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Zinka Milanov (Croatian pronunciation: [zîːŋka milǎnɔv̞]) (May 17, 1906 – May 30, 1989) was a Croatian-born operatic spinto soprano who had a major career centred on the New York Metropolitan Opera.

Biography[link]

Born in Zagreb, Croatia as Zinka Kunc (pronounced [zîːŋka kûnt͡s]), she studied with the Wagnerian soprano Milka Ternina and her assistant Marija Kostrenčić. She also studied in Milan with Campi and in Vienna with Stickgolt. On October 29, 1927, she made her operatic debut as Leonora in Giuseppe Verdi's Il Trovatore in Ljubljana, Slovenia, at the young age of 21. Her debut in her native Croatia, at the National Theatre in Zagreb, took place five weeks later as Marguerite in Charles Gounod's Faust

After an early debut in Dresden (November 5, 1928, also as Leonora), her teacher, Ternina, was not pleased and much work commenced to perfect her technique. She performed in Zagreb and Ljubljana almost exclusively for the next six years. Later she became a member of the New German Theatre in Prague, where all performances were sung in German. She was discovered there by Bruno Walter, who recommended her to Arturo Toscanini for a performance of Verdi's Requiem in Salzburg.

In 1937, the soprano made her debut at the Metropolitan Opera, once again as Leonora. At that time she adopted the name Milanov, which was the stage name of her second husband, an actor. According to Milanov herself, "Kunc" wasn't "glamorous" enough for the Metropolitan Opera. In the article "Zinka Takes Off" (Opera News, November 2004, vol 69, no. 5), it is stated that the name change was deemed necessary since the gentlemen at the Met feared the "implications inherent in what they predicted would be the standard American mispronunciation — but they were never forthright with her about it".^{[citation needed]} On November 8, 1937, Erich Simon, who was in charge of engaging Milanov, cabled Edward Ziegler, the assistant manager of the Met, "Mme Zinka KUNZ-MARCOVIC has informed me that she wishes to perform under her husband's stage name, MILANOV."^{[citation needed]}

She was in romantic relationship with Marshal of Yugoslavia Josip Broz Tito, before he married Jovanka Broz. In 1947, she left the Met when she married, for the third time, to Yugoslav general and diplomat Ljubomir Ilić, and returned to live in Yugoslavia.^{[citation needed]} She was at the peak of her artistic and vocal powers when she made her debut at the Teatro alla Scala as Tosca in 1950. Milanov returned to the Metropolitan Opera the same year, invited by Rudolf Bing in his first year there as general manager.^{[citation needed]}

She gave her final performance in 1966 at the closing night of the old Metropolitan Opera House. Having worked as a voice teacher while still performing, Milanov devoted herself to teaching after her retirement. Among her pupils were Betty Allen, Grace Bumbry, Christa Ludwig, Regina Resnik, Dubravka Zubovic and Milka Stojanovic. She recorded prolifically from the 1940s through to the 1960s. Her voice was well-suited to Italian operas such as those of Verdi, Ponchielli, Puccini and the verismo composers. She died in New York City, aged 83.

Discography[link]

• Verdi: La forza del destino (live broadcast, March 17, 1956). Milanov, Rosalind Elias, Richard Tucker, Leonard Warren, Cesare Siepi; Fritz Stiedry, Metropolitan Opera, New York
• Verdi: Simon Boccanegra (live broadcast, April 2, 1960). Milanov, Carlo Bergonzi, Frank Guarrera, Giorgio Tozzi, Dimitri Mitropoulos; Metropolitan Opera
• Verdi: Un ballo in maschera (live broadcast, January 22, 1955). Milanov, Roberta Peters, Jean Madeira, Richard Tucker, Josef Metternich; Dimitri Mitropoulos, Metropolitan Opera

Bibliography[link]

• The Last Prima Donnas, by Lanfranco Rasponi, Alfred A Knopf, 1982. ISBN 0-394-52153-6

External links[link]

• Croatian Opera Singers - In Croatian

Antonín Dvořák
Composer Antonín Dvořák
Background information
Birth name	Antonín Leopold Dvořák
Born	(1841-09-08)September 8, 1841 Nelahozeves, Bohemia
Origin	Czech
Died	May 1, 1904(1904-05-01) (aged 62) Prague, Bohemia
Genres	classical, romantic
Occupations	Composer
Instruments	organist, violinist
Years active	1859–1904

Antonín Leopold Dvořák (/ˈdvɔrʒɑːk/ DVOR-zhahk or /dɨˈvɔrʒæk/ di-VOR-zhak; Czech: [ˈantoɲiːn ˈlɛopolt ˈdvor̝aːk] ( listen); September 8, 1841 – May 1, 1904) was a Czech composer of late Romantic music, who employed the idioms of the folk music of Moravia and his native Bohemia. Dvořák’s own style is sometimes called "romantic-classicist synthesis".^[1] His works include symphonic, choral and chamber music, concerti, operas and many of other orchestral and vocal-instrumental pieces.

His best-known works include his New World Symphony, the Slavonic Dances, the Symphonic Variations, "American" String Quartet, Piano Quintet No 2, the opera Rusalka, Cello Concerto in B minor and choral works Stabat Mater, Requiem and Te Deum. Today, he is considered to be one of the most important composers of the Romantic era.

Early career[link]

Antonín Dvořák in 1868

Dvořák was born on September 8, 1841, in the Bohemian village of Nelahozeves, near Prague (then part of Bohemia in the Austrian Empire, now Czech Republic), where he spent most of his life. He was baptized as a Roman Catholic in the church of St. Andrew in the village. Dvořák's years in Nelahozeves nurtured the strong Christian faith and love for his Bohemian heritage that so strongly influenced his music.^[2] His father, František Dvořák (1814–1894), was an innkeeper, professional player of the zither, and a butcher. Although his father wanted him to be a butcher as well, Dvořák pursued a career in music. He received his earliest musical education at the village school, which he entered in 1847, aged six. From 1857 to 1859^[3] he studied music in Prague's only organ school, and gradually developed into an accomplished player of the violin and the viola. He wrote his first string quartet when he was 20 years old, two years after graduating.

By the time he was 18 years old, Dvořák was a full-time musician. Throughout the 1860s he played viola in the Bohemian Provisional Theater Orchestra, which from 1866 was conducted by Bedřich Smetana. He was making about $7.50 a month. The constant need to supplement his income pushed him to give piano lessons. It was through these piano lessons that he met his wife. He originally fell in love with his pupil, Josefína Čermáková, for whom he composed "Cypress Trees". However, she never returned his love and ended up marrying another man. In 1873 Dvořák married Josefina's younger sister, Anna. They had nine children together, three of whom died in infancy.

After he married, Dvořák left the National Theatre Orchestra, in which he had been playing for 11 years, and secured the job of organist at St. Adalbert’s Church in Prague. This provided him with financial security, higher social status, and enough free time to focus on composing. Dvořák composed his second string quintet in 1875, the same year that his first son was born. It was during this year that he produced a multitude of works, including his 5th Symphony, String Quintet No. 2, Piano Trio No. 1 and Serenade for Strings in E.

In 1877, the critic Eduard Hanslick informed him that his music had attracted the attention of the famous Johannes Brahms, whom Dvořák admired greatly. Brahms had a huge influence over Dvořák’s work, especially as the two later became friends. Brahms contacted the musical publisher Simrock, one of the major European publishers. Published in 1878, the above mentioned works were an immediate success. Dvořák's Stabat Mater (1880) was performed abroad, and after a successful performance in London in 1883, Dvořák was invited to visit England where he appeared to great acclaim in 1884. His Symphony No. 7 was written for London; it premiered there in 1885. Dvořák visited England nine times in total,^[3] often conducting his own works there. In 1887, Hans Richter presented the Symphonic Variations in London and Vienna to great acclaim (they had been written ten years earlier and Dvořák had allowed them to languish after initial disinterest from his publishers).

In 1890, influenced by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, Dvořák also visited Russia, and conducted the orchestras in Moscow and in St. Petersburg.^[3] In 1891, Dvořák received an honorary degree from the University of Cambridge, and was offered a position at the Prague Conservatory as professor of composition and instrumentation. At first he refused the offer, but then later accepted; this change of mind was seemingly a result of a quarrel with his publisher, Simrock, over payment for his Eighth Symphony. His Requiem premiered later that year in Birmingham at the Triennial Music Festival.

United States (1892–1895)[link]

Statue of Dvořák in Stuyvesant Square, Manhattan near the site of his house

From 1892 to 1895, Dvořák was the director of the National Conservatory of Music in New York City, at a then-staggering $15,000 annual salary. The Conservatory had been founded by a wealthy and philanthropic socialite, Jeannette Thurber; it was located at 126–128 East 17th Street,^[4][5] but was demolished in 1911 and replaced by what is today a high school.

Dvořák’s main goal in America was to discover “American Music” and engage in it, much as he had used Czech folk idioms within his music. Shortly after his arrival in America in 1892, Dvořák wrote a series of newspaper articles reflecting on the state of American music. He supported the concept that African-American and Native American music should be used as a foundation for the growth of American music. He felt that through the music of Native Americans and African-Americans, Americans would find their own national style of music.^[6] Here Dvořák met with Harry Burleigh, his pupil at the time and one of the earliest African-American composers. Burleigh introduced Dvořák to traditional American spirituals at Dvořák's request.^[7]

In the winter and spring of 1893, while in New York, Dvořák wrote Symphony No.9, "From the New World". On December 15, 1893, Henry Edward Krehbiel wrote a complete analysis in the New York Daily Tribune regarding Dvořák's symphony. He spent the summer of 1893 with his family in the Czech-speaking community of Spillville, Iowa, to which some of his cousins had earlier immigrated. While there he composed the String Quartet in F (the "American"), and the String Quintet in E flat, as well as a Sonatina for violin and piano. He also conducted a performance of his Eighth Symphony at the Columbian Exposition in Chicago that same year.

Over the course of three months in 1895, Dvořák wrote his Cello Concerto in B minor. However, problems with Mrs. Thurber about his salary, together with increasing recognition in Europe – he had been made an honorary member of the Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde in Vienna – and a remarkable amount of homesickness made him decide to return to Bohemia. He informed Mrs. Thurber, who still owed him his salary, that he was leaving. Dvořák and his wife left New York before the end of the spring term with no intention of returning.

Dvořák's New York home was located at 327 East 17th Street, near the intersection of what is today called Perlman Place.^[8] It was in this house that both the B minor Cello Concerto and the New World Symphony were written within a few short years. Despite protests, from Czech President Václav Havel amongst others, who wanted the house preserved as a historical site, it was demolished in 1991 to make room for a Beth Israel Medical Center residence for people with AIDS.^[9][10][11] To honor Dvořák, however, a statue of him was erected in nearby Stuyvesant Square.^[5][12]

Later career[link]

Dvořák's funeral on May 5, 1904

After returning home from America, Dvořák at first spent most of his time resting and spending time with his family in the country^{[clarification needed]}. During his final years, Dvořák concentrated on composing opera and chamber music. In 1896 he visited London for the last time to hear the premiere of his Cello Concerto in B minor.

In 1897 Dvořák's daughter married his student, the composer Josef Suk. Dvořák was appointed a member of the jury for the Viennese Artist’s Stipendium, and later was honored with a medal. Dvořák succeeded Antonín Bennewitz as director of the Conservatory in Prague in November 1901 until his death.^[13] His 60th birthday was celebrated as a national event, with organized concerts and a banquet in his honor.

Antonín Dvořák died from heart failure on May 1, 1904, following five weeks of illness. His funeral was on May 5. He is interred in the Vyšehrad cemetery in Prague, under his bust by Czech sculptor Ladislav Šaloun.

He left many unfinished works, including the early Cello Concerto in A major (see Concerti below).

Style[link]

Dvořák was passionate about his homeland. Many of his compositions, such as the Slavonic Dances and large collection of songs, were directly inspired by Czech traditional music. His major works reflect his heritage and the love he had for his native land. Dvořák followed in the footsteps of Bedřich Smetana, the composer who created a Czech musical style.

While Dvořák is well known for his lively national melodies, he also had a prominent role to play in the development of American music, as his New World Symphony and other works attest. The second half of the nineteenth century saw a blossoming of national styles, as countries looked to their cultural roots to celebrate their heritage through music that evoked these themes and folk melodies. Dvořák supported Cecil Sharp in England in his efforts to collect and encourage English Folk Music as a conduit for national renewal. He found the inspiration he needed for American music in the melodies of Native and African Americans. In his opinion, these were the melodies that would contribute most heavily to the foundation of an American musical style. Dvořák was introduced to African American spirituals through his friendship with Harry Burleigh, one of his students who later became his personal assistant. Burleigh shared with Dvořák many of the songs his grandfather used to sing to him, and Dvořák encouraged Burleigh to transcribe and perform many of these melodies. Burleigh's performances of these native melodies would later influence musicians like Marian Anderson.

Antonín Dvořák's career in America served as an impetus in the development of an American style of music that influenced future generations. His challenge to American musicians, as well as his American-inspired pieces, served as a model for many composers. Some of these, such as Amy Beach and William Grant Still, took his suggestion to heart and tried to find their own manner of creating an American music. He simply helped in the formation of an American style, a process that would continue through the students he instructed and into the ensuing decades as American music developed its own identity.^[14]

Works[link]

This article includes a list of references, related reading or external links, but its sources remain unclear because it lacks inline citations. Please improve this article by introducing more precise citations. (March 2012)

	Song to the Moon (Měsíčku na nebi hlubokém) From Rusalka (1901). Performed in German by Czech soprano Emmy Destinn in 1915.
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Dvořák wrote in a variety of forms: his nine symphonies generally stick to classical models that Beethoven would have recognised, but he also worked in the newly developed symphonic poem. Many of his works also show the influence of Czech genuine folk music, both in terms of elements such as rhythms and melodic shapes; perhaps the best known examples are the two sets of Slavonic Dances, the Symphonic Variations, and the overwhelming majority of his songs, but we can find echoes of that influence also in his major choral works. His interest in nationalist ideas carried over to his work in the United States. Dvořák also wrote operas (of which the best known is Rusalka); serenades for string orchestra and wind ensemble; chamber music (including a number of string quartets and quintets); songs; choral music; and piano music.

Numbering[link]

While a large number of Dvořák's works were given opus numbers, these did not always bear a logical relationship to the order in which they were either written or published. To achieve better sales, some publishers such as Simrock preferred to present budding composers as being well established, by giving some relatively early works much higher opus numbers than their chronological order would merit. In other cases, Dvořák deliberately provided new works with lower opus numbers to be able to sell them outside contract obligations to other publishers.^[15] This way it could happen that the same opus number was given to more than one of Dvořák's works.^[16] In yet other cases, a work was given as many as three different opus numbers by different publishers.

The sequential numbering of his symphonies has also been confused: (a) they were initially numbered by order of publication, not composition; (b) the first four symphonies to be composed were published after the last five; and (c) the last five symphonies were not published in order of composition. This explains why, for example, the New World Symphony was originally published as No. 5, was later known as No. 8, and definitively renumbered as No. 9 in the critical editions published in the 1950s.

All of Dvořák's works were chronologically catalogued by Jarmil Burghauser in Antonín Dvořák. Thematic Catalogue. Bibliography. Survey of Life and Work (Export Artia, Prague, 1960). As an example, in the Burghauser catalogue, the New World Symphony, Op. 95 is B.178.^[17] Scholars today often refer to Dvořák's works by their B numbers (for Burghauser), although references to the traditional opus numbers are still common, in part because the opus numbers have historical continuity with earlier scores and printed programs. The opus numbers are still more likely to appear in printed programs for performances.

Symphonies[link]

The first page of the autograph score of Dvořák's Ninth Symphony

During Dvořák's life, only five of his symphonies were widely known. The first published was his sixth, dedicated to Hans Richter. After Dvořák's death, research uncovered four unpublished symphonies, of which the manuscript of the first had even been lost to the composer himself. This led to an unclear situation in which the New World Symphony has alternately been called the 5th, 8th and 9th. This article uses the modern numbering system, according to the order in which they were written.

Symphony No. 1 in C minor, Op. 3, was written when Dvořák was 24 years old. Later subtitled The Bells of Zlonice after a village in Dvořák's native Bohemia, it shows inexperience but also genius with its many attractive qualities. It has many formal similarities with Beethoven's 5th Symphony (for example, the movements follow the same keys: C minor, A flat major, C minor, C major), yet in harmony and instrumentation, Dvořák's First follows the style of Franz Schubert. (Some material from this symphony was reused in the Silhouettes, Opus 8, for piano solo.)

Symphony No. 2 in B flat major, Op. 4, still takes Beethoven as a model, though this time in a brighter, more pastoral light.

Symphony No. 3 in E flat major, Op. 10, clearly shows the sudden and profound impact of Dvořák's recent acquaintance with the music of Richard Wagner and Franz Liszt; there is no scherzo. (A portion of the slow movement was reused in the sixth of the Legends, Opus 59, for piano duet or orchestra.)

Symphony No. 4 in D minor, Op. 13, still shows a strong influence of Wagner, particularly the second movement, which is reminiscent of the overture to Tannhäuser. In contrast, the scherzo is strongly Czech in character.

Symphony No. 5 in F major, Op. 76, and Symphony No. 6 in D major, Op. 60, are largely pastoral in nature, and brush away nearly all the last traces of Wagnerian style. The Sixth, published in 1880, shows a very strong resemblance to the Symphony No. 2 of Brahms, particularly in the outer movements, though this similarity is belied by the third-movement furiant, a vivid Czech dance. This was the symphony that made him internationally known as a symphonic composer.

Symphony No. 7 in D minor of 1885, Op. 70, is sometimes reckoned to exhibit more formal tautness and greater intensity than the more famous 9th Symphony. There is emotional torment in the Seventh that may reflect personal troubles: around this time, Dvořák was struggling to have his Czech operas accepted in Vienna, feeling pressure to write operas in German, and arguing with his publisher. His sketches show that the Seventh cost him much hard work and soul-searching.

Symphony No. 8 in G major, Op. 88, is, in contrast with the Seventh, characterized by a warmer and more optimistic tone. Karl Schumann (in booklet notes for a recording of all the symphonies by Rafael Kubelík) compares it to the works of Gustav Mahler. As with the Seventh, some^[who?] feel the Eighth is the best of the symphonies. That some critics^[who?] feel it necessary to promote a symphony as "better than the Ninth" shows how the immense popularity of the Ninth has overshadowed the earlier works.

	Largo – Second Movement from Dvořák's Symphony No.9 Performed by the Virtual Philharmonic Orchestra (Reinhold Behringer) with digital samples (Garritan Personal Orchestra 4).
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Symphony No. 9 in E minor, Op. 95, may be better known by its subtitle, From the New World, and is also called the New World Symphony. Dvořák wrote it between January and May 1893, while he was in New York. At the time of its first performance, he claimed that he used elements from American music such as spirituals and Native American music in this work, but he later denied this. The first movement has a solo flute passage reminiscent of "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot", and one of his students later reported that the second movement depicted, programmatically, the sobbing of Hiawatha. The second movement was so reminiscent of a negro spiritual that William Arms Fisher wrote lyrics for it and called it "Goin' Home". Dvořák was interested in indigenous American music, but in an article published in the New York Herald on December 15, 1893, he wrote, "[In the 9th symphony] I have simply written original themes embodying the peculiarities of the Indian music." Neil Armstrong took a recording of the New World Symphony to the Moon during the Apollo 11 mission, the first Moon landing, in 1969,^[18] and in 2009 it was voted the favourite symphony in a poll run by ABC Classic FM in Australia.^[19]

Many conductors have recorded cycles of the symphonies, including Karel Ančerl, István Kertész, Rafael Kubelík, Otmar Suitner, Libor Pešek, Zdeněk Mácal, Václav Neumann, Witold Rowicki, Neeme Järvi and Stephen Gunzenhauser.

Symphonic poems[link]

Dvořák's symphonic poems (tone poems) are among his most original symphonic works.^[20] He wrote five symphonic poems, all in 1896–1897, and they have sequential opus numbers: The Water Goblin, Op. 107; The Noon Witch, Op. 108; The Golden Spinning Wheel, Op. 109; The Wild Dove, Op. 110; and A Hero's Song, Op. 111. The first four of these works are based upon ballads by the Czech folklorist Karel Erben. The Hero's Song is based on a program of Dvořák's devising and is believed to be autobiographical.^[21]

Choral works[link]

The title page of the score of Stabat Mater

To Dvořák's main choral works belong Stabat Mater (the longest extant setting of that work),^[22] Requiem, Te Deum and Mass in D major.

Stabat Mater, Op. 58, is an extensive (cca 90 minutes) vocal-instrumental sacred work for soli (soprano, alto, tenor and bass), choir and orchestra based on the text of an old church hymn with the same name. The first inspiration for creating this piece was the death of the composer's daughter, Josefa. The work was written in several settings, with the final version completed in the end of 1877. The first performance took place on December 23, 1880 at the Jednota umělců hudebních (Association of Musical Artists) in Prague. The composition is usually performed in the Czech Republic during Easter time.

Antonín Dvořák composed the Requiem in 1890, at the beginning of the peak period of his career. The composition does not refer to any specific person or event, it is a reflective work of basic existentialist human questions: of the grief and consolation in death, the meaning of living and dying, as well as hope. Dvořák was a deeply religious man, and this work reflects his faith and spirituality.^[23] The premiere of the opus took place on the October 9, 1891 in Birmingham, which Dvořák himself conducted. Surprisingly, the greatest success was probably its performance in Vienna in 1900, where Dvořák attained utter triumph, in contrast to a previously hostile Viennese audience.

Te Deum, op.103, is a cantata for soprano and baritone solo, choir and orchestra to the Latin text of the famous spiritual hymn "Te Deum laudamus" (God, we laud You). It was composed in 1892 and dedicated to the 400th anniversary of the discovery of America. The composition had been completed before Dvořák moved to America and was commissioned by the director of the National Conservatory of Music of America in New York, Jeanette Thurber in 1891, when the composer accepted a position as director of her school. Originally, the text of the poem by Joseph Rodman Drake, "The American Flag" was to have been used for the opus, which Dvořák had not received in time and instead used the words of the medieval church hymn "Te Deum laudamus" written by Saint Ambrose. The composition was premiered as Dvořák's first concert in New York on October 21, 1892. "Te Deum" is not so monumental and extensive as Requiem and Stabat Mater, yet still encompasses similar deep meditative statements and expressive nobility.

Mass in D major, (originally numbered as op.76, finally as op.86) is a well-concentrated, structured composition originally intended for organ, solo voices and small choir. The work was given its final shape in the year 1892 when, in response to a request from the Novello publishers of London, Dvořák arranged his Mass for a symphony orchestra.^[24]

Other choral works include: The Spectre’s Bride, Saint Ludmila, Hymn of the Czech Peasants, The American Flag, Festival Song and many more.

Concerti[link]

Music critic Harold C. Schonberg expressed common critical opinion when he wrote that Dvořák wrote "an attractive Piano Concerto in G minor with a rather ineffective piano part, a beautiful Violin Concerto in A minor, and a supreme Cello Concerto in B minor".^[25] All the concertos are in the classical three-movement form.

The Concerto for Piano and Orchestra in G minor, Op. 33 was the first of three concertos that Dvořák composed and orchestrated, and it is perhaps the least known of those three. Dvořák composed his piano concerto from late August through September 14, 1876. Its autograph version contains many corrections, erasures, cuts and additions, the bulk of these made in the piano part. The work was premiered in Prague on March 24, 1878, with the orchestra of the Prague Provisional Theatre conducted by Adolf Čech, and the Czech pianist Karel Slavkovský as soloist. As Dvořák wrote: "I see I am unable to write a Concerto for a virtuoso; I must think of other things." Instead, what Dvořák thought of and created was a concerto with remarkable symphonic values in which the piano plays a leading part in the orchestra rather than opposed to it. The Czech pianist and piano teacher Professor Vilém Kurz subsequently wrote an alternative, somewhat more virtuosic piano part for the concerto, which may, depending on the performer's preference, be played either partially or entirely in lieu of Dvořák's part. In 1919 concert pianist Ilona Kurzová played the first performance of the Kurz version, conducted by Václav Talich.

The Concerto for Violin and Orchestra in A minor, Op. 53 was the second of the three concertos that Dvořák composed and orchestrated. He had met the great violinist Joseph Joachim in 1878 and decided to write a concerto for him. He finished it in 1879, but Joachim was skeptical of the work. He objected to Dvořák's abrupt truncation of the first movement's orchestral tutti, and he also did not approve its truncated recapitulation and its leading directly to the slow movement. He never played the piece. The concerto was premiered in 1883 in Prague by the violinist František Ondříček, who also gave its first performances in Vienna and London.

The Concerto for Cello and Orchestra in B minor, Op. 104 was the last composed of Dvořák's concertos. He wrote it in 1894–1895 for his friend the cellist Hanuš Wihan. Wihan and others had asked for a cello concerto for some time, but Dvořák always refused, stating that the cello was a fine orchestral instrument but completely insufficient for a solo concerto.

Dvořák composed the concerto in New York while serving as the Director of the National Conservatory. In 1894 Victor Herbert, who was also teaching at the Conservatory, had written a cello concerto and presented it in a series of concerts. Dvořák attended at least two performances of Victor Herbert's cello concerto and was inspired to fulfill Wihan's request for a cello concerto. Dvořák's concerto received its premiere in London on March 16, 1896, with the English cellist Leo Stern. The work was well received. Brahms said of the work: "Had I known that one could write a cello concerto like this, I would have written one long ago!"

Over thirty years earlier in 1865, Dvořák had composed a Cello Concerto in A major, but with accompaniment by piano rather than orchestra. It is believed Dvořák had intended to orchestrate it, but abandoned it. It was orchestrated by the German composer Günter Raphael between 1925 and 1929, and again by his cataloguer Jarmil Burghauser and was published in this form in 1952 as B.10.

Chamber music[link]

	Romance Op. 75, No. 1 Performed by Roxana Pavel Goldstein (violin) and Monica Pavel (piano) Romance Op. 75, No. 3 Performed by Roxana Pavel Goldstein (violin) and Monica Pavel (piano)
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Over a period of almost 30 years, Dvořák's output of chamber music was prolific and diverse, composing more than 40 works for ensembles with strings.
In 1860 just after he finished his education at the Organ school, Dvořák composed his String Quintet No. 1 in A minor, Op. 1. Two more would follow, of which the String Quintet No. 2 in G major, Op. 77 from early 1875, is noteworthy for the use of a double bass. It was written for a chamber music competition sponsored by the Umelecká beseda (Artistic Circle), where it was unanimously awarded the prize of five ducats for the "distinction of theme, the technical skill in polyphonic composition, the mastery of form and the knowledge of the instruments" displayed.^[26] The String Quintet No.3 in E♭major "American", Op. 97, with a second viola added, was written near the end of his output for chamber ensemble during his American period in 1893, when he spent a summer holiday in Spillville, Iowa.

Within a year after completing his first string quintet, Dvořák completed his String Quartet No. 1 in A major, Op. 2, the first of his fourteen string quartets. Though his grasp of compositoral skills is better than the previous quintet shows, another problem presents itself: Dvořák has difficulty restraining himself in his musical output, which results in very long compositions.^[27] Many years later Dvořák cut out many of these over abundant measures for a first performance of his first string quartet in 1888. In that same period Dvořák made a list of compositions he had destroyed, which lists two quartets and 2 other quartets. Most probably he did tear up and burn them, but not after the different parts for three string quartets had been copied out. The number of errors in the parts makes it highly unbelievable that he actually had them played. His String Quartet No. 2 in B♭ major, B.17, bears no name nor annotation, but Dvořák's biographer Burghauser assumes it was the first of these three written, and therefore changed its place in the list of Dvořák's first biographer Otakar Šourek, who had placed it as the fourth.^[28] This mix-up seems very academical, but is fed by the annotations of the other two quartets, for Dvořák's String Quartet No. 3 in D major, B.18, bears the name Quartetto II, again no date, and the String Quartet No. 4 in E minor, B.19, was named Quartetto III and finished in December 1870. These three quartets were probably composed between 1868 and 1870 and bear one common factor, which is their strong influence by the music of Richard Wagner. Although Dvořák threw away these quartets, he saved an Andante religioso from his fourth quartet, to which he gave a new life five years later in his second string quintet, Op. 77, as a second movement named Intermezzo: Nocturne, adding a double bass, making this a five-movement composition. However in 1883 he withdrew it from the quintet, expanded it and had it published in three different versions as Nocturne in B major, Op. 40 for string orchestra, piano 4 hands and violin and piano.

In 1873 Dvořák's life turned for the better: he married Anna Čermáková, and he had his first great success with his Cantata Dědicové bilé hory (The Heirs of the White Mountain). The two Quartets he wrote in this year give a feeling of more determined theme writing.^[29]

The composing of his String Quartet No. 5 in F minor, Op. 9, B.37, happened in this time of mood extremes: The happiness of success with the cantata, the acceptance of his second opera for rehearsal by Smetana and the marriage, but also the setback of the total failure of these opera rehearsals, and the ultimate rejection of the work.^[30] Though the influence of Wagner is still prominent, a new style is emerging: A Chopinesque waltz in the Scherzo and an almost Slavonic theme in the finale, which looks forward to the first set of Slavonic dances.^[31] Still the work isn't of the standard that Dvořák expected from himself, so he discarded it. But again some parts were too dear to forget about completely, and in 1877 he reworked the Andantino from the second movement into the Romance, Op. 11 for violin and piano, which he even orchestrated.

His most popular quartet is his 12th, the American, Op. 96. He also composed two piano quintets, both in A major, of which the 2nd, Op. 81, is better known. He left a terzetto for two violins and viola (Op. 74); two piano quartets, a string sextet; Op. 48; and four piano trios, including the Piano Trio No. 4 (subtitled Dumky), Op. 90. He also wrote a set of Bagatelles, Op. 47, for the unusual instrumentation of two violins, cello, and harmonium, Romanza for the violin and piano, two waltzes for string quartet, 10 love songs entitled Cypresses and a Gavotte for three violins.

Operas[link]

Dvořák's critical acclaim as a composer of symphonies and concertos gave him a strong desire to write opera. Of all his operas, only Rusalka, Op. 114, and, to a much lesser extent, The Devil and Kate, Op. 112, are played on contemporary opera stages with any frequency outside the Czech Republic. This is attributable to their uneven invention and libretti, and perhaps also their staging requirements—The Jacobin, Armida, Vanda and Dimitrij need stages large enough to portray invading armies.

One of his more frequently performed arias from Rusalka is "Měsíčku na nebi hlubokém" (or, "Song to the Moon").

There is speculation by Dvořák scholars such as Michael Beckerman that portions of his Symphony No. 9 "From the New World", notably the second movement, were adapted from studies for a never-written opera about Hiawatha.^[32]

List of operas^[33]

• Alfred (unpublished), 1870
• King and Charcoal Burner (Král a uhlíř), 1871, recomposed 1874, revised 1887, Op. 14
• The Stubborn Lovers (Tvrdé palice), 1874, Op. 17
• Vanda, 1875, revised 1879 and 1883, Op. 25
• The Cunning Peasant (Šelma sedlák), 1877, Op. 35
• Dimitrij, 1881/1882, revised 1883, 1885, 1894/1895, Op. 64
• The Jacobin, 1887/1888, revised 1897, Op. 84
• The Devil and Kate (Čert a Káča), 1898/1889, Op. 112
• Rusalka, 1900, Op. 114
• Armida, 1902/1903, Op. 115

Songs[link]

His best known song cycle is the 10 Biblical songs, op.99 were written in March 1894. It was during this time he was informed of the death of the famous conductor, and close personal friend, Hans von Bülow. Just a month earlier, Dvořák was grieved to hear that his father was near death, far away in Bohemia. This time, Dvořák would console himself in the Psalms. The resulting work, considered the finest of his song cycles, is none other than the ten Biblical Songs on the text of Czech Bible of Kralice. As fate would have it, his father expired 2 days after the completion of the work.

Another well known cycle are the 7 "Gypsy songs" (Czech Cikánské melodie) which include Songs My Mother Taught Me (Dvořák).

Dvořák created many songs, inspired by Czech national traditional music, as are "Love Songs", "Evening Songs", etc.

Other works[link]

From other important works, that show also the influence of Czech folk music, both in terms of rhythms and melodic shapes; perhaps the best known examples are the two sets of Slavonic Dances, written in two series. The first book, Op. 46 (1878), is predominantly Czech in respect to the forms represented. They were created for piano duet (one piano, four hands), but Dvořák proceeded to orchestrate the entire set, completing that version the same year. The second book, Op. 72 (as well as previous composed originally for piano) which came along nine years later, includes forms native to such other Slavic lands as Serbia, Poland and Ukraine.

Dvořák, however, in dealing with his own native idiom, did not use actual folk tunes in his dances, but created his own themes in the authentic style of traditional folk music, using only rhythms of original folk dances; that there has been any misunderstanding on this point only attests to his success in capturing the authentic folk spirit entirely through the fortunate combination of being immersed in that spirit and having the creative imagination to expand upon it. Each of them, and particularly in the orchestral setting, may well strike the listener as a concise ethnic rhapsody in the guise of an idealized dance form.^[34]

Beyond fulfilling a commission, Dvořák's Slavonic Dances were, for him, a political statement; an opportunity to celebrate in music the Slavic cultures of Central Europe, then under the repressive control of the Austrian Empire.^[35]

Another very popular work that does not fit into any of the above caregories is the Symphonic Variations of 1877. The work was initially disregarded, being revived only after ten years, but has since become a concert and recording favourite.

Dvořák and musical criticism[link]

Dvořák was a knowledgeable writer on music. His arguments have stood the time as insightful, passionate and persuasive, as this article on Schubert, from July 1894, clearly demonstrates.^[36]

Notable students[link]

This unreferenced section requires citations to ensure verifiability.

• Harry T. Burleigh
• Will Marion Cook
• William Arms Fisher
• Rubin Goldmark (who taught Aaron Copland and George Gershwin)
• Oskar Nedbal
• Vítězslav Novák
• Harry Rowe Shelley (who taught Charles Ives)
• Maurice Arnold Strothotte
• Josef Suk
• John Stepan Zamecnik

References[link]

Bibliography[link]

• Brown, A. Peter (2003). The symphonic repertoire, Volume 3, Part 1. Bloomington: Indiana Univ. Press. pp. 410–436. ISBN 0-253-33488-8. http://books.google.com/books?id=vRI_PGC_IBEC&lpg=PP1&pg=PA411#v=onepage&q&f=false. 
• Goepp, Philip Henry (1913). Symphonies and their meaning: Third series: Modern symphonies. Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott Company. http://books.google.com/books?id=dOMvAAAAMAAJ&pg=PA195#v=onepage&q&f=false. 
• Kurt, Honolka (2004). Dvořák. London: Haus Publishing. ISBN 1-904341-52-7. http://books.google.com/books?id=kAVSQlZr-i4C. 

External links[link]

Wikisource has original works written by or about: Antonín Dvořák

Wikiquote has a collection of quotations related to: Antonín Dvořák

Wikimedia Commons has media related to: Antonín Dvořák

• Comprehensive Dvořák site (Czech)
• List of Dvořák's works
• Collection of news articles and correspondence about Dvořák's stay in America
• Antonín Dvořák Recordings at the Internet Archive
• Free scores by Dvořák in the International Music Score Library Project
• Free scores by Antonín Dvořák in the Werner Icking Music Archive (WIMA)
• Works by or about Antonín Dvořák in libraries (WorldCat catalog)
• Free scores at the Mutopia Project

Maria Callas, Commendatore OMRI^[1] (Greek: Μαρία Κάλλας) (December 2, 1923 – September 16, 1977) was an American-born Greek soprano and one of the most renowned opera singers of the 20th century. She combined an impressive bel canto technique, a wide-ranging voice and great dramatic gifts. An extremely versatile singer, her repertoire ranged from classical opera seria to the bel canto operas of Donizetti, Bellini and Rossini; further, to the works of Verdi and Puccini; and, in her early career, to the music dramas of Wagner. Her remarkable musical and dramatic talents led to her being hailed as La Divina.

Born in New York City and raised by an overbearing mother, she received her musical education in Greece and established her career in Italy. Forced to deal with the exigencies of wartime poverty and with myopia that left her nearly blind onstage, she endured struggles and scandal over the course of her career. She turned herself from a heavy woman into a svelte and glamorous one after a mid-career weight loss, which might have contributed to her vocal decline and the premature end of her career. The press exulted in publicizing Callas's allegedly temperamental behaviour, her supposed rivalry with Renata Tebaldi and her love affair with Aristotle Onassis. Her dramatic life and personal tragedy have often overshadowed Callas the artist in the popular press. However, her artistic achievements were such that Leonard Bernstein called her "The Bible of opera";^[2] and her influence was so enduring that, in 2006, Opera News wrote of her: "Nearly thirty years after her death, she's still the definition of the diva as artist—and still one of classical music's best-selling vocalists."^[3]

Early life[link]

Family life, childhood and move to Greece[link]

The apartment house in Athens where Callas lived from 1937 to 1945.

According to her birth certificate, Maria Callas was born Sophia Cecelia Kalos^[4] at Flower Hospital (now the Terence Cardinal Cooke Health Care Center), at 1249 Fifth Avenue in Manhattan, on December 2, 1923^[5] to Greek parents George Kalogeropoulos and Evangelia "Litsa" (sometimes "Litza") Dimitriadou, though she was christened Anna Maria Sofia Cecilia Kalogeropoulou – the genitive of the patronymic Kalogeropoulos – (Greek: Μαρία Άννα Σοφία Καικιλία Καλογεροπούλου). Callas's father had shortened the surname Kalogeropoulos first to "Kalos" and subsequently to "Callas" in order to make it more manageable.^[4]

George and Evangelia were an ill-matched couple from the beginning; he was easy-going and unambitious, with no interest in the arts, while his wife was vivacious and socially ambitious, and had held dreams of a life in the arts for herself.^[4] The situation was aggravated by George's philandering and was improved neither by the birth of a daughter, named Yakinthi (later called Jackie), in 1917 nor the birth of a son, named Vassilis, in 1920. Vassilis's death from meningitis in the summer of 1922 dealt another blow to the marriage. In 1923, after realizing that Evangelia was pregnant again, George made the unilateral decision to move his family to America, a decision which Yakinthi recalled was greeted with Evangelia "shouting hysterically" followed by George "slamming doors".^[4] The family left for New York in July 1923, moving first into an apartment in Astoria, Queens. When Maria was 4, George Callas opened his own pharmacy, settling the family in Manhattan on 192nd Street in Washington Heights where Callas grew up.

Evangelia was convinced that her third child would be a boy; her disappointment at the birth of another daughter was so great that she refused to even look at her new baby for four days.^[4] Around the age of three, Maria's musical talent began to manifest itself, and after Evangelia discovered that her youngest daughter also had a voice, she began pressing "Mary" to sing. Callas would later recall, "I was made to sing when I was only five, and I hated it."^[4] George was unhappy with his wife favouring their elder daughter, as well as the pressure put upon young Mary to sing and perform.^[6] The marriage continued to deteriorate and in 1937 Evangelia decided to return to Athens with her two daughters.^[4]

Deteriorating relationship with her mother[link]

Callas's relationship with Evangelia continued to erode during the years in Greece, and in the prime of her career, it became a matter of great public interest, especially after a 1956 cover story in Time magazine which focused on this relationship and later, by Evangelia's book My Daughter – Maria Callas. In public, Callas blamed the strained relationship with Evangelia on her unhappy childhood spent singing and working at her mother's insistence, saying,

My sister was slim and beautiful and friendly, and my mother always preferred her. I was the ugly duckling, fat and clumsy and unpopular. It is a cruel thing to make a child feel ugly and unwanted... I'll never forgive her for taking my childhood away. During all the years I should have been playing and growing up, I was singing or making money. Everything I did for them was mostly good and everything they did to me was mostly bad.^[7]

In 1957, she told Norman Ross, "Children should have a wonderful childhood. I have not had it – I wish I had."^[8] On the other hand, biographer Pestalis-Diomidis asserts that it was actually Evangelia's hateful treatment of George in front of their young children which led to resentment and dislike on Callas's part.^[4] However, according to both Callas' husband and her close friend Giulietta Simionato, Callas related to them that her mother, who did not work, pressed her to "go out with various men", mainly Italian and German soldiers, to bring home money and food during the Axis occupation of Greece during World War II. Simionato was convinced that Callas "managed to remain untouched", but Callas never forgave Evangelia for what she perceived as a kind of prostitution forced on her by her mother.^[4] In an attempt to patch things up with her mother, Callas took Evangelia along on her first visit to Mexico in 1950, but this only reawakened the old frictions and resentments, and after leaving Mexico, the two never met again.^[9] After a series of angry and accusatory letters from Evangelia lambasting Callas's father and husband, Callas ceased communication with her mother altogether.^[9]

Education[link]

Callas received her musical education in Athens. Initially, her mother tried to enroll her at the prestigious Athens Conservatoire, without success. At the audition, her voice, still untrained, failed to impress, while the conservatoire's director Filoktitis Oikonomidis refused to accept her without her satisfying the theoretic prerequisites (solfege). In the summer of 1937, her mother visited Maria Trivella at the younger Greek National Conservatoire, asking her to take Mary as a student for a modest fee. In 1957, Trivella recalled her impression of "Mary, a very plump young girl, wearing big glasses for her myopia":

The tone of the voice was warm, lyrical, intense; it swirled and flared like a flame and filled the air with melodious reverberations like a carillon. It was by any standards an amazing phenomenon, or rather it was a great talent that needed control, technical training and strict discipline in order to shine with all its brilliance.^[4]

Maria Callas with her teacher Elvira de Hidalgo in 1954.

Trivella agreed to tutor Callas completely, waiving her tuition fees, but no sooner had Callas started her formal lessons and vocal exercises than Trivella began to feel that Mary was not a contralto, as she had been told, but a dramatic soprano. Subsequently, they began working on raising the tessitura of Mary's voice and to lighten its timbre.^[4] Trivella recalled Mary as "A model student. Fanatical, uncompromising, dedicated to her studies heart and soul. Her progress was phenomenal. She studied five or six hours a day. ...Within six months, she was singing the most difficult arias in the international opera repertoire with the utmost musicality".^[4] On April 11, 1938, in her public debut, Callas ended the recital of Trivella's class at the Parnassos music hall with a duet from Tosca.^[4] Callas recalled that Trivella "had a French method, which was placing the voice in the nose, rather nasal... and I had the problem of not having low chest tones, which is essential in bel canto... And that's where I learned my chest tones."^[10] However, when interviewed by Pierre Desgraupes on the French program L'Invitee Du Dimanche, Callas attributed the development of her chest voice not to Trivella, but to her next teacher, the well-known Spanish coloratura soprano Elvira de Hidalgo.^[11]

Callas studied with Trivella for two years before her mother secured another audition at the Athens Conservatoire with de Hidalgo. Callas auditioned with "Ocean, Thou Mighty Monster." De Hidalgo recalled hearing "tempestuous, extravagant cascades of sounds, as yet uncontrolled but full of drama and emotion".^[4] She agreed to take her as a pupil immediately, but Callas's mother asked de Hidalgo to wait for a year, as Callas would be graduating from the National Conservatoire and could begin working. On April 2, 1939, Callas undertook the part of Santuzza in a student production of Mascagni's Cavalleria rusticana at the Olympia Theatre, and in the fall of the same year she enrolled at the Athens Conservatoire in Elvira de Hidalgo's class.^[4]

In 1968, Callas told Lord Harewood,

De Hildalgo had the real great training, maybe even the last real training of the real bel canto. As a young girl—thirteen years old—I was immediately thrown into her arms, meaning that I learned the secrets, the ways of this bel canto, which of course as you well know, is not just beautiful singing. It is a very hard training; it is a sort of a straight-jacket that you're supposed to put on, whether you like it or not. You have to learn to read, to write, to form your sentences, how far you can go, fall, hurt yourself, put yourself back on your feet continuously. De Hidalgo had one method, which was the real bel canto way, where no matter how heavy a voice, it should always be kept light, it should always be worked on in a flexible way, never to weigh it down. It is a method of keeping the voice light and flexible and pushing the instrument into a certain zone where it might not be too large in sound, but penetrating. And teaching the scales, trills, all the bel canto embellishments, which is a whole vast language of its own.^[10]

De Hidalgo would later recall Callas as "a phenomenon... She would listen to all my students, sopranos, mezzos, tenors... She could do it all."^[12] Callas herself said that she would go to "the conservatoire at 10 in the morning and leave with the last pupil ... devouring music" for 10 hours a day. When asked by her teacher why she did this, her answer was that even "with the least talented pupil, he can teach you something that you, the most talented, might not be able to do."^[13]

Early operatic career in Greece[link]

Callas in a Greek production of Puccini's Tosca in 1942.

After several appearances as a student, Callas began appearing in secondary roles at the Greek National Opera. De Hidalgo was instrumental in securing roles for her, allowing Callas to earn a small salary, which would help her and her family get through the difficult war years.^[4]

Callas made her professional debut in February 1942, in the small role of Beatrice in Franz von Suppé's Boccaccio.^[4] Soprano Galatea Amaxopoulou, who sang in the chorus, later recalled, "Even in rehearsal, Mary's fantastic performing ability had been obvious, and from then on, the others started trying to find ways of preventing her from appearing."^[4] Fellow singer Maria Alkeou similarly recalled that the established sopranos Nafiska Galanou and Anna (Zozó) Remmoundou "used to stand in the wings while Mary was singing and make remarks about her, muttering, laughing, and point their fingers at her".^[4] Despite these hostilities, Callas managed to continue and made her debut in a leading role in August 1942 as Tosca, going on to sing the role of Marta in Eugen d'Albert's Tiefland at the Olympia Theatre. Callas's performance as Marta received glowing reviews. Critic Spanoudi declared Callas "an extremely dynamic artist possessing the rarest dramatic and musical gifts", and Vangelis Mangliveras evaluated Callas's performance for the weekly To Radiophonon:

The singer who took the part of Marta, that new star in the Greek firmament, with a matchless depth of feeling, gave a theatrical interpretation well up to the standard of a tragic actress. About her exceptional voice with its astonishing natural fluency, I do not wish to add anything to the words of Alexandra Lalaouni: 'Kaloyeropoulou is one of those God-given talents that one can only marvel at.'^[4]

Following these performances, even Callas's detractors began to refer to her as "The God-Given".^[4] Some time later, watching Callas rehearse Beethoven's Fidelio, rival soprano Remoundou asked a colleague, "Could it be that there is something divine and we haven't realized it?"^[4] Following Tiefland, Callas sang the role of Santuzza in Cavalleria rusticana again and followed it with O Protomastoras at the ancient Odeon of Herodes Atticus theatre at the foot of the Acropolis.

During August and September 1944, Callas performed the role of Leonore in a Greek language production of Fidelio, again at the Odeon of Herodes Atticus.^[4] German critic Friedrich Herzog, who witnessed the performances, declared Leonore Callas's "greatest triumph":^[4]

When Maria Kaloyeropoulou's Leonore let her soprano soar out radiantly in the untrammelled jubilation of the duet, she rose to the most sublime heights.... Here she gave bud, blossom and fruit to that harmony of sound that also ennobled the art of the prima donne.^[4]

After the liberation of Greece, de Hidalgo advised Callas to establish herself in Italy. Callas proceeded to give a series of concerts around Greece, and then, against her teacher's advice, she returned to America to see her father and to further pursue her career. When she left Greece on September 14, 1945, two months short of her 22nd birthday, Callas had given 56 performances in seven operas and had appeared in around 20 recitals.^[4] Callas considered her Greek career as the foundation of her musical and dramatic upbringing, saying, "When I got to the big career, there were no surprises for me."^[14]

Main operatic career[link]

After returning to the United States and reuniting with her father in September 1945, Callas made the round of auditions.^[4] In December of that year, she auditioned for Edward Johnson, general manager of the Metropolitan Opera, and was favourably received: "Exceptional voice—ought to be heard very soon on stage".^[4] Callas maintained that the Met offered her Madama Butterfly and Fidelio, to be performed in Philadelphia and sung in English, both of which she declined, feeling she was too fat for Butterfly and did not like the idea of opera in English.^[14] Although no written evidence of this offer exists in the Met's records,^[9] in a 1958 interview with The New York Post, Johnson corroborated Callas's story: "We offered her a contract, but she didn't like it—because of the contract, not because of the roles. She was right in turning it down—it was frankly a beginner's contract."^[4]

Italy, Meneghini, and Serafin[link]

The Villa in Sirmione where Callas lived with Giovanni Battista Meneghini between 1950 and 1959.

In 1946, Callas was engaged to re-open the opera house in Chicago as Turandot, but the company folded before opening. Basso Nicola Rossi-Lemeni, who also was to star in this opera, was aware that Tullio Serafin was looking for a dramatic soprano to cast as La Gioconda at the Arena di Verona. He would later recall the young Callas as being "amazing—so strong physically and spiritually; so certain of her future. I knew in a big outdoor theatre like Verona's, this girl, with her courage and huge voice, would make a tremendous impact."^[15] Subsequently he recommended Callas to retired tenor and impresario Giovanni Zenatello. During her audition, Zenatello became so excited that he jumped up and joined Callas in the Act 4 duet.^[6] It was in this role that Callas made her Italian debut.

Upon her arrival in Verona, Callas met Giovanni Battista Meneghini, an older, wealthy industrialist, who began courting her. They married in 1949, and he assumed control of her career until 1959, when the marriage dissolved. It was Meneghini's love and support that gave Callas the time needed to establish herself in Italy,^[15] and throughout the prime of her career, she went by the name Maria Meneghini Callas.

After La Gioconda, Callas had no further offers, and when Serafin, looking for someone to sing Isolde, called on her, she told him that she already knew the score, even though she had looked at only the first act out of curiosity while at the conservatory.^[14] She sight-read the opera's second act for Serafin, who praised her for knowing the role so well, whereupon she admitted to having bluffed and having sight-read the music.^[14] Even more impressed, Serafin immediately cast her in the role.^[14] Serafin thereafter served as Callas's mentor and supporter.

According to Lord Harewood, "Very few Italian conductors have had a more distinguished career than Tullio Serafin, and perhaps none, apart from Toscanini, more influence".^[13] In 1968, Callas would recall that working with Serafin was the "really lucky" opportunity of her career, because "he taught me that there must be an expression; that there must be a justification. He taught me the depth of music, the justification of music. That's where I really really drank all I could from this man".^[10]

[edit] I puritani and path to bel canto

The great turning point in Callas's career occurred in Venice in 1949.^[16] She was engaged to sing the role of Brünnhilde in Die Walküre at the Teatro la Fenice, when Margherita Carosio, who was engaged to sing Elvira in I puritani in the same theatre, fell ill. Unable to find a replacement for Carosio, Maestro Serafin told Callas that she would be singing Elvira in six days; when Callas protested that she not only did not know the role, but also had three more Brünnhildes to sing, he told her "I guarantee that you can."^[13] In Michael Scott's words, "the notion of any one singer embracing music as divergent in its vocal demands as Wagner's Brünnhilde and Bellini's Elvira in the same career would have been cause enough for surprise; but to attempt to essay them both in the same season seemed like folie de grandeur".^[9] Before the performance actually took place, one incredulous critic snorted, "We hear that Serafin has agreed to conduct I puritani with a dramatic soprano... When can we expect a new edition of La traviata with [baritone] Gino Bechi's Violetta?"^[9] After the performance, critics would write, "Even the most sceptical had to acknowledge the miracle that Maria Callas accomplished... the flexibility of her limpid, beautifully poised voice, and her splendid high notes. Her interpretation also has a humanity, warmth and expressiveness that one would search for in vain in the fragile, pellucid coldness of other Elviras."^[17] Franco Zeffirelli recalled, "What she did in Venice was really incredible. You need to be familiar with opera to realize the enormity of her achievement. It was as if someone asked Birgit Nilsson, who is famous for her great Wagnerian voice, to substitute overnight for Beverly Sills, who is one of the great coloratura sopranos of our time."^[12]

Scott asserts that "Of all the many roles Callas undertook, it is doubtful if any had a more far-reaching effect."^[9] This initial foray into the bel canto repertoire changed the course of Callas's career and set her on a path leading to Lucia di Lammermoor, La traviata, Armida, La sonnambula, Il pirata, Il turco in Italia, Medea and Anna Bolena, and reawakened interest in the long-neglected operas of Cherubini, Bellini, Donizetti and Rossini.^[12][15] In the words of soprano Montserrat Caballé,

She opened a new door for us, for all the singers in the world, a door that had been closed. Behind it was sleeping not only great music but great idea of interpretation. She has given us the chance, those who follow her, to do things that were hardly possible before her. That I am compared with Callas is something I never dared to dream. It is not right. I am much smaller than Callas.^[15]

As with I puritani, Callas also learned and performed Cherubini's Medea, Giordano's Andrea Chénier and Rossini's Armida on a few days' notice.^[15][18] Throughout her career, Callas displayed her vocal versatility in recitals that pitched dramatic soprano arias alongside coloratura pieces, including in a 1952 RAI recital in which she opened with Lady Macbeth's "letter scene", followed by the "Mad Scene" from Lucia di Lammermoor, then Abigaile's treacherous recitative and aria from Nabucco, finishing with the "Bell Song" from Lakmé capped by a ringing high E in alt (E6).^[18]

Important debuts[link]

Maria Callas debut at Milan's Teatro alla Scala in Verdi's I Vespri Siciliani in December 7th, 1951.

Although by 1951 Callas had sung at all the major theatres in Italy, she had not yet made her official debut at Italy's most prestigious opera house, Teatro alla Scala in Milan. According to composer Gian-Carlo Menotti, Callas had substituted for Renata Tebaldi in the role of Aida in 1950, and La Scala's general manager, Antonio Ghiringhelli, had taken an immediate dislike to Callas.^[12] Menotti recalls that Ghiringhelli had promised him any singer he wanted for the premiere of The Consul, but when he suggested Callas, Ghiringhelli said that he would never have Callas at La Scala except as a guest artist. However, as Callas's fame grew, and especially after her great success in I vespri siciliani in Florence, Ghiringhelli had to relent: Callas made her official debut at La Scala in Verdi's I vespri siciliani on opening night in December 1951, and this theatre became her artistic home throughout the 1950s.^[12] La Scala mounted many new productions specially for Callas by directors such as Herbert von Karajan, Margherita Wallmann, Franco Zeffirelli and, most importantly, Luchino Visconti.^[15] Visconti stated later that he began directing opera only because of Callas,^[19] and he directed her in lavish new productions of La vestale, La traviata, La sonnambula, Anna Bolena and Iphigénie en Tauride. Callas was notably instrumental in arranging Franco Corelli's debut at La Scala in 1954, where he sang Licinio in Spontini's La vestale opposite Callas's Julia. The two had sung together for the first time the year previously in Rome in a production of Norma. Anthony Tommasini wrote that Corelli had "earned great respect from the fearsomely demanding Callas, who, in Mr Corelli, finally had someone with whom she could act."^[20] The two collaborated several more times at La Scala, singing opposite each other in productions of Fedora (1956), Il pirata (1958) and Poliuto (1960). Their partnership continued throughout the rest of Callas's career.^[21]

Callas as Violetta in La Traviata.

The night of the day she married Meneghini in Verona, she sailed for Argentina to sing at the Colon Theatre in Buenos Aires. Callas made her South American debut in Buenos Aires on May 20, 1949 during European summer's recess. Aida, Turandot and Norma roles were directed by Tullio Serafin, supported by Mario del Monaco, Fedora Barbieri and Nicola Rossi-Lemeni. It was her only appearance on this world renowned stage. Her debut in America was five years later in Chicago in 1954, and "with the Callas Norma, Lyric Opera of Chicago was born."^[22] Her Metropolitan Opera debut, opening the Met's seventy-second season on October 29, 1956, was again with Norma,^[23] but was preceded with an unflattering cover story in Time magazine, which rehashed all of the Callas clichés, including her temper, her supposed rivalry with Renata Tebaldi and especially her difficult relationship with her mother.^[6][16] As she had done with Lyric Opera of Chicago, on November 21, 1957, Callas gave a concert to inaugurate what then was billed as the Dallas Civic Opera, and helped establish that company with her friends from Chicago, Lawrence Kelly and Maestro Nicola Rescigno.^[24] She further consolidated this company's standing when, in 1958, she gave "a towering performance as Violetta in La Traviata, and that same year, in her only American performances of Medea, gave an interpretation of the title role worthy of Euripides."^[25]

In 1958, a feud with Rudolf Bing led to Callas's Metropolitan Opera contract being cancelled. Impresario Allen Oxenburg realised that this situation provided him with an opportunity for his own company, the American Opera Society, and he accordingly approached her with a contract to perform Imogene in Il pirata. She accepted and sang the role in a January 1959 performance that according to opera critic Allan Kozinn "quickly became legendary in operatic circles".^[26] Bing and Callas later reconciled their differences, and she returned to the house in 1965 to sing the title role in two performances as Tosca opposite Franco Corelli as Cavaradossi for one performance (March 19, 1965) and Richard Tucker (March 25, 1965) with Tito Gobbi as Scarpia for her final performances at the Met.

In 1952, she made her London debut at the Royal Opera House in Norma with veteran mezzo soprano Ebe Stignani as Adalgisa, a performance which survives on record and also features the young Joan Sutherland in the small role of Clotilde.^[18] Callas and the London public had what she herself called "a love affair",^[6] and she returned to the Royal Opera House in 1953, 1957, 1958, 1959, and 1964 to 1965.^[15] It was at the Royal Opera House where, on July 5, 1965, Callas ended her stage career in the role of Tosca, in a production designed and mounted for her by Franco Zeffirelli and featuring her friend and colleague Tito Gobbi.^[15]

Weight loss[link]

In the early years of her career, Callas was a heavy and full-figured woman; in her own words, "Heavy—one can say—yes I was; but I'm also a tall woman, 5' 8½" [174 centimeters], and I used to weigh no more than 200 pounds [91 kilograms]."^[14] Tito Gobbi relates that during a lunch break while recording Lucia in Florence, Serafin commented to Callas that she was eating too much and allowing her weight to become a problem. When she protested that she wasn't so heavy, Gobbi suggested she should "put the matter to test" by stepping on the weighing machine outside the restaurant. The result was "somewhat dismaying, and she became rather silent."^[27] In 1968, Callas told Edward Downes that during her initial performances in Cherubini's Medea in May 1953, she realized that she needed a leaner face and figure to do dramatic justice to this as well as the other roles she was undertaking. She adds,

I was getting so heavy that even my vocalizing was getting heavy. I was tiring myself, I was perspiring too much, and I was really working too hard. And I wasn't really well, as in health; I couldn't move freely. And then I was tired of playing a game, for instance playing this beautiful young woman, and I was heavy and uncomfortable to move around. In any case, it was uncomfortable and I didn't like it. So I felt now if I'm going to do things right—I've studied all my life to put things right musically, so why don't I diet and put myself into a certain condition where I'm presentable.^[14]

During 1953 and early 1954, she lost almost 80 pounds (36 kg), turning herself into what Maestro Rescigno called "possibly the most beautiful lady on the stage".^[12] Sir Rudolf Bing, who remembered Callas as being "monstrously fat" in 1951, stated that after the weight loss, Callas was an "astonishing, svelte, striking woman" who "showed none of the signs one usually finds in a fat woman who has lost weight: she looked as though she had been born to that slender and graceful figure, and had always moved with that elegance."^[28] Various rumours spread regarding her weight loss method; one had her swallowing a tapeworm, while Rome's Pantanella Mills pasta company claimed she lost weight by eating their "physiologic pasta", prompting Callas to file a lawsuit.^[9] Callas stated that she lost the weight by eating a sensible low-calorie diet of mainly salads and chicken.^[14]

Some believe that the loss of body mass made it more difficult for her to support her voice, triggering the vocal strain that became apparent later in the decade (see vocal decline), while others believed the weight loss effected a newfound softness and femininity in her voice, as well as a greater confidence as a person and performer.^[15] Tito Gobbi said, "Now she was not only supremely gifted both musically and dramatically—she was a beauty too. And her awareness of this invested with fresh magic every role she undertook. What it eventually did to her vocal and nervous stamina I am not prepared to say. I only assert that she blossomed into an artist unique in her generation and outstanding in the whole range of vocal history."^[27]

Voice[link]

The Callas Sound[link]

Callas's voice was and remains controversial; it bothered and disturbed as many as it thrilled and inspired.^[15][18] Walter Legge stated that Callas possessed that most essential ingredient for a great singer: an instantly recognizable voice.^[29] During "The Callas Debate", Italian critic Rodolfo Celletti stated, "The timbre of Callas's voice, considered purely as sound, was essentially ugly: it was a thin sound, which gave the impression of dryness, of aridity. It lacked those elements which, in a singer's jargon, are described as velvet and varnish... yet I really believe that part of her appeal was precisely due to this fact. Why? Because for all its natural lack of varnish, velvet and richness, this voice could acquire such distinctive colours and timbres as to be unforgettable."^[30] However, in his review of Callas's 1951 live recording of I vespri siciliani, Ira Siff writes, "Accepted wisdom tells us that Callas possessed, even early on, a flawed voice, unattractive by conventional standards — an instrument that signaled from the beginning vocal problems to come. Yet listen to her entrance in this performance and one encounters a rich, spinning sound, ravishing by any standard, capable of delicate dynamic nuance. High notes are free of wobble, chest tones unforced, and the middle register displays none of the "bottled" quality that became more and more pronounced as Callas matured."^[31]

Nicola Rossi-Lemeni relates that Callas's mentor Tullio Serafin used to refer to her as "Una grande vociaccia"; he continues, "Vociaccia is a little bit pejorative—it means an ugly voice—but grande means a big voice, a great voice. A great ugly voice, in a way."^[32] Callas herself did not like the sound of her own voice; in one of her last interviews, answering whether or not she was able to listen to her own voice, she replies,

Yes, but I don't like it. I have to do it, but I don't like it at all because I don't like the kind of voice I have. I really hate listening to myself! The first time I listened to a recording of my singing was when we were recording San Giovanni Battista by Stradella in a church in Perugia in 1949. They made me listen to the tape and I cried my eyes out. I wanted to stop everything, to give up singing... Also now even though I don't like my voice, I've become able to accept it and to be detached and objective about it so I can say, "Oh, that was really well sung," or "It was nearly perfect."^[33]

Maestro Carlo Maria Giulini has described the appeal of Callas's voice:

It is very difficult to speak of the voice of Callas. Her voice was a very special instrument. Something happens sometimes with string instruments—violin, viola, cello—where the first moment you listen to the sound of this instrument, the first feeling is a bit strange sometimes. But after just a few minutes, when you get used to, when you become friends with this kind of sound, then the sound becomes a magical quality. This was Callas.^[12]

Vocal category[link]

Callas's voice has been difficult to place in the modern vocal classification or fach system, especially since in her prime, her repertoire contained the heaviest dramatic soprano roles as well as roles usually undertaken by the highest, lightest and most agile coloratura sopranos. Regarding this versatility, Maestro Tullio Serafin said, "This woman can sing anything written for the female voice".^[6] Michael Scott argues that Callas's voice was a natural high soprano,^[9] and going by evidence of Callas's early recordings, Rosa Ponselle likewise felt that "At that stage of its development, her voice was a pure but sizable dramatic coloratura––that is to say, a sizable coloratura voice with dramatic capabilities, not the other way around."^[34] On the other hand, music critic John Ardoin has argued that Callas was the reincarnation of the nineteenth century soprano sfogato or "unlimited soprano", a throwback to Maria Malibran and Giuditta Pasta, for whom many of the famous bel canto operas were written. He avers that like Pasta and Malibran, Callas was a natural mezzo-soprano whose range was extended through training and willpower, resulting in a voice which "lacked the homogeneous color and evenness of scale once so prized in singing. There were unruly sections of their voices never fully under control. Many who heard Pasta, for example, remarked that her uppermost notes seemed produced by ventriloquism, a charge which would later be made against Callas".^[15] Ardoin points to the writings of Henry Fothergill Chorley about Pasta which bear an uncanny resemblance to descriptions of Callas:

"There was a portion of the scale which differed from the rest in quality and remained to the last 'under a veil.' ...out of these uncouth materials she had to compose her instrument and then to give it flexibility. Her studies to acquire execution must have been tremendous; but the volubility and brilliancy, when acquired, gained a character of their own... There were a breadth, an expressiveness in her roulades, an evenness and solidity in her shake, which imparted to every passage a significance totally beyond the reach of lighter and more spontaneous singers... The best of her audience were held in thrall, without being able to analyze what made up the spell, what produced the effect--as soon as she opened her lips".^[15]

Callas herself appears to have been in agreement not only with Ardoin's assertions that she started as a natural mezzo-soprano, but also saw the similarities between herself and Pasta and Malibran. In 1957, she described her early voice as: "The timbre was dark, almost black—when I think of it, I think of thick molasses", and in 1968 she added, "They say I was not a true soprano, I was rather toward a mezzo".^[4] Regarding her ability to sing the heaviest as well as the lightest roles, she told James Fleetwood,

"It's study; it's Nature. I’m doing nothing special, you know. Even Lucia, Anna Bolena, Puritani, all these operas were created for one type of soprano, the type that sang Norma, Fidelio, which was Malibran of course. And a funny coincidence last year, I was singing Anna Bolena and Sonnambula, same months and the same distance of time as Giuditta Pasta had sung in the Nineteenth Century... So I’m really not doing anything extraordinary. You wouldn’t ask a pianist not to be able to play everything; he has to. This is Nature and also because I had a wonderful teacher, the old kind of teaching methods... I was a very heavy voice, that is my nature, a dark voice shall we call it, and I was always kept on the light side. She always trained me to keep my voice limber".^[35]

Vocal size and range[link]

Callas's range in performance (highest and lowest notes both shown in red): from F-sharp below the Middle C (green) to E-natural above the High C (blue).

Regarding the sheer size of Callas's instrument, Celletti says, "Her voice was penetrating. The volume as such was average: neither small nor powerful. But the penetration, allied to this incisive quality (which bordered on the ugly because it frequently contained an element of harshness) ensured that her voice could be clearly heard anywhere in the auditorium."^[30] Yet, paradoxically enough, in "Le Grandi voci", Celletti states that Callas had not a mere penetrating voice but "a voluminous, resonant and dark" one ("una voce voluminosa, squillante e di timbro scuro"). After her first performance of Medea in 1953, the critic for Musical Courier would write, "she displayed a vocal generosity that was scarecely believable for its amplitude and resilience.".^[17] In a 1982 Opera News interview with Joan Sutherland and Richard Bonynge, Bonynge stated, "But before she slimmed down, I mean this was such a colossal voice. It just poured out of her, the way Flagstad's did... Callas had a huge voice. When she and Stignani sang Norma, at the bottom of the range you could barely tell who was who... Oh it was colossal. And she took the big sound right up to the top."^[36] In his book, Michael Scott makes the distinction that whereas Callas's pre-1954 voice was a "dramatic soprano with an exceptional top", after the weight loss, it became, as one Chicago critic described the voice in Lucia,^[17] a "huge soprano leggiero".^[9]

In performance, Callas's range was just short of three octaves, from F-sharp (F♯3) below middle C (C4) heard in "Arrigo! Ah parli a un core" from I vespri siciliani to E-natural (E6) above high C (C6), heard in the aria "Mercè, dilette amiche" in the final act of the same opera, as well as in Rossini's Armida and Lakmés Bell Song. Whether or not Callas ever sang a high F-natural in performance has been open to debate. After her June 11, 1951 concert in Florence, Rock Ferris of Musical Courier said, "Her high E's and F's are taken full voice."^[17] Although no definite recording of Callas singing high F's have surfaced, the presumed E-natural at the end of Rossini's Armida—a poor-quality bootleg recording of uncertain pitch—has been referred to as a high F by Italian musicologists and critics Eugenio Gara and Rodolfo Celletti.^[30] Callas expert Dr. Robert Seletsky, however, stated that since the finale of Armida is in the key of E, the final note could not have been an F, as it would have been dissonant. Author Eve Ruggieri has referred to the penultimate note in "Mercè, dilette amiche" from the 1951 Florence performances of I vespri siciliani as a high F;^[37] however, this claim is refuted by John Ardoin's review of the live recording of the performance as well as by the review of the recording in Opera News, both of which refer to the note as a high E-natural.^[18][31] In a 1969 French television interview with Pierre Desgraupes on the program L'invitée du dimanche, maestro Francesco Siciliani speaks of Callas's voice going to high F (he also talk about her lower register extending to C3), but within the same program, Callas's teacher, Elvira de Hidalgo, speaks of the voice soaring to a high E-natural, but does not mention a high F; meanwhile, Callas herself remains silent on the subject, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with either claim.^[11]

Vocal registers[link]

Callas's voice was noted for its three distinct registers: Her low or chest register was extremely dark and almost baritonal in power, and she used this part of her voice for dramatic effect, often going into this register much higher on the scale than most sopranos.^[29][30] Her middle register had a peculiar and highly personal sound—"part oboe, part clarinet", as Claudia Cassidy described it^[15]—and was noted for its veiled or "bottled" sound, as if she were singing into a jug.^[29] Walter Legge attributed this sound to the "extraordinary formation of her upper palate, shaped like a Gothic arch, not the Romanesque arch of the normal mouth".^[29] The upper register was ample and bright, with an impressive extension above high C, which—in contrast to the light flute-like sound of the typical coloratura, "she would attack these notes with more vehemence and power—quite differently therefore, from the very delicate, cautious, 'white' approach of the light sopranos."^[30] Legge adds, "Even in the most difficult fioriture there were no musical or technical difficulties in this part of the voice which she could not execute with astonishing, unostentatious ease. Her chromatic runs, particularly downwards, were beautifully smooth and staccatos almost unfailingly accurate, even in the trickiest intervals. There is hardly a bar in the whole range of nineteenth century music for high soprano that seriously tested her powers."^[29] And as she demonstrated in the finale of La sonnambula on the commercial EMI set and the live recording from Cologne, she was able to execute a diminuendo on the stratospheric high E-flat, which Scott describes as "a feat unrivaled in the history of the gramophone."^[9]

Regarding Callas's soft singing, Celletti says, "In these soft passages, Callas seemed to use another voice altogether, because it acquired a great sweetness. Whether in her florid singing or in her canto spianato, that is, in long held notes without ornamentation, her mezza-voce could achieve such moving sweetness that the sound seemed to come from on high. . . I don't know, it seemed to come from the skylight of La Scala."^[30]

This combination of size, weight, range and agility was a source of amazement to Callas's own contemporaries. One of the choristers present at her La Scala debut in I vespri siciliani recalled, "My God! She came on stage sounding like our deepest contralto, Cloe Elmo. And before the evening was over, she took a high E-flat. And it was twice as strong as Toti Dal Monte's!"^[15] In the same vein, mezzo-soprano Giulietta Simionato said: "The first time we sang together was in Mexico in 1950, where she sang the top E-flat in the second-act finale of Aida. I can still remember the effect of that note in the opera house—it was like a star!"^[38] For Italian soprano Renata Tebaldi, "the most fantastic thing was the possibility for her to sing the soprano coloratura with this big voice! This was something really special. Fantastic absolutely!"^[12]

Callas's vocal registers, however, were not seamlessly joined; Walter Legge writes, "Unfortunately, it was only in quick music, particularly descending scales, that she completely mastered the art of joining the three almost incompatible voices into one unified whole, but until about 1960, she disguised those audible gear changes with cunning skill."^[29] Rodolfo Celletti states,

In certain areas of her range her voice also possessed a guttural quality. This would occur in the most delicate and troublesome areas of a soprano's voice—for instance where the lower and middle registers merge, between G and A. I would go so far as to say that here her voice had such resonances as to make one think at times of a ventriloquist. . .or else the voice could sound as though it were resonating in a rubber tube. There was another troublesome spot. . . between the middle and upper registers. Here, too, around the treble F and G, there was often something in the sound itself which was not quite right, as though the voice were not functioning properly.^[30]

As to whether these troublesome spots were due to the nature of the voice itself or to technical deficiencies, Celletti says: "Even if, when passing from one register to another, Callas produced an unpleasant sound, the technique she used for these transitions was perfect."^[30] Musicologist and critic Fedele D'Amico adds, "Callas's 'faults' were in the voice and not in the singer; they are so to speak, faults of departure but not of arrival. This is precisely Celletti's distinction between the natural quality of the voice and the technique."^[30] In 2005, Ewa Podles said of Callas, "Maybe she had three voices, maybe she had three ranges, I don’t know — I am professional singer. Nothing disturbed me, nothing! I bought everything that she offered me. Why? Because all of her voices, her registers, she used how they should be used — just to tell us something!"^[39]

Eugenio Gara states, "Much has been said about her voice, and no doubt the discussion will continue. Certainly no one could in honesty deny the harsh or "squashed" sounds, nor the wobble on the very high notes. These and others were precisely the accusations made at the time against Pasta and Malibran, two geniuses of song (as they were then called), sublime, yet imperfect. Both were brought to trial in their day. . . Yet few singers have made history in the annals of opera as these two did."^[30]

Artistry[link]

Callas's own thoughts regarding music and singing can be found at Wikiquote.

The musician[link]

Though adored by many opera enthusiasts, Callas was a controversial artist. While Callas was the great singer often dismissed simply as an actress^[40] she considered herself first and foremost "a musician, that is, the first instrument of the orchestra."^[10] Grace Bumbry states, "If I followed the musical score when she was singing, I would see every tempo marking, every dynamic marking, everything being adhered to, and at the same time, it was not antiseptic; it was something that was very beautiful and moving." ^[41] Maestro Victor de Sabata confided to Walter Legge, "If the public could understand, as we do, how deeply and utterly musical Callas is, they would be stunned",^[29] and Maestro Tullio Serafin assessed Callas's musicality as "extraordinary, almost frightening."^[42] Callas possessed an innate architectural sense of line-proportion^[15] and an uncanny feel for timing and for what one of her colleagues described as "a sense of the rhythm within the rhythm".^[4]

Regarding Callas's technical prowess, Celletti says, "We must not forget that she could tackle the whole gamut of ornamentation: staccato, trills, half-trills, gruppetti, scales, etc."^[30] D'Amico adds, "The essential virtue of Callas's technique consists of supreme mastery of an extraordinarily rich range of tone colour (that is, the fusion of dynamic range and timbre). And such mastery means total freedom of choice in its use: not being a slave to one's abilities, but rather, being able to use them at will as a means to an end."^[30] While reviewing the many recorded versions of "perhaps Verdi's ultimate challenge", the aria "D'amor sull'ali rosee" from Il Trovatore, Richard Dyer writes,

"Callas articulates all of the trills, and she binds them into the line more expressively than anyone else; they are not an ornament but a form of intensification. Part of the wonder in this performance is the chiaroscuro through her tone -- the other side of not singing full-out all the way through. One of the vocal devices that create that chiaroscuro is a varying rate of vibrato; another is her portamento, the way she connects the voice from note to note, phrase to phrase, lifting and gliding. This is never a sloppy swoop, because its intention is as musically precise as it is in great string playing. In this aria, Callas uses more portamento, and in greater variety, than any other singer. . . Callas is not creating "effects", as even her greatest rivals do. She sees the aria as a whole, "as if in an aerial view", as Sviatoslav Richter's teacher observed of his most famous pupil; simultaneously, she is on earth, standing in the courtyard of the palace of Aliaferia, floating her voice to the tower where her lover lies imprisoned."^[43]

In addition to her musical skills, Callas had a particular gift for language and the use of language in music.^[29] In recitatives, she always knew which word to emphasize and which syllable in that word to bring out.^[15] Michael Scott notes, "If we listen attentively, we note how her perfect legato enables her to suggest by musical means even the exclamation marks and commas of the text."^[9] Technically, not only did she have the capacity to perform the most difficult florid music effortlessly, but also she had the ability to use each ornament as an expressive device rather than for mere fireworks.^[39] Soprano Martina Arroyo states, "What interested me most was how she gave the runs and the cadenzas words. That always floored me. I always felt I heard her saying something – it was never just singing notes. That alone is an art."^[39] Walter Legge states that,

Most admirable of all her qualities, however, were her taste, elegance and deeply musical use of ornamentation in all its forms and complications, the weighting and length of every appoggiatura, the smooth incorporation of the turn in melodic lines, the accuracy and pacing of her trills, the seemingly inevitable timing of her portamentos, varying their curve with enchanting grace and meaning. There were innumerable exquisite felicities – minuscule portamentos from one note to its nearest neighbor, or over widespread intervals – and changes of color that were pure magic. In these aspects of bel canto she was supreme mistress of that art.^[29]

The actress[link]

Regarding Callas's acting ability, vocal coach and music critic Ira Siff remarked, "When I saw the final two Toscas she did in the old [Met], I felt like I was watching the actual story on which the opera had later been based."^[44] Callas was not, however, a realistic or verismo style actress:^[9] her physical acting was merely "subsidiary to the heavy Kunst of developing the psychology of the roles under the supervision of the music, of singing the acting... Suffering, delight, humility, hubris, despair, rhapsody—all this was musically appointed, through her use of the voice flying the text upon the notes."^[40] Seconding this opinion, verismo specialist soprano Augusta Oltrabella said, "Despite what everyone says, [Callas] was an actress in the expression of the music, and not vice versa."^[45][46] Mathew Gurewitsch adds,

In fact the essence of her art was refinement. The term seems odd for a performer whose imagination and means of expression were so prodigious. She was eminently capable of the grand gesture; still, judging strictly from the evidence of her recordings, we know (and her few existing film clips confirm) that her power flowed not from excess but from unbroken concentration, unfaltering truth in the moment. It flowed also from irreproachable musicianship. People say that Callas would not hesitate to distort a vocal line for dramatic effect. In the throes of operatic passion plenty of singers snarl, growl, whine, and shriek. Callas was not one of them. She found all she needed in the notes.^[47]

Ewa Podles likewise stated that "It's enough to hear her, I’m positive! Because she could say everything only with her voice! I can imagine everything, I can see everything in front of my eye."^[39] Opera director Sandro Sequi, who witnessed many Callas performances close-up, states, "For me, she was extremely stylized and classic, yet at the same time, human—but humanity on a higher plane of existence, almost sublime. Realism was foreign to her, and that is why she was the greatest of opera singers. After all, opera is the least realistic of theater forms... She was wasted in verismo roles, even Tosca, no matter how brilliantly she could act such roles."^[15] Scott adds, "Early nineteenth-century opera... is not merely the antithesis of reality, it also requires highly stylized acting. Callas had the perfect face for it. Her big features matched its grandiloquence and spoke volumes from a distance."^[9]

Callas bowing after a successful performance in Bellini's La Sonnambula at La Scala, 1957.

In regard to Callas's physical acting style, Nicola Rescigno states, "Maria had a way of even transforming her body for the exigencies of a role, which is a great triumph. In La traviata, everything would slope down; everything indicated sickness, fatigue, softness. Her arms would move as if they had no bones, like the great ballerinas. In Medea, everything was angular. She’d never make a soft gesture; even the walk she used was like a tiger’s walk."^[48] Sandro Sequi recalls, "She was never in a hurry. Everything was very paced, proportioned, classical, precise... She was extremely powerful but extremely stylized. Her gestures were not many... I don't think she did more than 20 gestures in a performance. But she was capable of standing 10 minutes without moving a hand or finger, compelling everyone to look at her."^[15] Edward Downes recalled Callas watching and observing her colleagues with such intensity and concentration as to make it seem that the drama was all unfolding in her head.^[14] Sir Rudolf Bing similarly recalled that in Il trovatore in Chicago, "it was Callas' quiet listening, rather than Björling's singing that made the dramatic impact... He didn't know what he was singing, but she knew."^[28]

Callas herself stated that, in Opera, Acting must be based on the Music, quoting Maestro Tullio Serafin's advice to her:

"When one wants to find a gesture, when you want to find how to act onstage, all you have to do is listen to the music. The composer has already seen to that. If you take the trouble to really listen with your Soul and with your Ears – and I say 'Soul' and 'Ears' because the Mind must work, but not too much also – you will find every gesture there."^[13]

The artist[link]

Callas's most distinguishing quality was her ability to breathe life into the characters she portrayed,^[15] or in the words of Matthew Gurewitsch, "Most mysterious among her many gifts, Callas had the genius to translate the minute particulars of a life into tone of voice."^[47] Italian critic Eugenio Gara adds:

Her secret is in her ability to transfer to the musical plane the suffering of the character she plays, the nostalgic longing for lost happiness, the anxious fluctuation between hope and despair, between pride and supplication, between irony and generosity, which in the end dissolve into a superhuman inner pain. The most diverse and opposite of sentiments, cruel deceptions, ambitious desires, burning tenderness, grievous sacrifices, all the torments of the heart, acquire in her singing that mysterious truth, I would like to say, that psychological sonority, which is the primary attraction of opera.^[30]

Ethan Mordden writes, "It was a flawed voice. But then Callas sought to capture in her singing not just beauty but a whole humanity, and within her system, the flaws feed the feeling, the sour plangency and the strident defiance becoming aspects of the canto. They were literally defects of her voice; she bent them into advantages of her singing."^[40] Maestro Giulini believes, "If melodrama is the ideal unity of the trilogy of words, music, and action, it is impossible to imagine an artist in whom these three elements were more together than Callas."^[9] He recalls that during Callas's performances of La traviata, "reality was onstage. What stood behind me, the audience, auditorium, La Scala itself, seemed artifice. Only that which transpired on stage was truth, life itself."^[15] Sir Rudolf Bing expressed similar sentiments:

Once one heard and saw Maria Callas—one can't really distinguish it—in a part, it was very hard to enjoy any other artist, no matter how great, afterwards, because she imbued every part she sang and acted with such incredible personality and life. One move of her hand was more than another artist could do in a whole act.^[12]

To Maestro Antonino Votto, Callas was

The last great artist. When you think this woman was nearly blind, and often sang standing a good 150 feet from the podium. But her sensitivity! Even if she could not see, she sensed the music and always came in exactly with my downbeat. When we rehearsed, she was so precise, already note-perfect... She was not just a singer, but a complete artist. It's foolish to discuss her as a voice. She must be viewed totally—as a complex of music, drama, movement. There is no one like her today. She was an esthetic phenomenon.^[15]

Callas-Tebaldi controversy[link]

During the early 1950s, controversy arose regarding a supposed rivalry between Callas and Renata Tebaldi, an Italian lyrico spinto soprano renowned for the ravishing beauty of her voice.^[15] The contrast between Callas's often unconventional vocal qualities and Tebaldi's classically beautiful sound resurrected an argument as old as opera itself, namely, beauty of sound versus the expressive use of sound.^[15][30]

This "rivalry" reached a fever pitch in the mid-1950s, at times even engulfing the two women themselves, who were said by their more fanatical followers to have engaged in verbal barbs in each other's direction. Tebaldi was quoted as saying, "I have one thing that Callas doesn't have: a heart"^[6] while Callas was quoted in Time magazine as saying that comparing her with Tebaldi was like "comparing Champagne with Cognac. No, with Coca Cola."^[49] However, witnesses to the interview stated that Callas only said "champagne with cognac", and it was a bystander who quipped, "No, with Coca-Cola", but the Time reporter attributed the latter comment to Callas.^[6]

According to John Ardoin, however, these two singers should never have been compared.^[15] Tebaldi was trained by Carmen Melis, a noted verismo specialist, and she was rooted in the early 20th century Italian school of singing just as firmly as Callas was rooted in 19th century bel canto.^[15] Callas was a dramatic soprano, whereas Tebaldi considered herself essentially a lyric soprano. Callas and Tebaldi generally sang a different repertoire: in the early years of her career, Callas concentrated on the heavy dramatic soprano roles and later in her career on the bel canto repertoire, whereas Tebaldi concentrated on late Verdi and verismo roles, where her limited upper extension^[30] and her lack of a florid technique were not issues.^[15] They shared a few roles, including Tosca in Puccini's opera and La Gioconda, which Tebaldi performed only late in her career.

The alleged rivalry aside, Callas made remarks appreciative of Tebaldi, and vice versa. During an interview with Norman Ross in Chicago, Callas said, "I admire Tebaldi's tone; it's beautiful—also some beautiful phrasing. Sometimes, I actually wish I had her voice." Francis Robinson of the Met wrote of an incident in which Tebaldi asked him to recommend a recording of La Gioconda in order to help her learn the role. Being fully aware of the alleged rivalry, he recommended Zinka Milanov's version. A few days later, he went to visit Tebaldi, only to find her sitting by the speakers, listening intently to Callas's recording. She then looked up at him and asked, "Why didn't you tell me Maria's was the best?"^[50]

Callas visited Tebaldi after a performance of Adriana Lecouvreur at the Met in the late 1960s, and the two were reunited. In 1978, Tebaldi spoke warmly of her late colleague and summarized this rivalry:

This rivality was really building from the people of the newspapers and the fans. But I think it was very good for both of us, because the publicity was so big and it created a very big interest about me and Maria and was very good in the end. But I don’t know why they put this kind of rivality, because the voice was very different. She was really something unusual. And I remember that I was very young artist too, and I stayed near the radio every time that I know that there was something on radio by Maria.^[12]

Vocal decline[link]

Several singers have opined that the heavy roles undertaken in her early years damaged Callas's voice.^[45] The mezzo-soprano Giulietta Simionato, Callas's close friend and frequent colleague, stated that she told Callas that she felt that the early heavy roles led to a weakness in the diaphragm and subsequent difficulty in controlling the upper register.^[51]

Louise Caselotti, who worked with Callas in 1946 and 1947, prior to her Italian debut, felt that it was not the heavy roles that hurt Callas's voice, but the lighter ones.^[4] Several singers have suggested that Callas's heavy use of the chest voice led to stridency and unsteadiness with the high notes.^[45] In his book, Callas's husband Meneghini wrote that Callas suffered an unusually early onset of menopause, which could have affected her voice. Soprano Carol Neblett once said, "A woman sings with her ovaries – you're only as good as your hormones."^[40]

Critic Henry Pleasants has stated that it was a loss of physical strength and breath-support that led to Callas's vocal problems, saying,

Singing, and especially opera singing, requires physical strength. Without it, the singer's respiratory functions can no longer support the steady emissions of breath essential to sustaining the production of focused tone. The breath escapes, but it is no longer the power behind the tone, or is only partially and intermittently . The result is a breathy sound—tolerable but hardly beautiful—when the singer sings lightly, and a voice spread and squally when under pressure.^[52]

In the same vein, Joan Sutherland, who heard Callas throughout the 1950s, said in a BBC interview,

[Hearing Callas in Norma in 1952] was a shock, a wonderful shock. You just got shivers up and down the spine. It was a bigger sound in those earlier performances, before she lost weight. I think she tried very hard to recreate the sort of “fatness” of the sound which she had when she was as fat as she was. But when she lost the weight, she couldn’t seem to sustain the great sound that she had made, and the body seemed to be too frail to support that sound that she was making. Oh, but it was oh so exciting. It was thrilling. I don’t think that anyone who heard Callas after 1955 really heard the Callas voice.^[53]

Michael Scott has proposed that Callas's loss of strength and breath support was directly caused by her rapid and progressive weight-loss,^[9] something that was noted even in her prime. Of her 1958 recital in Chicago, Robert Detmer would write, "There were sounds fearfully uncontrolled, forced beyond the too-slim singer's present capacity to support or sustain."^[17]

Photos and videos of Callas during her heavy era show a very upright posture with the shoulders relaxed and held back. On all videos of Callas from the period after her weight loss, "we watch... the constantly sinking, depressed chest and hear the resulting deterioration".^[54] This continual change in posture has been cited as visual proof of a progressive loss of breath support.^[9][39]

Commercial and bootleg recordings of Callas from the late 1940s to 1953—the period during which she sang the heaviest dramatic soprano roles—show no decline in the fabric of the voice, no loss in volume and no unsteadiness or shrinkage in the upper register.^[18] Of her December 1952 Lady Macbeth—coming after five years of singing the most strenuous dramatic soprano repertoire—Peter Dragadze would write for Opera, "Callas's voice since last season has improved a great deal, the second passagio on the high B-Natural and C has now completely cleared, giving her an equally colored scale from top to bottom."^[15] And of her performance of Medea a year later, John Ardoin writes, "The performance displays Callas in as secure and free a voice as she will be found at any point in her career. The many top B's have a brilliant ring, and she handles the treacherous tessitura like an eager thoroughbred."^[18]

In recordings from 1954 (immediately after her 80-pound weight loss) and thereafter, "not only would the instrument lose its warmth and become thin and acidulous, but the altitudinous passages would to her no longer come easily."^[9] It is also at this time that unsteady top notes first begin to appear.^[18] Walter Legge, who produced nearly all of Callas's EMI/Angel recordings, states that Callas "ran into a patch of vocal difficulties as early as 1954": during the recording of La forza del destino, done immediately after the weight loss, the "wobble had become so pronounced" that he told Callas they "would have to give away seasickness pills with every side".^[29] When asked whether he felt the weight loss affected Callas's voice, Richard Bonynge stated, "I don't feel it, I know it did. I heard her Norma in 1953, before she lost all that weight, and then again afterward, and the difference was incredible. Even more incredible was that the critics didn't write about it. When Callas was at her best vocally, she was fat, but she got only a quarter of the recognition that she got after she had become thin and was a great star." ^[55]

There were others, however, who felt that the voice had benefitted from the weight loss. Of her performance of Norma in Chicago in 1954, Claudia Cassidy would write, "there is a slight unsteadiness in some of the sustained upper notes. but to me her voice is more beautiful in color, more even through the range, than it used to be".^[17] And at her performance of the same opera in London in 1957 (her first performance at Covent Garden after the weight loss), critics again felt her voice had changed for the better, that it had now supposedly become a more precise instrument, with a new focus.^[17] Many of her most critically acclaimed appearances are from the period 1954–1958 (Norma, La Traviata, Sonnambula and Lucia of 1955, Anna Bolena of 1957, Medea of 1958, to name a few).

Callas's close friend and colleague Tito Gobbi thought that her vocal problems all stemmed from her state of mind:

I don’t think anything happened to her voice. I think she only lost confidence. She was at the top of a career that a human being could desire, and she felt enormous responsibility. She was obliged to give her best every night, and maybe she felt she wasn't [able] any more, and she lost confidence. I think this was the beginning of the end of this career.^[12]

In support of Gobbi's assertion, a bootleg recording of Callas rehearsing Beethoven's aria "Ah! Perfido" and parts of Verdi's La forza del destino shortly before her death shows her voice to be in much better shape than much of her 1960s recordings and far healthier than the 1970s concerts with Giuseppe Di Stefano.^[18]

Soprano Renée Fleming has stated that videos of Callas in the late 1950s and early 1960s reveal a posture that betrays breath-support problems:

I have a theory about what caused her vocal decline, but it's more from watching her sing than from listening. I really think it was her weight loss that was so dramatic and so quick. It's not the weight loss per se... But if one uses the weight for support, and then it's suddenly gone and one doesn't develop another musculature for support, it can be very hard on the voice. And you can't estimate the toll that emotional turmoil will take as well. I was told, by somebody who knew her well, that the way Callas held her arms to her solar plexus [allowed her] to push and create some kind of support. If she were a soubrette, it would never have been an issue. But she was singing the most difficult repertoire, the stuff that requires the most stamina, the most strength.^[39]

Dramatic soprano Deborah Voigt, who lost 135 pounds after gastric bypass surgery, expressed similar thoughts concerning her own voice and body:

Much of what I did with my weight was very natural, vocally. Now I've got a different body—there's not as much of me around. My diaphragm function, the way my throat feels, is not compromised in any way. But I do have to think about it more now. I have to remind myself to keep my ribs open. I have to remind myself, if my breath starts to stack. When I took a breath before, the weight would kick in and give it that extra Whhoomf! Now it doesn't do that. If I don’t remember to get rid of the old air and re-engage the muscles, the breath starts stacking, and that's when you can't get your phrase, you crack high notes.^[56]

Callas herself attributed her problems to a loss of confidence brought about by a loss of breath support, even though she does not make the connection between her weight and her breath support. In an April 1977 interview with journalist Philippe Caloni, she stated,

"My best recordings were made when I was skinny, and I say skinny, not slim, because I worked a lot and couldn't gain weight back; I became even too skinny. . . I had my greatest successes--Lucia, Sonnambula, Medea, Anna Bolena--when I was skinny as a nail. Even for my first time here in Paris in 1958 when the show was broadcast through Eurovision, I was skinny. Really skinny." ^[57]

And shortly before her death, Callas confided her own thoughts on her vocal problems to Peter Dragadze:

I never lost my voice, but I lost strength in my diaphragm. ... Because of those organic complaints, I lost my courage and boldness. My vocal cords were and still are in excellent condition, but my 'sound boxes' have not been working well even though I have been to all the doctors. The result was that I overstrained my voice, and that caused it to wobble. (Gente, October 1, 1977)^[4]

Whether Callas's vocal decline was due to ill health, early menopause, over-use and abuse of her voice, loss of breath-support, loss of confidence, or weight loss will continue to be debated. Whatever the cause may have been, her singing career was effectively over by age 40, and even at the time of her death at age 53, according to Walter Legge, "she ought still to have been singing magnificently".^[29]

Scandals and later career[link]

The photo that gave rise to the myth of Callas as a "Tigress".

The latter half of Callas's career was marked by a number of scandals. During performances of Madama Butterfly in Chicago, Callas was confronted by a process server who handed her papers about a lawsuit brought by Eddy Bagarozy, who claimed he was her agent. Callas was photographed with her mouth turned in a furious snarl. The photo was sent around the world and gave rise to the myth of Callas as a temperamental prima donna and a "Tigress". In 1956, just before her debut at the Metropolitan Opera, Time ran a damaging cover story about Callas, with special attention paid to her difficult relationship with her mother and some unpleasant exchanges between the two.

In 1957, Callas was starring as Amina in La sonnambula at the Edinburgh International Festival with the forces of La Scala. Her contract was for four performances, but due to the great success of the series, La Scala decided to put on a fifth performance. Callas told the La Scala officials that she was physically exhausted and that she had already committed to a previous engagement, a party thrown for her by her friend Elsa Maxwell in Venice. Despite this, La Scala announced a fifth performance, with Callas billed as Amina. Callas refused to stay and went on to Venice. Despite the fact that she had fulfilled her contract, she was accused of walking out on La Scala and the festival. La Scala officials did not defend Callas or inform the press that the additional performance was not approved by Callas. Renata Scotto took over the part, which was the start of her international career.

In January 1958, Callas was to open the Rome Opera House season with Norma, with Italy's president in attendance. The day before the opening night, Callas alerted the management that she was not well and that they should have a standby ready. She was told "No one can double Callas".^[12] After being treated by doctors, she felt better on the day of performance and decided to go ahead with the opera.^[9] A survived bootleg recording of the first act reveals Callas sounding ill.^[18] Feeling that her voice was slipping away, she felt that she could not complete the performance, and consequently, she cancelled after the first act. She was accused of walking out on the president of Italy in a fit of temperament, and pandemonium broke out. Press coverage aggravated the situation. A newsreel included file footage of Callas from 1955 sounding well, intimating the footage was of rehearsals for the Rome Norma, with the voiceover narration, "Here she is in rehearsal, sounding perfectly healthy", followed by "If you want to hear Callas, don't get all dressed up. Just go to a rehearsal; she usually stays to the end of those."^[58] The scandal became notorious as the "Rome Walkout". Callas brought a lawsuit against the Rome Opera House, but by the time the case was settled thirteen years later and the Rome Opera was found to be at fault for having refused to provide an understudy,^[40] Callas's career was already over.

Callas's relationship with La Scala had also started to become strained after the Edinburgh incident, and this effectively severed her major ties with her artistic home. Later in 1958, Callas and Rudolf Bing were in discussion about her season at the Met. She was scheduled to perform in Verdi's La traviata and in Macbeth, two very different operas which almost require totally different singers. Callas and the Met could not reach an agreement, and before the opening of Medea in Dallas, Bing sent a telegram to Callas terminating her contract. Headlines of "Bing Fires Callas" appeared in newspapers around the world.^[6] Maestro Nicola Rescigno later recalled, "That night, she came to the theater, looking like an empress: she wore an ermine thing that draped to the floor, and she had every piece of jewellery she ever owned. And she said, 'You all know what's happened. Tonight, for me, is a very difficult night, and I will need the help of every one of you.' Well, she proceeded to give a performance [of Medea] that was historical."^[59]

Bing would later say that Callas was the most difficult artist he ever worked with, "because she was so much more intelligent. Other artists, you could get around. But Callas you could not get around. She knew exactly what she wanted, and why she wanted it."^[12] Despite this, Bing's admiration for Callas never wavered, and in September 1959, he sneaked into La Scala in order to listen to Callas record La Gioconda for EMI.^[6] Callas and Bing reconciled in the mid 1960s, and Callas returned to the Met for two performances of Tosca with her friend Tito Gobbi.

Maria Callas during her final tour in Amsterdam in 1973.

In her final years as a singer, she sang in Medea, Norma, and Tosca, most notably her Paris, New York, and London Toscas of January–February 1964, and her last performance on stage, on July 5, 1965, at Covent Garden. A television film of Act 2 of the Covent Garden Tosca of 1964 was broadcast in Britain on February 9, 1964, giving a rare view of Callas in performance and, specifically, of her on-stage collaboration with Tito Gobbi.

In 1969, the Italian filmmaker Pier Paolo Pasolini cast Callas in her only non-operatic acting role, as the Greek mythological character of Medea, in his film by that name. The production was grueling, and according to the account in Ardoin's Callas, the Art and the Life, Callas is said to have fainted after a day of strenuous running back and forth on a mudflat in the sun. The film was not a commercial success, but as Callas's only film appearance, it documents her stage presence.

From October 1971 to March 1972, Callas gave a series of master classes at the Juilliard School in New York. These classes later formed the basis of Terrence McNally's 1995 play Master Class. Callas staged a series of joint recitals in Europe in 1973 and in the U.S., South Korea, and Japan in 1974 with the tenor Giuseppe Di Stefano. Critically, this was a musical disaster owing to both performers' worn-out voices.^[6] However, the tour was an enormous popular success. Audiences thronged to hear the two performers, who had so often appeared together in their prime. Her final public performance was on November 11, 1974, in Sapporo, Japan.

Onassis and the final years[link]

In 1957, while still married to husband Giovanni Battista Meneghini, Callas was introduced to Greek shipping magnate Aristotle Onassis at a party given in her honour by Elsa Maxwell after a performance in Donizetti's Anna Bolena.^[9] The affair that followed received much publicity in the popular press, and in November 1959, Callas left her husband. Michael Scott asserts that Onassis was not why Callas largely abandoned her career, but that he offered her a way out of a career that was made increasingly difficult by scandals and by vocal resources that were diminishing at an alarming rate.^[9] Franco Zeffirelli, on the other hand, recalls asking Callas in 1963 why she had not practiced her singing, and Callas responding that "I have been trying to fulfill my life as a woman."^[12] According to one of her biographers, Nicholas Gage, Callas and Onassis had a child, a boy, who died hours after he was born on March 30, 1960.^[60] In his book about his wife, Meneghini states categorically that Maria Callas was unable to bear children.^[61] As well, various sources dismiss Gage's claim, as they note that the birth certificates Gage used to prove this "secret child" were issued in 1998, twenty-one years after Callas's death.^[62] Still other sources claim that Callas had at least one abortion while involved with Onassis.^[63] In 1966, Callas renounced her U.S. citizenship at the American Embassy in Paris, to facilitate the end of her marriage to Meneghini.^[4][64] The relationship ended nine years later in 1968, when Onassis left Callas in favour of Jacqueline Kennedy. However, the Onassis family's private secretary, Kiki, writes in her memoir that even while Aristotle was with Jackie, he frequently met up with Maria in Paris, where they resumed what had now become a clandestine affair.^[60]

The last residence of Maria Callas in Paris.

Callas spent her last years living largely in isolation in Paris and died at age 53 on September 16, 1977, of a heart attack. A funerary liturgy was held at Agios Stephanos (St. Stephen's) Greek Orthodox Cathedral on rue Georges-Bizet, Paris, on September 20, 1977, and her ashes were interred at the Père Lachaise Cemetery. After being stolen and later recovered, in the spring of 1979 they were scattered over the Aegean Sea, off the coast of Greece, according to her wish.

During a 1978 interview, upon being asked "Was it worth it to Maria Callas? She was a lonely, unhappy, often difficult woman," music critic and Callas's friend John Ardoin replied,

That is such a difficult question. There are times when certain people are blessed—and cursed—with an extraordinary gift, in which the gift is almost greater than the human being. Callas was one of these people. It was as if her own wishes, her life, her own happiness were all subservient to this incredible, incredible gift that she was given, this gift that reached out and taught us things about music that we knew very well, but showed us new things, things we never thought about, new possibilities. I think that is why singers admire her so. I think that’s why conductors admire her so. I know it’s why I admire her so. And she paid a tremendously difficult and expensive price for this career. I don’t think she always understood what she did or why she did it. She usually had a tremendous effect on audiences and on people. But it was not something she could always live with gracefully or happily. I once said to her “It must be a very enviable thing to be Maria Callas.” And she said, “No, it’s a very terrible thing to be Maria Callas, because it’s a question of trying to understand something you can never really understand.” She couldn’t really explain what she did. It was all done by instinct. It was something embedded deep within her.^[65]

Legacy[link]

Portrait of Maria Callas painted by Oleg Karuvits in 2004.

In 1998, a photo of Maria Callas was part of the poster series commissioned by Apple Computer for their “Think Different” advertising campaign. Previous she was shown in the commercial.

In late 2004, opera and film director Franco Zeffirelli made what many consider a bizarre claim that Callas may have been murdered by her confidant, Greek pianist Vasso Devetzi, in order to gain control of Callas's United States $9,000,000 estate. A more likely explanation is that Callas's death was due to heart failure brought on by (possibly unintentional) overuse of Mandrax (methaqualone), a sleeping aid.

According to biographer Stelios Galatopoulos, Devetzi insinuated herself into Callas's trust and acted virtually as her agent. This claim is corroborated by Iakintha (Jackie) Callas in her book Sisters,^[66] wherein she asserts that Devetzi conned Maria out of control of half of her estate, while promising to establish the Maria Callas Foundation to provide scholarships for young singers. After hundreds of thousands of dollars had allegedly vanished, Devetzi finally did establish the foundation.

In 2002, filmmaker Zeffirelli produced and directed a film in Callas's memory. Callas Forever was a highly fictionalized motion picture in which Callas was played by Fanny Ardant. It depicted the last months of Callas's life, when she was seduced into the making of a movie of Carmen, lip-synching to her 1964 recording of that opera.

Terrence McNally's play Master Class, which premiered in 1995, presents Callas as a glamorous, commanding, larger-than-life, caustic, and surprisingly drop-dead funny pedagogue holding a voice master class. Alternately dismayed and impressed by the students who parade before her, she retreats into recollections about the glories of her own life and career, culminating in a monologue about sacrifice taken for art. Several selections of Callas actually singing are played during the recollections.

In 2007, Callas was posthumously awarded the Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award. In the same year, she was voted the greatest soprano of all time by BBC Music Magazine.

The 30th anniversary of the death of Maria Callas was selected as the main motif for a high value euro collectors' coin: the €10 Greek Maria Callas commemorative coin, minted in 2007. Her image is shown in the obverse of the coin, while on the reverse the National Emblem of Greece with her signature is depicted.

On December 2, 2008, on the 85th anniversary of Callas's birth, a group of Greek and Italian officials unveiled a plaque in her honor at Flower Hospital (now the Terence Cardinal Cooke Health Care Center) where she was born. Made of Carrara marble and engraved in Italy, the plaque reads, "Maria Callas was born in this hospital on December 2, 1923. These halls heard for the first time the musical notes of her voice, a voice which has conquered the world. To this great interpreter of universal language of music, with gratitude."^[67]

Gus Van Sant's 2008 movie Milk features selected recordings of Callas' rendition of Tosca, which, it is suggested, was an opera of which Harvey Milk was particularly fond. Similarly, Jonathan Demme's 1993 movie Philadelphia features a recording by Callas. The 2011 film The Iron Lady, about former British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, includes a recording of Callas singing Norma's famous aria, Casta Diva.

In 2012, Callas was voted into Gramophone Magazine's Hall of Fame.^[68]

A number of musical artists including Anna Calvi, Linda Ronstadt, Patti Smith and Emmylou Harris have mentioned Callas as a great musical influence,^[69][70][71] and some have paid tribute to Callas in their own music:

• R.E.M. mention Callas in their song "E-Bow the Letter" from the album New Adventures in Hi-Fi.
• Enigma named a song which featured samples of Callas's voice, on their 1991 album MCMXC a.D., "Callas Went Away".
• Buffalo Tom's 2007 album Three Easy Pieces contains the song "C.C. and Callas", which appears to be about songwriter Chris Colbourn's reflections on Callas.
• The Fatima Mansions's 1994 release Lost in the Former West featured the single "The Loyaliser", where a passing reference is made to Callas.
• La Diva, on Celine Dion's 2007 French language album D'elles is about Maria Callas. The track samples the 1956 recording of La Boheme.
• Singer/songwriter Rufus Wainwright mentions Callas in his song "Beauty Mark", from his album Rufus Wainwright. Rufus is known to be an opera fan, particularly passionate about Callas's work. In an interview to the Spanish newspaper El País, he declared that one of the things anyone should do at least once in a lifetime was to listen to a Maria Callas album after a night out, if possible during sunrise. On Jonathan Ross' Radio 2 show he stated that Lord Harewood's interview of Callas is part of the inspiration for his opera Prima Donna.
• Jason Mraz lists her performance of "O mio babbino caro" as a romantic musical influence for him.^[72]
• Her recording of "O mio babbino caro" is also heard in a 2010 UBS commercial featuring unique people from recent history.
• Ben Sollee mentions her in his song "Mute with a Bullhorn."
• Band Faithless sampled her voice on the intro to one of their songs on Reverence, "Drifting Away".
• The Mountain Goats mention Callas in their song "Horseradish Road" from the album The Coroner's Gambit.
• Tom Stoppard's 1982 play The Real Thing includes the line, 'I was taken once to Covent Garden to hear a woman called Callas in a sort of foreign musical with no dancing which people were donating kidneys to get tickets for... Not even close. That woman would have had a job getting into the top thirty if she was hyped.'
• She can be heard singing selections from Norma at several points in Lorenzo's Oil.

Notable recordings[link]

All recordings are in mono unless otherwise indicated. Live performances are typically available on multiple labels.

• Verdi, Nabucco, conducted by Vittorio Gui, live performance, Napoli, 20 December 1949
• Verdi, Il trovatore, conducted by Guido Picco, live performance, Mexico City, June 20, 1950
• Verdi, Aida, conducted by Oliviero De Fabritiis, live performance, Palacio de Bellas Artes, Mexico City, July 3, 1951
• Ponchielli, La Gioconda, conducted by Antonino Votto, studio recording for Fonit Cetra, September 1952
• Bellini, Norma, conducted by Vittorio Gui, live performance, Covent Garden, London, November 18, 1952
• Verdi, Macbeth, conducted by Victor de Sabata, live performance, La Scala, Milan, December 7, 1952
• Bellini, I puritani, conducted by Tullio Serafin, studio recording for EMI, March–April 1953
• Mascagni, Cavalleria rusticana, conducted by Tullio Serafin, studio recording for EMI, August 1953
• Puccini, Tosca, conducted by Victor de Sabata, studio recording for EMI, August 1953.^[73]
• Verdi, La traviata, conducted by Gabriele Santini, studio recording for Fonit Cetra, September 1953
• Cherubini, Medea, conducted by Leonard Bernstein, live performance, La Scala, Milan, December 10, 1953
• Leoncavallo, Pagliacci, conducted by Tullio Serafin, studio recording for EMI, June 1954
• Spontini, La vestale, conducted by Antonino Votto, live performance, La Scala, Milan, December 7, 1954
• Verdi, La traviata, conducted by Carlo Maria Giulini, live performance, La Scala, Milan, May 28, 1955
• Puccini, Madama Butterfly, conducted by Herbert von Karajan, studio recording for EMI, August 1955
• Verdi, Aida, conducted by Tullio Serafin, studio recording for EMI, August 1955
• Verdi, Rigoletto, conducted by Tullio Serafin, studio recording for EMI, September 1955
• Donizetti, Lucia di Lammermoor, conducted by Herbert von Karajan, live performance, Berlin, September 29, 1955
• Bellini, Norma, conducted by Antonino Votto, live performance, La Scala, Milan, December 7, 1955.
• Verdi, Il trovatore, conducted by Herbert von Karajan, studio recording for EMI, August 1956
• Puccini, La bohème, conducted by Antonino Votto, studio recording for EMI, August–September 1956. Like her later recording of Carmen, this was her only performance of the complete opera, as she never appeared onstage in it.
• Verdi, Un ballo in maschera, conducted by Antonino Votto, studio recording for EMI, September 1956
• Rossini, The Barber of Seville, conducted by Alceo Galliera, studio recording for EMI in stereo, February 1957
• Bellini, La sonnambula, conducted by Antonino Votto, studio recording for EMI, March 1957
• Donizetti, Anna Bolena, conducted by Gianandrea Gavazzeni, live performance, La Scala, Milan, April 14, 1957
• Bellini, La sonnambula, conducted by Antonino Votto, live performance, Cologne, July 4, 1957
• Puccini, Turandot, conducted by Tullio Serafin, studio recording for EMI, July 1957
• Cherubini, Medea, conducted by Tullio Serafin, studio recording for Ricordi in stereo, September 1957
• Verdi, Un ballo in maschera, conducted by Gianandrea Gavazzeni, live performance, La Scala, Milan, December 7, 1957
• Verdi, La traviata, conducted by Franco Ghione, live performance, Lisbon, March 27, 1958
• Mad Scenes (excerpts from Anna Bolena, Bellini's Il pirata and Ambroise Thomas's Hamlet), conducted by Nicola Rescigno, studio recording for EMI in stereo, September 1958
• Cherubini, Medea conducted by Nicola Rescigno, live performance at the Dallas Civic Opera in 1958; considered to be Callas's most notable performance of Cherubini's opera.
• Ponchielli, La Gioconda, conducted by Antonino Votto, studio recording for EMI in stereo, September 1959
• Puccini, Tosca, conducted by Carlo Felice Cillario, live performance, London, January 1964
• Bizet, Carmen, conducted by Georges Prêtre, studio recording for EMI in stereo, 1964. It is her only performance of the role, and her only performance of the complete opera; she never appeared in it onstage. The recording used the recitatives added after Bizet's death. Callas's performance caused critic Harold C. Schonberg to speculate in his book The Glorious Ones that Callas perhaps should have sung mezzo roles instead of simply soprano ones.
• Puccini, Tosca, conducted by Georges Prêtre, studio recording for EMI in stereo, December 1964.

References[link]

Bibliography[link]

• Stassinopoulos, Arianna, Maria Callas: The Woman Behind The Legend, New York: Simon and Schuster, 1981, ISBN 0-671-25583-5

External links[link]

Wikiquote has a collection of quotations related to: Maria Callas

Wikimedia Commons has media related to: Maria Callas

• Callas/ Maria Callas at the Open Directory Project

Risë Stevens ( /ˈriːsə/; born June 11, 1913, New York City) is a retired American operatic mezzo-soprano.

Professional life[link]

Born Risë Steenberg to Christian and Sarah (née Mechanic) Steenberg, known as "Sadie". Her father was of Norwegian Lutheran descent and her mother was Jewish, of Polish and Russian descent. She had a younger brother, Lewis "Bud" Steenberg. She studied at New York's Juilliard School for three years. She went to Vienna, where she was trained by Marie Gutheil-Schoder and Herbert Graf. She made her début as Mignon in Prague in 1936 and stayed there until 1938, also appearing in guest appearances at the Vienna State Opera.^[1]

She was engaged at the Teatro Colón in 1938 (as Octavian) and was invited to the Glyndebourne Festival in 1939 where she was heard as Dorabella and Cherubino. In 1938 she made her début at the Metropolitan Opera as Mignon. Three days later, she sang Octavian opposite Lotte Lehmann. The film industry in Hollywood produced several films for her, including The Chocolate Soldier (1941) with Nelson Eddy and Going My Way (1944) with Bing Crosby, the latter film crediting Stevens as a contralto.

For over two decades (until 1961) Stevens was the Met's leading mezzo-soprano and the only mezzo to command the top billing (and commensurate fees) normally awarded only to star sopranos and tenors. Her most successful roles there included Cherubino, Octavian, Dalila, Laura, Hänsel and Marina. She was especially celebrated for her Carmen, which she both performed and recorded several times. She also appeared in Paris, London, at La Scala and at Glyndebourne. Her last performance was as Carmen, at the Met in 1961.^{[citation needed]}

In 1962, she recorded the voice of Glinda for Journey Back to Oz, but the production ran out of money and was halted for more than four years. It was only after the Filmation studio had made profits on their numerous television series that they were able to finish the project (which was copyrighted 1971, released in 1972 in the United Kingdom and in 1974 in the United States). After her retirement from the opera stage, Stevens served as General Manager of the Metropolitan Opera National Company until 1966 and later coached the new generation of singers at the Met. Stevens made occasional television appearances too, including a guest-starring role on NBC's The Martha Raye Show.

On October 22, 1977, Stevens was awarded the prestigious University of Pennsylvania Glee Club Award of Merit.^[2] Established in 1964, this award sought "to bring a declaration of appreciation to an individual each year that has made a significant contribution to the world of music and helped to create a climate in which our talents may find valid expression".

Film[link]

Stevens was a part of a number of Hollywood productions, her most memorable being in the Oscar winning film "Going My Way" alongside costars Bing Crosby and Barry Fitzgerald.

• 1974 - Journey Back to Oz as Glinda, the Good Witch (voice)
• 1958 - Little Women (TV movie) as Margaret March
• 1958 - Hansel and Gretel (TV movie) as Mother
• 1956 - Producers' Showcase (TV series) as Carmen in Carmen excerpt
• 1955 - The Chocolate Soldier (TV movie) as Nadina
• 1952 - Carmen (TV movie) as Carmen
• 1949 - Der Rosenkavalier (TV movie) as Octavian
• 1944 - Going My Way as Genevieve Linden
• 1941 - The Chocolate Soldier as Maria Lanyi, Karl's Wife

Family[link]

Stevens was married to actor Walter Surovy (1910–2001) from 1939 until his death. Their only child is their son, actor Nicolas Surovy (b. 1944).

References[link]

1. ^ Pennino, John. "Risë Stevens: A Life in Music". ISBN 1-880909-75-8. http://www.baskervillepublishers.com. 
2. ^ "The University of Pennsylvania Glee Club Award of Merit Recipients". http://www.dolphin.upenn.edu/gleeclub/MEMBERS_merit.html. 

Sources[link]

This article lacks ISBNs for the books listed in it. Please make it easier to conduct research by listing ISBNs. If the {{Cite book}} or {{citation}} templates are in use, you may add ISBNs automatically, or discuss this issue on the talk page. (May 2012)

• Erna Berger, Risë Stevens: American mezzo-soprano
• Kyle Crichton, Subway to the Met: Risë Stevens' Own Story (New York: Doubleday, 1959)

External links[link]

• Risë Stevens at the Internet Movie Database
• Going My Way (1944) at the Internet Movie Database

This article includes a list of references, related reading or external links, but its sources remain unclear because it lacks inline citations. Please improve this article by introducing more precise citations. (February 2010)

Johan Jonatan "Jussi" Björling (5 February 1911^[1] – 9 September 1960) was a Swedish tenor. One of the leading operatic singers of the 20th century, Björling appeared for many years at the Metropolitan Opera in New York City and less frequently at the major European opera houses, including the Royal Opera House in London and La Scala in Milan.

Biography[link]

Björling (surname also spelled as "Bjoerling" and "Bjorling" in English-language sources) was born in Borlänge, Dalarna, Sweden, in February 1911. The midwife's register shows he was born on 5 February; however, the church baptism records erroneously show 2 February, and this was the day on which he celebrated his birthday throughout his life.^[1] He was initially taught to sing by his father, David, an accomplished vocalist, and made his debut public appearance at the age of four with the Björling Male Quartet. The group performed in concerts throughout Sweden and the United States for eleven and a half years. He later studied opera with John Forsell.

Björling performing at Skansen, Stockholm in 1960.

Björling made his professional operatic debut as the Lamplighter in Manon Lescaut at the Royal Swedish Opera in Stockholm in 1930. This was soon followed by Don Ottavio in Mozart's Don Giovanni, Arnold in Rossini's William Tell and Almaviva in Rossini's The Barber of Seville. This in turn led to engagements in Europe and the United States. Björling made his American concert debut in Carnegie Hall in 1937; the following year, he made his debut at the Metropolitan Opera as Rodolfo in La bohème.

Björling went on to become one of the principal singers at the Metropolitan Opera during the 1940s and 1950s, with an interruption during World War II. He sang many major tenor roles in operas in the French and Italian repertoire, including Il trovatore, Rigoletto, Aida, Un ballo in maschera, Pagliacci, Cavalleria rusticana, Faust, Roméo et Juliette, La bohème, Madama Butterfly, Tosca, and Manon Lescaut.