Please note that this is a long, comprehensive article in four parts:

Part I: Biography and Discussion
Part II: Luisa Tetrazzini and Recording
Part III: The Recordings Part One (composers A-M)
Part IV: The Recordings Part Two (composers P-V)

A slightly condensed version of this article will appear in the Fall 2004 issue of Opera Quarterly (Oxford University Press)

Part I: Biography and Discussion

Introduction

I have known Luisa Tetrazzini's recordings since I was 15 years old.  Along with Maria Callas, Joan Sutherland and Zinka Milanov, Tetrazzini was one of the first divas I listened to while learning about opera.  I first discovered her through a 2-disc ASCO LP - a collection of 32 of her recordings.  As a matter of fact, it was through that album that I learned much of the florid repertoire.  I can still remember being intrigued by her voice and manner of singing.  There was such energy, accuracy and obvious love of singing.  As I began to know the recordings intimately, I grew to love the singer.  The reasons can be heard on all her recordings - a real joy in the act of singing, a strong, vital sense of rhythm, outrageous daring in embellishments and a top register that pealed forth with great brilliance.  Of all the early florid divas, she has remained my favorite.

A Short Biography

Born in Florence, on June 29, 1871, this artist first studied voice under her sister, Eva Tetrazzini-Campanini, who was a successful opera singer.  Later, she studied with professor Ceccherini at the Liceo Musicale in Florence.  In 1892, at the age of 21, she made her operatic debut in Florence as Inez in Meyerbeer's L'Africaine.  Her rise to stardom was slow.  After many performances in the smaller Italian opera houses, she began to tour South America in 1898 and performed in San Francisco in 1903.

Her first great success was a debut at Covent Garden on November 2, 1907 as Violetta in La Traviata, when she was 36 years old.  She earned 20 curtain calls from an only half-full house - since it was off season.  The reviews in newspapers the next day insured that did not happen again.  She sang nine more performances that season.  From 1908 to 1912 sang every summer season at Covent Garden, performing such roles as Lakmé, Rosina, Violetta, Amina, Lucia, Leila and Gilda.  From that time on, her success was assured and she appeared with great acclaim in most of the musical centers of the world.

In January, 1908, she made her New York operatic debut, again as Violetta, with Oscar Hammerstein's Manhattan Opera Company.  She sang with that company until it went defunct in 1910.  With Mary Garden, she was one of Oscar Hammerstein's greatest attractions, drawing full houses whenever she appeared.  Her roles included Dinorah, Lucia, Marie (Fille du Regiment) Elvira (I Puritani), Anetta (Crispino e la Comare) and Gilda (Rigoletto).  On December 27, 1911, she made her Metropolitan Opera debut as Lucia di Lammermoor. She only sang eight performances during that single season with the company.  All performances were sold out.  More than 2,000 people had to be turned away from the box office for her final performance as Gilda (Rigoletto).

Although she married three times, Tetrazzini was unlucky in her choice of men.  During her 32-year career, Tetrazzini earned over $5 million.  Unfortunately, most of it was lost through unwise investments and because of her trusting nature.  During her career, she appeared in Russia, Mexico, Spain, Italy, America, South America Vienna and England gathering success until her retirement in 1934, when she taught voice in Rome and Milan, making occasional appearances in order to earn money.  Her most famous pupil was Lina Pagliughi, who Tetrazzini considered her protégé.

Tetrazzini died in Milan, on April 28, 1940, of a cerebral hemorrhage.  She was 69 years old.

In 1921 she wrote her memoires, My Life of Song, (with the help of Fred Gaisberg) and in 1924 published a treatise called The Art of Singing which, along with a similar one by Enrico Caruso has been reprinted by Dover publications.  Concise but astute it proves the lady knew exactly what she was doing.

Critics and Admirers

In the pantheon of famous coloratura sopranos who have committed their art to discs, Luisa Tetrazzini remains unique.  Her florid technique was governed by a strong, active imagination and an exuberant, rhythmically potent delivery.  She sang coloratura with the grace of a florid specialist and the natural thrust of a dramatic soprano.  Chronologically, Tetrazzini fit neatly in between Nellie Melba (who was in her decline) and Amelita Galli-Curci (who made her operatic debut in 1916).  After the placidity of Melba's perfected coloratura, Tetrazzini's vibrant, almost reckless abandon was like a shot in the arm.  Coupled with her charming personality and naiveté she quickly endeared herself to the hearts of audiences wherever she sang.  She was an irresistible performer.

As Edward C. Moore wrote:

"...she came and laid everyone low.  With the most disdainful ease she made the art of coloratura to glow as it never has since.  Physical illusion was not in her line at all; she was the size of three or four Maggie Teytes.  But what a voice.  Even after all these years one can recall the warm reediness of its qualities, the joyous certainty with which it swooped into all the cascades and fireworks of coloratura display, the piercing intensity which somehow or other never became shrill." (Forty Years of Opera in Chicago, NY, 1930)

At the time, critics spent gallons of ink describing this coloratura's allure and criticizing her faults.  John Pitts Sanborn, an eminent critic, wrote several descriptive articles about Tetrazzini around 1912.  He noted that when she first sang with the Manhattan Opera Company:

"...she was chiefly admirable for her extraordinary upper octave.  In it the tones were perfectly produced, pure, dazzling in their flame-like play of color.  When she sang a thing like the Carneval of Venice variations, her staccati, her chromatic runs, her echo effects, her swelling and diminishing of a tone, the ravishing curve of her portamento showed a vocal virtuoso in that excelled region without a peer.  The feats of Sembrich and Melba paled in comparison.  After a year's absence she returned to sing in concert.  Then the voice was almost perfectly equalized, a glorious organ from top to bottom.  Even in the lowest register she was ready with a firm rich tone as in 'Voi che sapete' (Nozze di Figaro).  She not only sang great florid arias with perfect command of voice, technique and style, she sang Aida's 'Ritorna vincitor' as scarcely a dramatic soprano has sung it here; she sang Solveig's song from Peer Gynt like a true lieder singer and the page's song from Figaro with an adorable Mozartean simplicity." (sic) (Liner notes from ASCO A-109 recording)

It was not a perfect voice, however, and most criticism centered around the disparity between her upper and lower registers.  Indeed, it was her lower register which elicited the most controversy.  The famous critic W. J. Henderson wrote an in-depth review, not only of her voice but also her use of it, the night of her debut with the Manhattan Opera Company (January 16, 1908):

"Mme. Tetrazzini has a fresh, clear voice of pure soprano quality and of sufficient range, though other roles must perhaps disclose its furthest flights above the staff.  The perfectly unworn condition and youthful timbre of this voice are its largest charms, and to those must be added a splendid richness in the upper range.  Indeed, the best part of the voice as heard last evening was from the G above the staff to the high C.  The B flat in 'Sempre libera' was a tone of which any singer might have been proud.  The high D in the same number was by no means so good, and the high E flat which the singer took in ending the scene was a head tone of thin quality and refused to stay on the pitch.

"In colorature (sic) Mme. Tetrazzini quite justified much that had been written about her.  She sang staccato with consummate ease, though not with the approved method of breathing.  Her method is merely to check the flow between tones instead of lightly attacking each note separately.  But the effect which she produces, that of detached notes rather than strict staccato, is charming.  Of her shake less can be said in praise.  It was neither clear in emission nor steady, and the interval was surely at least open to question.

"Descending scales she sang beautifully, with perfect smoothness and clean articulation.  Her transformation of the plain scale in the opening cadenza of 'Sempre libera' into a chromatic scale, though a departure from the letter of the score, was not at all out of taste, and its execution fully sustained its right to existence.

"The ascending scales in the same number were sung in a manner which would not be tolerated by any reputable teacher in a pupil of a year's standing.  They began with a tremulous and throaty voce bianca and ended in a sweep into a full medium, with the chest resonance carried up to a preposterous height.

"The most notable shortcoming of Mme. Tetrazzini's singing as revealed last night was her extraordinary emission of her lower medium notes.  These were all sung with a pinched glottis and with a color so pallid and a tremolo so pronounced that they were often not a bad imitation of the wailing of a cross infant.  This style of tone production she carried into most of her recitative, til she seemed to be inclined to think that Violetta ought to show that fondness for 'baby talk' which is sometimes accepted as a charm among her kind.

"In cantilena the new soprano fell furthest below the demands of supreme vocal art.  Her cantabile was uneven in tone quality, the breaks between her medium and and her upper notes coming out most unpleasantly and her tricks of phrasing in short and spasmodic groups, with breath taken capriciously and without consideration of either text or music, were serious blots upon her delivery.  For example, in beginning 'Ah fors e lui,' she deliberately made a phrase after the u, and, taking a leisurely breath, introduced the i as if it belonged to the next word.

"The continued employment of cold color in cantabile quite removed the possibility of pathos from 'Non sapete,' while a pitiless description of her infantile delivery of 'Dite alla giovane' would read like cruelty..." (The Art of Singing, NY 1938)

The famous Irish tenor, John McCormack, felt that the weakness of Tetrazzini's middle and bottom registers was the result of overwork and uncongenial repertory in her youth.  Michael Scott, and others, maintain that during the early years of her career Tetrazzini sang such out-of-fach roles as Fidelia in Puccini's Edgar, Musetta in La Boheme, Leonora in Forza del Destino, and Aida (in Mexico she reputedly ended the Triumphal Scene in Aida with a top E flat.) Although I feel it should be taken with a grain of salt, Tetrazzini, herself, claims that she performed Aida: "...I was invariably successful (as) Aida.  I have sung this famous work many hundreds of times." (My Life of Song, Cassell, London, 1921)

Even so, I found no mention of such roles in the excellent chronology of Tetrazzini's appearances in Charles Neilson Gattey's acclaimed biography, Luisa Tetrazzini, The Florentine Nightingale, (Amadeus Press, Portland, Oregon, 1995), or in the list of her operatic repertoire compiled by Charles Neilson Gattey and Thomas G. Kaufman.  The only roles like this that do appear are Musetta (La Boheme) which she only sang occasionally, and Micaela (Carmen) which she sang many times during her career.  It is entirely possible, however, that she sang arias from such dramatic works in concert since she often programmed Santuzza's "Voi lo sapete" from Cavalleria Rusticana but she never performed that role on stage.

Other critics felt that it was simply a matter of late maturing.  This is supported by her unpublished recordings made in the 1920s where the lower registers have seemingly blended into the rest of the voice and are darker and firmer.  This is often the case with higher voices - the lower reaches are the last to develop.  Part of this is due to training and a concentration on the quality of the top register and part of it is just the process of natural growth.

Voce Bianca

I suspect that all of the above probably played a part as did the fact that the soprano was fond of using voce bianca, or the white voice, in much of her middle and lower register singing to help depict youth, madness, childishness, illness - just about anything.  At the time this was an Italian vocal method used by high sopranos as an interpretive device.  Tetrazzini was not the only one of her generation to use this method but she often used it ad-nauseam and such use would strip any natural richness from her lower register.

Tetrazzini defended her use of this method:

"This is a voice production where a head resonance alone is employed, without sufficient of the apoggio or enough of the mouth resonance to give the tone a vital quality.  This 'white voice' should be thoroughly understood and is one of the many shades of tone that a singer can use at times, just as the impressionist uses various unusual colors to produce certain atmospheric effects.  For instance, in the Mad scene in Lucia the use of the white voice suggest the babbling of the mad woman, as the same voice in the last act of Traviata or in the last act of Boheme suggest utter physical exhaustion and the approach of death." (The Art of Singing, NY 1909)

In his excellent notes for the EMI Tetrazzini London Recordings release, Michael Aspinall explains further:

"Italians call this sound 'bamboleggiante' (doll-like), and it can be found in recordings of Tetrazzini's contemporaries Regina Pacini, Regina Pinkert, Isabela Svicher, Maria Galvany, Rosina Storchio and Josefina Huguet.  From the next generation, even so lovely a singer as Amelita Galli-Curci has more than a hint of the doll; others, like Mercedes Capsir, Elvira de Hidalgo or Nunu Sanchioni, are painfully shrill...The fashion seems to have completely died out in Italy since the war, though Renata Scotto occasionally reminds one of the 'child' school..."

Even Maria Callas, in some of her portrayals (Sonnambula, Traviata, and Lucia for example) resorted to a variation of the voce bianca to help promote the illusion of illness, youth or madness in her characterizations.

Tetrazzini was different from many others because she only used this method in her lower registers.  The rest of the voice was produced with a healthy ring and often golden lushness.  On recordings, at least for the modern listener, this creates some startling contrasts.  Once one becomes accustomed to the sound of this method and understands what Tetrazzini is doing, however, her effects become clear.  It is then one notices that, contrary to belief, her low register was not weak at all but rather was solid and quite strong.  It is true that she occasionally pinches (or squeezes) her tone when in that area but, generally, it was her use of the voce bianca that gave the false impression that her lower register was weak.

Florid Technique and Vocal Poise

All of her many florid recordings reflect the happy, almost child-like quality that seems to have been so much a part of Tetrazzini's nature.  It is this youthful excitement in her singing - evident even at an advanced age, that immediately attracts the listener.  It is also her uncommon poise when delivering impossibly intricate fioriture.  No where else on records can you find such joyous, full-throated abandon in the midst of cadenzas and intricate ornamentation.  Indeed, she seems to relish their challenges.  This sense of enjoyment is such that one can almost visualize her smile of delight as she moves full force into cadenzas and fioriture.  Undoubtedly, one of the reasons for this is the fact that her technical battery was so solid and secure.  This was probably due to her slow rise to stardom and in having to learn her craft for so many years in the provinces.  Those important, formative years solidified her technique to such a degree that nothing could throw the soprano and she grew into a vocal virtuoso of the first order.

Tetrazzini's memory was phenomenal.  Most of her roles were learned when very young - being hammered into her head by a repetiteur since, we are told, she could not read music.  They were never forgotten.  Not only that, but Tetrazzini's knowledge of ornamental patterns, cadential formulae and variational possibilities was as extensive as her inventiveness in putting them to use.  When it came to the art of ornamentation, Tetrazzini was like a sponge.  During her early years of touring she would study with any Italian teacher she found, soaking up information and cadenzi.  She even had compiled a small booklet of cadenzas and ornaments during her travels in Spain, Russia, Poland and South America.  She always kept the book with her.  Being completely immersed and comfortable in the art of ornamentation she soon found the type of embellishments which best suited her voice and particular gifts.

Above all, she was an instinctive performer and her "art" was based on that intangible rather than study and a well-rounded education of vocal method and style.  Because of this, improvising was of paramount importance in Tetrazzini's work and lent an air of individuality to everything she sang.

A fascinating glimpse of this (one of the few I have run across) comes from a review of a concert Tetrazzini gave at the Coliseum in Saint Louis, Missouri on February 6, 1920.  The concert included:

Thomas: Mad Scene (Hamlet)
Eckert: Swiss Echo Song
Tate: Somewhere a Voice is Calling
Tosti: L'Ultimo Canzone
Benedict: Carnival of Venice Variations
Haydn-Woods: Bird of Love Divine

According to the critic in the Globe-Democrat (2/7/1920) some variations in the Carnival of Venice were especially spontaneous.

"It seemed that Tetrazzini at one time during the rendition was improvising and roulading and trilling ad libitum; for pianist Cimarra kept gazing at the diva over the note rack, moving his head to and fro as if trying to improvise an accompaniment."

In her autobiography, Mein Leben dem Gesang (Argon Verlag, GmbH, Berlin 1955), Frieda Hempel considered this ability as one of the things that she most admired about Tetrazzini's art:

"I considered her way of singing magnificent, and I admired her art above that of Sembrich and Melba...  Her elegance in singing, her dashing way of composing new cadenzas on the spur of the moment on the concert stage, her absolutely perfect breath control, her brilliant coloratura fireworks, and her magnificent high tones were all part of her consummate artistry."

It is clear from Luisa Tetrazzini's recordings that her phrase ornaments - grace notes, mordents and triplets - were improvised depending on her whim at the time.  Part of this ability was due to her complete immersion in the "old" tradition of personalized interpretation typified by Mattia Battistini and Adelina Patti.  This was a style of singing in which the singer added ornaments to a vocal line.  It was an interpretive art based on the flow, direction and harmonics of the musical phrase rather than the content of the text and was used in order to add grace and elegance to the line.  An example of this "personalization" can also be heard in Lillian Nordica's 1906 recording of "Tacea la notte placida" (Il Trovatore).  Her ornamentation (or "flowering") was originally used by the Hungarian soprano, Teresa Tietjens [1831-1877], and was given to Nordica by Herman Klein.

Undoubtedly, however, the most important factor was that Tetrazzini was an instinctive performer.

Although simplistic, there are basically two types of singers: the analytical and the instinctive.  The analytical singer is very precise in their approach to music and prefers to almost mathematically dissect it so that, for example, they understand exactly where to put the "i" of "lui" when confronted with two eight notes.  Nellie Melba, Joan Sutherland, Elisabeth Schwarzkopf and Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau are examples of that type.  The instinctive singer (like Luisa Tetrazzini, Maria Callas, Renata Scotto, Franco Corelli and Luciano Pavarotti) approaches music more emotionally.  It would not occur to them to use such mathematical dissection, they just sense how it should be done.  This is not to imply that one type of singer is better or more "musical" than the other.  There are good and bad points about both types.  They just approach music in different ways.

But, of the two, it is usually only the instinctive singer who can improvise ornaments on the spur of the moment.  (There are, of course, always exceptions.) This ability not only comes from the knowledge of ornamental patterns, but also an inherent sense of where they can be used within a vocal phrase.

What makes all this so complicated is that there is no road map for any of this.  Certainly, a knowledge of ornamentation is crucial but the act itself springs from innate instinct.  It comes from the singer's own sense of the ornamental possibilities of a phrase, and that may change depending on their mood.  It is a unique and completely individual personalization or "flowering" of the vocal line.  Although this is a style that has been mainly forgotten, at one time singers were comprehensively trained in this tradition and composers expected this style to be "layered" onto their music.

Purists will argue that such "flowering" of the original vocal line distorts a composer's intentions but that is a view derived from many decades of (often misunderstood) concepts of what is, or should be, come scritto. Being trained as a singer myself, I hold the opposite view.  The old tradition can (and often does) enhance, rather than detract from, the beauty of a vocal line - if one knows exactly what one is doing.  Even so, the "personalizing" of music remains a tricky stylistic shading.  It must also be admitted that during her prime, few singers were as gifted as Tetrazzini in knowing how and where to ornament a vocal phrase.  By the time of her hey-day, the tradition was already being discarded - Tetrazzini was one of the last to practice it.  Some of her "additions" are so subtle and logical that in many instances you do not realize she is adding anything - that is unless you follow her recordings closely with a score.  It is then that one realizes the degree of her art.  Today such improvisational additions would not be tolerated.

As Michael Scott noted in his book, The Record of Singing, (NY 1977):

"...she had developed a phenomenal florid technique and acquired a vocal poise that no passing mishap could shake.  To this she added an intuitive musicianship, a feeling for the shape of a phrase, where to interpolate a trill, mordent, or high note, so as to make it sound appropriate, spontaneous and inevitable - if the composer did not put it there then he should have!"

This unshakable vocal poise can be best heard in those recordings where there is a slight mishap - such as the staccato note that fails to sound in the 1911 Carnival of Venice Variations and Bell Song, or the phlegmy scale in alt near the finish of the Proch Variations.  Even with such occurrences these recordings remain stunning renditions due to Tetrazzini's exuberant, authoritative delivery.  These blemishes make her virtuostic art more human than mechanical.

Not everyone was enamored with Tetrazzini's singing.  As Michael Aspinall wrote in his notes for the 1992, EMI release, "...Lady de Grey, the social power behind the throne at Covent Garden, said, 'Well I can't bear her.  I think she sings like a dwarf in a gramophone.'" Henry Russell, the impresario who hired Tetrazzini for the Boston Opera once said, "I hired Tetrazzini but I don't have to listen to her." Toscanini disliked the virtuostic individuality that Tetrazzini represented and never conducted any of her appearances at the Metropolitan Opera when he was there.

Gerald Fitzgerald wrote:

"Though beloved by the public, friends and colleagues, she was not more than tolerated by most conductors; for when Tetrazzini stepped on stage she not only sang the tune, she called the tune.  What saved her, even when she misrepresented the printed score, was an innate musical sense." (A Path of Roses, Opera News, December 12, 1964)

As mentioned, operatic colleagues, however were a different matter.  Caruso adored her.  John McCormack called her his "fairy godmother" (she was primarily responsible for his engagement at the Manhattan Opera in New York).  Pol Placon, the French bass famous for his own remarkable florid technique and trills considered Tetrazzini a genius.  Victor Maurel, who sang in the world premiere of Verdi's Falstaff once commented that it was her singing of an andante that impressed him the most.  Adelina Patti was very fond of Tetrazzini, once writing to her and praising the soprano for her sensitivity and the moving pathos in her voice.  Frieda Hempel, Tetrazzini's contemporary and a florid star in her own right was usually quite critical of her soprano colleagues.  She loved and respected Tetrazzini.

Critics not only complained about Tetrazzini's excessive ornamentation but also her refusal to abandon a repertoire that was considered "trashy" and old fashioned.  (It should be remembered that Nellie Melba was generally considered a "modern" singer since she sang in many new works like Puccini's La Boheme, while Tetrazzini embraced a repertoire of operatic works no longer considered fashionable.) Much the same criticism was also leveled against Amelita Galli-Curci.  Actually, Tetrazzini was one of the first Italian-born sopranos to specialize in coloratura repertoire and it was her decision to specialize that was so criticized.

Tetrazzini replied:

"People blame me sometimes...for confining myself mainly to music of a certain school.  But I think I know best as to this and that I am exercising sound judgment in adopting this course.  There is music which I admire and love, but I do not always try and sing it.  In the same way I may admire frocks which I see on other women, but I do not necessarily try to wear them myself.  I have the good sense to recognize that they would not suit me." (How to Sing, Doran Company, 1924)

Luisa Tetrazzini on Stage

Ivor Newton, who played for many of Tetrazzini's recitals gave a fascinating description of her preparation for a recital.  "In the artists' room, before the concert began, she would try out her high D flat.  If she found the note immediately and without strain, she would turn happily and say, 'It's there, there's nothing to worry about.'" (At the Piano, Hamish Hamilton, London, 1966)

In addition to the glory of her top register and her vocal acrobatics, it was this natural, child-like quality of Tetrazzini's personality that audiences found so endearing.  Florence Quaintance (The Boston Opera Company, NY 1965) describes Tetrazzini's typical interaction with audiences:

"As Vladimir de Pachmann remained almost the sole survivor of a vanishing race of pianists in the grand manner, so Tetrazzini seemed to perpetuate the ancient line of divas who are a law unto themselves.  Even Melba had kept within the framework of an opera's story, maintaining her dignity and that of the theatre.  Younger coloraturas, like Frieda Hempel and Selma Kurz, chose to follow new ways, but Tetrazzini innocently and honestly hewed to the old ones.  Listeners expected her to curtsy and smile, wave her arms in embracing gestures, and kiss her hand to the audience before setting about Lucia's melancholy and mellifluous soliloquy.  At a curtain call within memory, she had tossed a flower to the conductor and cried 'Thank you!  Thank You!' in an ecstatically childish voice."

Opera performances with Tetrazzini were usually interrupted by applause so lengthy that an aria had to be repeated.  She often had to repeat the Theme & Variation pieces she inserted into the Lesson Scene of Rossini's Barber of Seville, the "Caro nome" (Rigoletto) and the cadenza (with flute) section in the Mad Scene from Lucia di Lammermoor.

Naturally, there are drawbacks to such willful behavior.  For example:

"In the most heartbreaking moment of Traviata, a spectator detected her in an open and flagrant wink at an acquaintance in the wings." (ibid)

She was famous for her entrances on concert programs, bouncing, almost running to the piano, throwing kisses to the audience and then, when she was ready to begin, signaling the accompanist by tossing her long strand of pearls over her shoulder.  Understandably, audiences adored the buxom soprano's open friendliness - her obvious joy in being there with them.  It was almost as if she was a personal friend.  One chef admired her so much that he created "Chicken Tetrazzini" a chicken (or turkey) dish which is prepared with mushrooms, pasta and a white sauce seasoned with sherry and served au gratin.  It is a baked dish that is still a favorite today.  Although its exact origin is not known, it is generally accepted that the dish originated from Tetrazzini's favorite American city, San Francisco.

One review from 1920 is particularly colorful:

"Luisa Tetrazzini, the world's foremost coloratura soprano threw kisses to some 5,000 admirers at the Coliseum last night, when she came upon the platform, sang five stated numbers and three encores and at the close of her performance received an ovation really without precedent.

"It is but fair to say that the diva cast a spell over the throng by a personal pageantry down the center aisle, and during her royal progress kissing her gloved hands right and left, impartially to parquet, balcony and gallery.  Retracing her steps at the end of the long lane she imprinted resounding smacks on several of the women and thus wrought a state of ecstacy the like of which is not recallable by seasoned concert-goers." (St. Louis, Missouri Globe-Democrat, February 7, 1920)

What spared such behavior from becoming merely self-serving or obnoxious was her obviously sincere desire to please.  Her behavior, though tacky to us today, was simply a reflection of the joy she felt in doing what she was doing.  Tetrazzini loved her work and it was that pure, unreserved, almost childish excitement that shone out into the audence and drew them to her.

This is supported by Ivor Newton's observation: "...(she) would cross herself before making her entrance and then set off for the stage at a brisk run, arriving before the audience breathless and panting.  Invariably the audience had overflowed on to the platform, and Tetrazzini, struggling to regain her breath, would walk around the semi-circle they made and greet them warmly, shaking hands with some of them and kissing any very young child who might be there.  Her friendliness and warmth - she not only enjoyed but reciprocated the affection of her public - would bring the entire hall to a state of excitement before she had sung a note.  There was never any sense of insincerity about these effusive ceremonies; she was behaving with complete naturalness." (At the Piano, Hamish Hamilton, London, 1966)

In reality, Tetrazzini was an adept entertainer as well as an artist.  She loved to show off and knew what to do to elicit the greatest applause from her audiences.  In this respect she was quite savvy.  For instance, when she sang Violetta (Traviata) at the Manhattan Opera in New York, John Fredrick Cone described the clever stage business she used to finish the famous "Sempre libera." At the end of the aria she interpolated a traditional, penultimate high E flat and while "...singing that magnificent note, Tetrazzini bent to gather up the long train of her gown and proceeded to walk off the stage, all the while affecting the utmost insouciance and all the while holding on to that phenomeal E flat til she had dissapeared from view.  This tour de force brought the house down." (Oscar Hammerstein's Manhattan Opera Company, Oklahoma, 1966)

All of this sounds provincially quaint (and quite unprofessional) to us today.  But an illuminating glimpse into the core of who Tetrazzini was as a person can be seen in a tiny film clip found on The Art of Singing (Golden Voices of the Century), an NVC Arts video.  The black and white clip literally lasts only one minute and was made during Tetrazzini's visit to the HMV shop in Oxford Street, in London on December 9, 1932.  It shows Tetrazzini sitting next to a large victrola in a fur coat and hat, a black dress and a long strand of pearls listening to a 78 rpm recording of Enrico Caruso singing "M'appari" from Flotow's Martha.  Old and obese, the diva nostalgically listens, then sings the end of the aria (with its high B flat) along with the recording in a voice that is still solid and imposing.  But it is in the next few seconds of the clip - when she breaks into a spontaneous peal of infectious, charming and girlish laughter that so much is made clear.  It is an endearing moment that provides rare insight into the cheerful, giving and youthful nature that was so obviously a part of this extraordinary woman.

The Art of Being Divatic

Like her illustrious predecessors, Tetrazzini was a diva in that she possessed a strikingly individual personality.  It was an earthy personality governed by a sunny disposition and a seemingly unquenchable belief in her fellow man despite personal disappointments.  Frieda Hempel, who spent much time with the diva in her declining years commented:

"(She) was the most generous person alive and always in a good humor.  What was her humor like?  Childlike, refreshing, very innocent.  She never grew old...  She would call me Fridolina.  When she wrote to me she would put on the envelope, 'La Mia Cara Amica, Frieda Hempel, New York.' She was heart, heart, nothing but heart.  I cried when I heard she was living in poverty...  She never gambled, never squandered her money.  But she had an open hand for everybody, and of course, people took advantage of her." (Obituary by John Pitts Sanborn, 1940)

Typical of a strong personality, however, Tetrazzini was often led by her own caprice, not only vocally but also personally.  When she admired someone she made it known.  Hempel once recalled Tetrazzini enthusing over her predecessor, Adelina Patti:

"I shall never forget her admiration for Patti.  She wouldn't rave about Patti's high notes and stunts others did.  No.  She once told me how she heard Patti sing 'Pur dicesti.' 'You should have heard her trill in the medium range,' she said.  'It was sublime.  I fell down on my knees and kissed Patti's hand.  It was so perfect and artistic.'" (ibid)

When Tetrazzini disliked someone, for whatever reason, she could be unforgiving and just as outspoken.  One anecdote tells of a time when both Melba and Tetrazzini happened to occupy suites on the same floor of a famous London hotel.  Melba complained to the management that Tetrazzini's vocalizing disturbed her rest.  Tetrazzini got wind of the complaint and while walking down the hotel corridor with a member of the staff one day she heard Melba begin to vocalize.  Tetrazzini turned to her companion "and with a mischievous glint in her eyes, said, 'Ah, so you have cats in zee 'otel!'" (Caesari Herbert, The Alchemy of Voice, London, 1965)

Melba often aimed private barbs at Tetrazzini.  During dinner parties the "tomboy element in the Australian diva's personality led her to get down on all fours and impersonate the unfortunate horse destined to carry the bulky soprano in Les Huguenots." (Michael Aspinall, Notes for EMI Melba album)

Tetrazzini had opinions of other singers as well.  In the 1920s, when her voice was in its decline, she was fiercely jealous of the then rising Italian soprano, Toti Dal Monte.  When asked about the then current favorite at the Metropolitan Opera, Lily Pons, she laughed robustly and replied "picola, picola voce." She detested Melba's vibrato-less voice - "like a horn" she was heard to say.  Actually, these two singers were at the opposite ends of the emotional spectrum.  It is most probable that Melba, who was so restrained and dignified, considered Tetrazzini a gauche, tasteless singer.  Tetrazzini, on the other hand, probably thought Melba a stiff, emotionless singer.

Tetrazzini was, however, very aware of her own shortcomings.  When she sang her first American Philine in Mignon, with the Boston Opera Company, the pants role of Frederick was sung by Jeska Swartz.  While Tetrazzini was standing backstage, she giggled at Swartz's Frederick: "This leetle boy is supposed to be in love with me?  Like a peanut next to a mountain." (Florence Quaintance, The Boston Opera Company, NY 1965)

Even at the end of her career, when not always in the best of health or mood, she managed to keep her sense of humor.  Fred Gaisberg tells of such an incident in London on November 12, 1933, when Tetrazzini was to sing her Sunday afternoon farewell concert in the Albert Hall.

"I was in the Artists' room with Tetrazzini.  She was in a terrible state, and although she pulled through the concert, it was pathetic.  She attempted to play her old role of Prima Donna but the going was heavy.  She managed nevertheless to retain her sense of humour.  As she came onto the platform she brushed against one of the orchestra and apologized saying: 'I would have gone sideways - but I have no sideways!'" (Charles Neilson Gattey, Luisa Tetrazzini, The Florentine Nightingale, (Amadeus Press, Portland, Oregon, 1995)

No matter what her shortcomings were, Tetrazzini's timing was just right.  During her prime, she reigned supreme over Europe and America.

As Vincent Shean wrote:

"Her supremacy in her own field was not challenged... until she retired: Marcella Sembrich made her farewell in the following season (1909) and Melba was far too wise to sing the same repertoire in the same city at the same time as Tetrazzini.  Melba outlasted Tetrazzini, as she did everybody else, and there can be little doubt from the critical accounts given of the two that Melba had the lovelier voice and the more exquisite control, but I have a fairly good idea that if I had been able to hear opera in those days I should have admired Melba, but spent my money on Tetrazzini." (Oscar Hammerstein I, NY 1956)

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