fernando de lucia, tenor,
OCTOBER 11, 1860
‘His career was triumphal, but brief. Too often he destroyed his heart [and] martyred his body in living the characters whom he felt as though [they were] beings woven with his own nerves. Few artists loved their own region [and] the theatre of the native city as did this highly sensitive embellisher of melody.’ Saverio Procida writing upon the singer’s death in 1925.[1]
Born on the 11 October 1860[2] in that city that seems to be a veritable nursery of vocal marvels, Naples, Fernando de Lucia was the last great tenor of a long-lost era where the singing artist was expected to embellish the composers’ scores. Indeed, he stands right on the cusp between two eras and his career reflects this dichotomy.[3]
He began as a tenore di grazia undertaking the bel canto roles of the early nineteenth century in which his vocal flexibility and inventiveness were supreme, and finished as a masterful creator and interpreter of verismo roles in which his performances have been described as ‘unforgettable’.[4] ‘He is always the God of tenors. He drew miraculous effects from his part and enchanted listeners with his celestial voice.’[5]
Going back further, we find there was music in his immediate family. His father, Giuseppe, was ‘credited with proficiency in the clarinet, the guitar, and the double bass.’[6] Initially he trained as a double bass player, at the Royal Conservatory in Naples, San Pietro a Maiella; where his elder brother Federico had trained as a violinist and was already in the Orchestra at the Teatro San Carlo.[7] Fernando was described later as ‘first among tenors, last among double-bass players’. The regime at the conservatory needs to be mentioned; as it likely played a huge role in the Neapolitan ‘factory’ of great musicians and singers; ‘In addition to music, students at San Pietro a Maiella received a sound general education: they learned arithmetic, calligraphy, geography, national history, and the Italian language, with opportunities to study Latin, declamation, mythology, Italian poetry and literature. The working day, …, was still a long one. From 6.30 am until the students retired at 10 pm, only meals, the two half-hour periods of recreation, and the daily walk relieved the succession of lessons and religious activities, both in college and in city churches, and the continual traffic between practice rooms, college theatres, and library.’[8] The result was a thoughtful, well-rounded performer, who would give due consideration to interpreting the role to its fullest.
His career began modestly enough with salon and house concerts for the well-to-do Neapolitans. His first performance was on September 23rd 1883 at the age of 23. An observer wrote: ‘De Lucia (tenor) has a beautiful voice. He sings with sentiment [and] has all the qualities [needed] to become a distinguished artist,…’ The following year he made his debut at the San Carlo in Faust. At this stage he was considered primarily as a singer of Bellini and Rossini.[9] His capacity for work and developing the power of his voice during operatic appearances in Buenos Aires and Montevideo resulted in a stronger, deeper and more dramatic sound. The critic Uda wrote concerning his I pescatore di perle, upon his return to Naples: ’In the glorious uproar, everyone must have thought of the tenorino whose dèbut we heard and encouraged … in a Faust of indulgence. To me … the transformation … seemed truly miraculous. The voice has been extended and strengthened, has acquired timbre and colour and, while the exquisite art of the singer remains, the cold virtuosity of the concert has already become sentiment and almost, passion. One could not believe one’s own ears, hearing those warm, baritonal tones contrasting with the ringing top notes and the tender sighs of the middle range.’[10]
By the 1890s he became associated with heavy dramatic tenor roles such ad Don Josè, and he wrote in his score of Carmen, which he first sang in Florence: ’Here [is] my great career. Fernando De Lucia’ [11] He was courted by the two intense rival music publishers of Milan, Ricordi and Sonzogno, as his vocal power, acting and stage presence was a beacon of commercial success. Such was his fame by then, that despite the fervent desire of Puccini to have De Lucia perform the role of Rodolfo in the world première of La bohème, Ricordi simply could not afford to meet the high fees demanded by the artist.[12] But, ‘De Lucia later created Rodolfo in several major theatres, including La Scala and the San Carlo, where his fees may have been more moderate than for a world première. It seems both he and Ricordi eventually realised the mutual benefits of compromise.’[13]
Despite the wish of the composers to have the services of so fine a singer and actor, the composers and publishers, occasionally expressed frustration too, with the liberties he would take with the new scores.[14] Perhaps the most notorious incident took place in 1898, with an equally fiery composer conducting his own work. Pietro Mascagni was slapped by De Lucia during a rehearsal for Iris. The performance still went ahead two days later, and the two continued their professional association in the years that followed. It was in the nature of their flamboyant temperaments. [15] It is also well-known that many of his roles were transposed. Unkind critics in Naples made derogatory comments about this,[16] but it cannot take away from the fact that he was a consummate artist and interpreter, blessed with a sweetness and a baritonal quality. His greatest roles were perhaps Canio, Don Josè, and Almaviva, through which he set a standard that has been used as a yardstick ever since.
When Enrico Caruso died in 1921, it was De Lucia who came out of retirement to sing. He had not sung consistently on the stage since 1909.[17] He sang a memorable Pietà Signore on this occasion.[18]
When he died on February 21st 1925, he murmured some lines from Act IV of La Bohème relating to the death of Mimì.
By all accounts, Fernando De Lucia was a superb actor, a vocal wizard, and a generous personality. But a legacy of 400 recordings survives. George Thill, his most famous pupil wrote: ‘What I can tell you is that it is impossible to appraise the singing, as it was, of De Lucia. The records give no idea of his voice, nor of his vocal art. One had to have heard him!’ [19] This combined with the sure attestation of his contemporaries – singers and critics – about his remarkable acting (one Carmen, ‘even backed off the stage and only the camaraderie of the curtain calls proved to the audience that the quarrel was not a real one. He so lived the part that one soprano is even said to have reminded him, before the opera, that he was only acting, and to be careful not to hurt her.’)[20] only makes the loss even more poignant. And finally, we know that in the words of Desmond Shawe-Taylor he was ‘the last singer of the rococo age’[21], the last link with a tradition of bel canto singing that stretched back centuries. And for his recordings which give a glorious afterglow of this lost art, we must be thankful.
[1] HENSTOCK, MICHAEL E., FERNANDO DE LUCIA. DUCKWORTH, LONDON (1990). P.400
[2] SHAWE-TAYLOR, DESMOND., DE LUCIA, FERNANDO IN MACY, LAURA, THE GROVE BOOK OF OPERA SINGERS, OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS (2008) PP.116-117
[3] POTTER, JOHN., TENOR HISTORY OF A VOICE, YALE UNIVERSITY PRESS (2009). P.76
[4] IBID. P.42
[5] IBID. P.263
[6] IBID.P.2
[7] IBID. P.5
[8] IBID. P.6
[9] RASPONI, LANFRANCO., THE LAST PRIMA DONNAS, VICTOR GOLLANCZ, LONDON (1984). P.299
[10] IBID. P.89
[11] IBID. P.42
[12] IBID. P.76
[13] IBID. P.225
[14] IBID. P.269 TITO RICORDI WROTE A FOUR POINT LETTER OF CHARGES AGAINST HIS TENOR! ‘ These observations were made and repeated at Rome! – made and repeated here! … and we all believed that we had fully convinced you”
[15] IBID. PP. 261-262
[16] IBID. P.371. A certain non de plume writing as ‘Monsignor Perelli’ was particularly vicious.
[17] IBID. P.371 But he did occasionally sing in public after this date and even a final L'amico Fritz in 1917
[18] IBID. P.116-117
[19] IBID. P.379
[20] IBID. P.42
[21] IBID. P.374
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