's singing that he invited the composer and wife to Berlin. During the Prussian King's occupation he made Faustina many magnificent gifts, an exceptional generosity in one who was one of the most penurious of monarchs as well as one of the greatest of soldiers. Faustina continued to sing for eight years longer, when, at the age of fifty-two, she retired from the long art reign which she had enjoyed, having held her position with unchanged success against all comers for nearly forty years.

In notable contrast to the career of Faustina was that of her old-time rival, Cuzzoni. After the Venetian singer retired from London, Cuzzoni again returned to fill an engagement with the opposition company formed by Handel's opponents. With her sang Farinelli and Senesino, the former of whom was the great tenor singer of the age — perhaps the greatest who ever lived, if we take the judgment of the majority of the musical historians. Cuzzoni was again overshadowed by the splendid singing of Farinelli, who produced an enthusiasm in London almost without parallel. Her haughty and arrogant temper could not brook such inferiority, and she took the first opportunity to desert what she considered to be an ungrateful public. We hear of her again as singing in different parts of Europe, but always with declining prestige. In the London " Daily Post " of September 7, 1741, appeared a paragraph which startled her old admirers : " We hear from Italy that the famous singer, Mrs. C-z-ni, is under sentence of death, to be beheaded for poisoning her husband." If this was so, the sentence was never carried into execution, for she sang seven years afterward in London at a benefit concert. She issued a preliminary advertisement, avouching her " pressing debts " and her " desire to pay them " as the reason for her asking the benefit, which, she declared, should be the last she would ever trouble the public with. Old, poor, and almost deprived of her voice by her infirmities, her attempt to revive the interest of the public in her favor was a miserable failure ; her star was set for ever, and she was obliged to return to Holland more wretched than she came. She had scarcely reappeared there when she was again thrown into prison for debt ; but, by entering into an agreement to sing at the theatre every night, under surveillance, she was enabled to obtain her release. Her recklessness and improvidence had brought her to a pitiable condition ; and in her latter days, after a career of splendor, caprice, and extravagance, she was obliged to subsist, it is said, by button-making. She died in frightful indigence, the recipient of charity, at a hospital in Bologna, in 1770.

We have already seen that this great prima donna retired from the stage in 1753, at the age of fifty-two. The life of the distinguished couple during this period is described with much pictorial vividness in a musical novel, published several years since, under the name of " Alcestis," which also gives an excellent idea of German art and music generally. In 1760 Hasse suffered greatly from the bombardment of Dresden by the Prussians, losing among other property all his manuscripts in the destruction of the opera-house —a fact which may partly account for the oblivion into which this once admired composer has passed. The loss was peculiarly unfortunate, for the publication of Hasse's works was then about to commence at the expense of the King. He and his wife removed to Vienna, where they remained till 1775, when they retired to Venice, Faustina's birthplace. Two years before this Dr. Burney visited them at their handsome house in the Landstrasse in Berlin, and found them a humdrum couple—Hasse groaning with the gout, and the once lovely Faustina transformed into a jolly old woman of seventy-two, with two charming daughters. As he approached the house with the Abate Taruffi, Faustina, seeing them, came down to meet them. Says the Doctor : " I was presented to her by my conductor, and found her a short, brown, sensible, lively old lady, who expressed herself much pleased to meet a cavaltere Inglesiy as she had been honored with great marks of favor in England. Signor Hasse soon entered the room. He is tall and rather large in size, but it is easy to imagine that in his younger days he must have been a robust and fine figure ; "great gentleness and goodness appear in his countenance and manners."

Going to see them a second time, the Doctor was received by the whole family with much cordiality. He says Faustina was very intelligent, animated, and curious concerning what was going on in the world. She had a wonderful store of musical reminiscences, and showed remains of the splendid beauty for which her youth was celebrated. But her voice was all gone. Dr. Burney asked her to sing. " Ah ! Non posso ; ho perduto tutte le mie facolta." (" Alas ! I am no longer able; I have lost all my faculty.") "I was extremely fascinated," said the Doctor, "with the conversation of Signor Hasse. He was easy, communicative,and rational, equally free from pedantry, pride, and prejudice. He spoke ill of no one, but on the contrary did justice to the talents of several composers, among them Porpora, who, though he was his first master, was afterward his greatest rival." Though his fingers were gouty, he played on the piano for his visitor, and his beautiful daughters sang. One was a "sweet soprano," the other a "rich and powerful contralto, fit for any church or theatre in Europe " ;both girls " having good shakes," and " such an expression, taste, and steadiness as it is natural to expect in the daughters and scholars of Signor Hasse and Signora Faustina."

There are two pictures of Faustina Bordoni in existence. One is in Hawkins's " History," showing her in youth. Brilliant large black eyes, splendid hair, regular features, and a fascinating sweet ness of expression, attest how lovely she must have been in the heyday of her charms. The other represents her as an elderly person, handsomely dressed, with an animated, intelligent countenance. Faustina died in 1793, at the age of ninety-two, and Hasse not long after, at the age of ninety-four.

From Great Singers: Ferris, George T.

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OTD in Music History: Spanish pianist-composer Enrique Granados (1867 - 1916) marries his wife in 1892. Granados's most famous original work is an epic piano suite entitled "Goyescas" (1911), which is set of six extremely difficult concert showpieces inspired by paintings of Francisco Goya (1746 -1828). This set was such a huge hit that Granados was encouraged to expand it into a full-length opera, which he did. That opera was then premiered in New York City in January 1916, and it was also initially very well received. Thanks in large part to the success of this premiere, Granados was invited to give a private piano recital for President Woodrow Wilson at the White House in Washington, D.C. In accepting this high honor, however, he was forced to delay his return trip to Europe by a week... inadvertently dooming both himself and his beloved wife in the process. While crossing the English Channel on their way back from America, Granados and his family found themselves aboard a ferry ship that was torpedoed by a German WW1 U-boat. One survivor of the attack later reported that Granados actually made it into a lifeboat, but when he turned around and saw his wife struggling in the water, he heroically dived back in and tried to save her. They both perished in the icy sea. Ironically, the portion of the ferry that actually housed the Granados family never sunk; it was towed safely to port, along with almost all of the passengers who were bunked on that section -- except for Granados and his wife, who happened to be strolling on the other side of the boat when the torpedo struck. They left behind six orphaned children. (Granados's opera based on "Goyescas" also quickly faded from view, and today it is almost never performed.) PICTURED: A dramatic (c. 1910s) photo portrait showing Granados seated in front of his piano. Also shown is an autograph letter that Granados wrote to a friend in 1903, discussing various musical matters. Of note is the fact that this was written on "Academia Granados" letterhead; although today he is primary remembered as a composer, Granados actually spent most of his career running a private piano academy in Barcelona.

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Today a program from Cairo 1921 „Tosca“. Look at the cast and see the Soprano Mary Dorska. Two years later you can read in the article from The New York Times 1923 the dramatic end of her live.

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In 1978 the ABC made a film about Amy Sherwin.

Frances Amy Sherwin  (1855-1935) was one of five children, born and raised  in Tasmania’s Huon Valley. Even as a child she had a lovely voice, and dreamed of becoming a famous singer. This seemed highly unlikely, as the family struggled to make a living on a remote farm. Amy, as she was known,  would wander down to the paddock closest to  the road and sing her heart out.  She later confessed that she hoped a passerby  would hear,  and carry her off to stardom. In an autobiographical piece she wrote;

‘It was not until my tenth year that I had any lessons, except in the way of home teaching. Then a great treat came into my life in the person of Mr Russell, a dear old music teacher……..In order to take these lessons I had to get up at four in the morning and ride or drive along a difficult bush track for eight miles.’

However, the Sherwins did possess a treasured piano;

‘The care we lavished on our piano was  in the eyes of our neighbours in the bush, only another  instance of the quips and cracks of the ‘Mad Sherwins’.  I well remember one scorching summer day, when our homestead and all the country round was suddenly enveloped in a fierce bush fire. It was washing-day, and I have heard my mother say that the tubs were charred to a cinder and crumbled at a touch, but that the damp clothes inside remained in intact, white heaps. But it was to the piano we devoted all our energies at this domestic crisis. It was covered with wet blankets and dragged to an island of shingle in the middle of the Huon River, that ran near our house. Even in that position it did not escape, and the charred old instrument is still treasured in my Tasmanian home…’

As she grew up, Amy performed locally in concerts and musicals.  Amazingly, in 1878 her childhood dream came true.  The story went that  members of  the  Pompei  and Cagli  Italian Opera Company  were picnicking near her home and were impressed when they  heard her singing.  Now the picnicking part sounds a little unlikely to me , but never mind.  She accepted an invitation to join the company, and made her professional  debut  at Hobart’s Theatre Royal.  That same year  she married Hugh Gorlitz, a German businessman with interests in Australia.

Her voice inspired these verses of effusive praise, published in June, 1878;

Before long Amy  was thrilling audiences  in Melbourne,  Ballarat and Sydney. She was dubbed The Tasmanian Nightingale.  It was not all glamour, as touring could be hazardous in those days. On one occasion, when the singer and her entourage were  in the middle of nowhere,  the leather on the  coach’s brake failed during  a steep descent.   When it was finally brought to a halt it was Amy who came up with a solution, which was to use her  boots  as replacement leather on the brake.

Amy Sherwin travelled the world, but made her home in England. The family settled in a lovely property at Hampstead, where Amy gave concerts in the vast  music room.  The property was once targeted by burglars, and judging  by a report in The Evening News (October 24 1895), they certainly made themselves at home;

Mme.  Amy Sherwin’s house has been burgled, everything of value taken, everything else broken. The family were at the seaside. The thieves cooked supper in the kitchen, and made a dark lantern of Mr. Gorlitz’s new silk hat. The candle  fell over, and the hat, as a hat, is a hat no more.

By 1907 Amy was living in Kent, but also kept a suite of rooms above her music  studio in London’s Bond Street. She became a singing teacher.  It was at this time that The Tasmanian Nightingale made her final  visit to her old home. A journalist with Launceston’s Daily Telegraph attended a concert in Launceston;

Amy Sherwin has worn remarkably well. Perhaps her temperament and continual change of scene has something to do with it. The voice of today is the same old sweet one, with intense culture added. There was no straining after effect, none of those difficult trills and excursions into the attics which vocalists of the De Mursca type are so fond of. One did not make oneself known to her. Musical stars as a rule have not much time to waste talking of days  that are gone. This is a moving-on age, and Amy Sherwin and the writer have to keep going.

During WWI Amy helped raise funds under the banner of the Women’s Auxiliary Force by arranging concerts.

Sadly, Amy was eventually forced to give up work completely. She spent her time caring for her actress daughter Bobbie, who was suffering from tuberculosis. Adding to her troubles, Amy and her husband separated,

Amy’s daughter Jeanette ‘Bobbie’.

Never wise at managing money,  Madame Sherwin eventually  fell  into poverty.  She moved to a  small cottage in Essex, but as she was ineligible for an aged pension she struggled to cover the rent. In 1934 she became ill herself, and was unable to pay for her care.

In a charity ward at London’s Charing Cross Hospital, doctors and nurses  were struck by the sound of a beautiful soprano  voice. It was the almost eighty year old Amy; down on her luck, but still singing like a nightingale.

Amy in later life.

When news of Amy’s sad  situation reached Tasmania a public fund was set up. Despite the difficult economic times of the 1930s, two hundred pounds was raised and forwarded  to London. The singer expressed her appreciation in a letter to the Mayor of Hobart;

‘I must crave your indulgence for not having acknowledged before the last generous help sent by you on behalf of the kind friends who have so warm-heartedly aided me in my desperate plight, caused by my darling daughter’s sad state of health. As it happened, the kind donation, final instalment, sent by you, arrived on the eve of my being admitted to hospital as above for treatment, and which was too costly for me  to obtain otherwise. 

I hope to be out of hospital in a week or 10 days, but I cannot wait till then to thank you all for your warm-hearted practical help in my disaster, and I send off this message from my sick bed- hoping you will pass round the fact that I am most deeply touched, and would write more fully but that circumstances prohibit a longer letter.’

Those ‘circumstances’ were that she was just too frail. Amy  died on September 20 the following year. A wreath was sent from the Tasmanian Government with the message; ‘A tribute to the memory of a famous Tasmanian, from the Government of Tasmania.’

Her daughter  Jeanette only survived a further twelve months. Son Louis died in America in 1978.

Madame  Sherwin  is remembered by a plaque on the wall of the former Del Sarte’s Rooms, on the corner of Hobart’s Harrington and Davey Streets.

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Amy was born near Judbury in the Huon Valley on 23 March 1855. Her parents were farmers. Her father, George Sherwin, had arrived in Tasmania (then known as Van Diemen's Land) in 1832 with his parents, becoming an early pioneer in the Huon District. In 1843 he married Miss Elizabeth Dean and together they had five children, Sarah, Marianne, Lucy, Arthur and Amy. The Sherwin's were musically talented, giving many concerts in the local district.

Amy's amateur debut was probably in a performance of Puss in Boots in 1866 in the Del Sarte Rooms. Her first 'proper' music teachers were William Russell and Frederick Augustus Packer, a renowned Hobart composer and organist.

Amy made her professional debut on 1 May 1878 at the Theatre Royal in Hobart as Norina in Donizetti's Don Pasquale with the Royal Italian Opera Company. The Mercury newspaper in its review of Don Pasquale on 2 May 1878 said of her debut:

"Of Miss Amy Sherwin's Norina, we are glad to speak in warmest terms." and "The whole of Miss Sherwin's rendition was remarkable for the delicate flexibility of her voice and for her conscientious compliance with the demands of the composer."

In May 1878 Amy travelled to Melbourne, accompanied by her mother, appearing at the Opera House in Melbourne on 3 June with the Royal Italian Opera. Her success was outstanding and she became known as "The Tasmanian Nightingale" by admiring critics. The year 1878 was one of continued triumphs for Amy, both professionally and personally. On 14 December she married Hugo Gorlitz, a German who became her concert manager, in Dunedin, N.Z. where she was touring with the Royal Italian Opera Company.

In 1879 Amy left the Italian Opera Company and sailed for America with Hugo. She joined the Strakosch Company and made her American debut at the Grand Opera House in San Francisco as Violetta in La Traviata. Amy spent several years in America combining performances with study under teachers Signor Errani, Madame Kappiani and Dr Damrosch.

She went to Europe to finish her musical education, studying oratorio and German opera under Herr Stockhausen, and in Paris studied opera and deportment under Madame Hustache. Whilst in Europe in either 1881 or 1882 (date uncertain) Amy gave birth to her son, Louis Sherwin.

In 1883 Amy made her debut in London at the Drury Lane Theatre with the Carl Rosa Opera Company, performing in Maritana. Amy's career as a concert singer seems to have taken off at this point and she performed regularly in London. By 1886 she had performed in the Richter Concerts and in the Crystal Palace Concerts.

Early 1887 saw Amy on a short American and Canadian tour, where she received much acclaim. The same year she returned to Australia giving concerts in Melbourne, most notably as one of the performers at the Queen's Jubilee Celebration Concert.

Having been abroad for nine years Amy finally returned in triumph to Tasmania. On 12 July Amy was given a reception by the Mayor, Mr Harbottle. This was followed by an enthusiastic welcome from the crowds as she made her way down Liverpool Street in an open barouche. The Mayor made the following speech at the Town Hall, where about 4,000 people had gathered to greet her:

Miss Amy Sherwin, I have been asked by the committee to present your with an address, which I will do with very great pleasure, because many here recollect you in old times when you delighted them - myself amongst the number - in this hall with your sweet voice. We have watched with great pleasure, first of all your career in the Australian colonies, which was gratifying to us, but upon your arrival in the Old Country we became proud of your great success, and of you as the Tasmanian Nightingale. Other Australian colonies have claimed you as theirs, but we protest against this and claim you as "our own". I trust that the success you have already achieved will be but the forerunner of still greater success.1

Amy gave concerts in Hobart and then toured mainland states giving a large number of concerts in Melbourne, New South Wales and Queensland. This concert series proved lucrative, but Amy also made time to give some fund raising performances for various good causes. After the death of her father in 1888 she gave farewell concerts in Hobart and headed off to New Zealand to tour.

In late 1888-89 Amy toured the East, taking her brother Arthur with her. Her concert party toured Calcutta, Colombo, Singapore, Hong Kong, Shanghai, Kobe, Nagasaki, Yokohama and Tokyo.

Amy returned to Europe in 1889 performing regularly until 1894 when she gave birth to her daughter, Jeanette. By 1896 she was touring again, this time in South Africa. Over the following years Amy continued to tour and also branched into teaching. One of her most notable students was Fraser Gange who toured Australia with Amy in 1906-7.

Amy was back in Tasmania in 1897-98 as part of another Australian tour. On 8 January 1898 she gave a concert in the Wesleyan Church, Hobart in aid of the Fire Relief Fund for Tasmanian bushfire victims. Having experienced bushfires as a child in the Huon she would have identified strongly with the cause. This is, perhaps, one of the reasons Amy was always so very popular in her own state. No matter how much international recognition she received she would always include Tasmania in her Australian tours and was willing to support good causes by performing in aid of them.

In 1898 Amy was touring internationally again, this time in New Zealand. After returning to Tasmania after this tour she gave farewell concerts in the Hobart Town Hall. By 1899 she was back in England, which she now made her home.

Amy's last visit to Tasmania was during the 1906-7 Australian tour. She retired from the stage in 1908, restricting herself to teaching.

At some point through the early 1900's she and Hugo separated. She experienced financial hardship which was exacerbated when she took on the support of her invalid daughter Jeanette. It is unclear what became of her son Louis. During the first years of the First World War he left for America, and, given the anti-German sentiment at that time he probably went under the name Louis Sherwin.

Amy's income declined to the point of poverty. In 1934 when she became ill she had to go into a charity ward in the Charing Cross Hospital in London. An article appeared in the Mercury on 18 May of that year detailing her straightened circumstances. The Lord Mayor of Hobart urged the people of Tasmania to contribute to a fund to assist her as "she had made Tasmania known all over the world." Two hundred pounds was collected and forwarded to Amy to help pay for her treatment. Amy wrote to the people of Tasmania thanking them for their help. The letter was printed in the Mercury on 7 September 1934.

Amy died on 20 September 1935, aged 80. A wreath was sent from the Tasmanian Government with the inscription "A tribute to the memory of a famous Tasmanian, from the Government of Tasmania."

Although Amy has not been remembered to the same extent as her contemporary, Nellie Melba, she achieved a level of international acclaim never experienced by another Tasmanian singer.

Despite the invention of audio recording devices in the late-1800s, there are no known recordings of Amy Sherwin singing.

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Amy Sherwin, the 'Tasmanian nightingale', was Australia's first big international opera singer.

"Most people think Melba was the first [international] Australian [opera singer], but it wasn't so. Amy Sherwin was before Melba."

Sherwin loved performing in "all the classical operas".

"Don Pasquale … was one of her favourites, but she sang in all of them — La Traviata, La Boheme, all the standard operas she loved,"

"And she spent a lot of time in Germany singing in German operas, and likewise, in French operas as well … and also in Russia."

The Tasmanian nightingale

Sherwin was born in 1855 and grew up in the Huon Valley, south of Hobart with her four siblings.

Ortuso said it was Sherwin's mother who noticed her daughter had a talent for singing.

"Her mother would teach her the piano and singing, and it got to the stage where she needed to have some singing lessons."

She started having singing lessons in Hobart — several hours away by horse and cart — when she was about 15 years old.

On 1878, she was invited to join the Pompei and Cagli Italian Opera Company.

"Amy loved singing, and every day she'd go down to the river and sing at the river, hoping somebody would hear her. And eventually, when she was 23, somebody did hear her, and that was the people from the opera company."

In May of that year, Sherwin made her debut at the Theatre Royal in Hobart as Norina in Donizetti's Don Pasquale.

The Mercury newspaper reported:

"Her conception of her character gained after only a week's study, during which the whole opera has been learnt, is considered faultless; and her rendering of it of great brilliance and refinement."

She performed with the company in Hobart, Victoria and New South Wales, and, later, New Zealand. 

Admiring critics interstate referred to Sherwin as "the Tasmanian Nightingale".

The Ballarat Courier described Sherwin as having "a grand soprano voice of great range and power, and almost perfect purity of tone".

While in New Zealand with the company, Sherwin married Hugo Gorlitz. 

The couple would go on to have two children, Louis and Jeanette.

'Many successful tours in all parts of the world'

In 1879, Sherwin left the company and sailed with Gorlitz to the United States. She made her debut as Violetta in La Traviata at the Grand Opera House in San Francisco.

She performed in other US cities and then made a name for herself in Europe.

Whenever Sherwin returned to Hobart, she was warmly welcomed home.

After she retired from the stage, Sherwin continued living in London.

In November 1935, the West Australian newspaper reported Sherwin's death:

"She sang in opera at Covent Garden and made many successful tours in all parts of the world, commanding big fees. "At the end she had no money to pay for the nursing home where she lived her last days," the newspaper reported. "Attention was called to her plight last year while she was a patient in one of the free wards of Charing Cross Hospital. "She sang one day as she lay in bed and the doctors and nurses were amazed at the beauty of the voice which years before had enraptured King Edward when Prince of Wales."

A US newspaper, the Rochester Journal, reported her death "at 81, penniless".

"The singer, who once filled the concert halls of the US with her golden voice and earned as much as 3,000 pounds sterling yearly, died almost forgotten, lonely and penniless. Living in a fine style had depleted her resources and charges of the nursing home where she died had to be paid by charity."

[opera-ghosts]

REMEMBRANCE OF THINGS PAST: As Richard Wagner wanted „Parsifal” to be performed only in Bayreuth, his wife Cosima tried to prohibit any production of the work on any other stage after his death. However, she was unable to prevent its first staged performance outside Bayreuth at the Metropolitan Opera in New York on Christmas Eve 1903. This desecration of the MEISTERS (master's) will went down in history among Wagnerians as the „Gralsraub“ (grail robbery) The caricatures were published in several newspapers.