Violence Against Men: The Age of the Castrato

by Georg Predota   , Interlude

Fairy tales normally start with “Once upon a Time,” and generally end with “and they lived happily ever after.” But some of the supposed musical fairy tales I’ve been reading about are not nice stories at all. I am talking about countless young boys who underwent castration for musical purposes. What a ghastly convention practiced almost exclusively in Italy throughout the 17th and 18th centuries. Historians tell us, “the taste for castrato voices arose mainly because in large parts of Italy, including the Vatican, women’s voices were not allowed in church.” Since puberty turned choirboys into males and falsettists were considered unsatisfying, the horrid practice began. In a disgusting game of twisting your arm, princely states, leading churches or singing companies approached the parents of a boy who was considered the most talented singer in his church choir. Boys were generally recruited before the age of twelve and from the poorest areas and the poorest families. Since the leading castratos were among the most famous and most highly paid musicians in Europe, it supposedly offered great financial security for many families facing starvation.

Alessandro Moreschi, 1900

Surgeons used minimal anaesthesia while performing the “operation.” On occasion, “a certain quantity of opium was given to persons designed for castration, whom they cut while there were in their dead sleep…but it was observed that most of those who had been cut after this manner died.” If the boy happened to survive the operation, the lack of testosterone made his thoracic cavity developed greatly, “while the larynx and the vocal cords developed much more slowly.” Combined with intensive training, castrati often had unrivalled lungpower and breath capacity. Singing through small and child-sized vocal chords, their voices were extraordinarily flexible and quite different from the equivalent adult female voice. We only have a single sound document to give us a taste of what a castrato voice actually sounded like. Alessandro Moreschi (1858-1922), the last Sistine castrato, was known as “The Angel of Rome” at the beginning of his career. When he made his recordings in 1902 and 1904, he was clearly past his prime, but we still get a fascinating glimpse into the sound world of the castrato. 

Subjecting boys to the “operation” produced a host of different outcomes. A leading scholar writes, “There were high-sopranos, mezzos, and altos, strident voices and sweet ones, loud and mellow voices, more and less flexible throats, very tall men and very short, well and ill-proportioned castrati.” The vast majority of castrati were mediocre or bad singers and became low-level performers traveling between small towns. A very small number, however, reached unprecedented fame, and their abilities had great influence on the development of both oratorio and opera. Let’s go ahead and meet some of the most famous castrati and the repertory they inspired, starting with Giovanni Grossi, nicknamed “Siface” (1653–1697). That particular nickname originated from his stellar performance of “Syphax” in Cavalli’s Scipione affricano in Rome in 1671. He was in the service of the Duke of Modena, and he sang at the opening of the “Teatro Grimani” in Venice. It is said, that his fame even attracted the attention of Queen Christina of Sweden in Rome.

Giovanni Grossi, nicknamed “Siface”

Siface traveled to Paris and London, and a contemporary witness reports. “I heard the famous singer, the Eunuch Cifacca, esteemed the best in Europe and indeed his holding out and delicateness in extending and loosing a note with that incomparable softness, and sweetness was admirable: For the rest, I found him a mere wanton, an effeminate child; very coy and proudly conceited.” His beautiful voice was sadly contrasted by his bad temper, arrogant behaviour, and volatile temperament. Like Alessandro Stradella, “Siface” was murdered for an indiscreet affair, about which he foolishly boasted. When Siface traveled between Ferrara and Bologna, where he was engaged to sing, he was killed by musket fire at the hands of assassins hired by the woman’s family. The murder created a great scandal, and the Duke of Modena made sure the guilty party was held accountable. Siface’s voice was long remembered; in 1741, he was still “famous beyond any, for the most singular beauty of his voice.”

Nicolo Grimaldi, nicknamed “Nicolini”

The famed alto castrato Nicolo Grimaldi, nicknamed “Nicolini” (1673–1732) was considered the leading male singer of his age. The critic and musicologist Charles Burney described him as “a great singer and still greater actor.” Joseph Addison called him “the greatest performer in dramatic music that is now living or that perhaps ever appeared on a stage.” Born in Naples, Nicolini sang in Naples Cathedral and the royal chapel from 1690. He frequently appeared in opera and, during his early career, was primarily associated with Alessandro Scarlatti. In fact, he sang in the premières of Scarlatti’s La caduta de’ Decemviri (1697), Il prigioniero fortunato (1698), Arminio, L’amor generoso and Scipione nelle Spagne (1714), Tigrane (1715) and Cambise (1719). He took part in thirty-six productions in Naples and thirty-four in Venice, and countless composers created roles for him.

When Nicolini went to London in 1708, he became partly responsible for the increasing popularity of Italian opera in London. He made his England début at the Queen’s Theatre in Haym’s arrangement of Scarlatti’s Pirro e Demetrio. That performance was a huge success, and he signed a three-year contract with Owen Swiney. He sang in all the operas during that period and also sang the title role in the first performance of Handel’s Rinaldo. Until the age of 50, Nicolini “followed the pattern typical for star castrati.” Instead of retiring, however, Nicolini began to take on characters whose age approximated his own. Between 1727 and 1731, all new roles specifically written for him were typical tenor roles. These roles helped Nicolini “to conceal his vocal liabilities—shortness of breath, diminished range and sound quality—as they lent themselves to situations in which characters express passions such as vengefulness, disdain, imperiousness, reproachfulness or remorse.” In 1731, Nicolini was engaged to sing in Pergolesi’s first opera Salustia, but he died during rehearsals.

Francesco Bernardi, nicknamed “Senesino”

Francesco Bernardi (1686–1758) was born in Siena, and his nickname “Senesino” was derived from his birthplace. He became one of the most acclaimed castrato singers of his day, and his vocal ability was described in some detail. “He had a powerful, clear, equal and sweet contralto voice, with a perfect intonation and an excellent shake. His manner of singing was masterly, and his elocution unrivalled. Though he never loaded Adagios with too many ornaments, yet he delivered the original and essential notes with the utmost refinement. He sang Allegros with great fire and marked rapid divisions from the chest in an articulate and pleasing manner. His countenance was well adapted to the stage, and his action was natural and noble. To these qualities, he joined a majestic figure.” Senesino initially toured a huge number of Italian theatres and was engaged for Dresden in 1717. He commanded a huge salary but was fired for insubordination in 1720. Apparently, he refused to sing one of the arias from Heinichen’s Flavio Crispo, and tore up the part.

George Frideric Handel, who had been scouting Senesino, brought him to London and engaged him for his company. Senesino joined the Royal Academy of Music for its second season in September 1720. He made his début at the King’s Theatre on 19 November in Giovanni Bononcini’s Astarto and remained a member of the company until June 1728. Senesino sang in all 32 operas produced during this period, and that included seventeen leading roles composed by Handel. Senesino was a superstar, and described as “beyond Nicolini both in person and voice… and beyond all criticism.” The relationship between Handel and Senesino was frequently stormy, as “one was perfectly refractory; the other was equally outrageous.” By all accounts, Senesino’s character was “marred by touchiness, insolence and an excess of professional vanity.” It is reported that he insulted Anastasia Robinson at a public rehearsal in 1724, “for which Lord Peterborough publicly and violently caned him behind the scenes.” Senesino’s tantrums and intrigues were largely responsible for the split with Handel in 1733. In the event, his musical qualifications were superb. He was renowned for “brilliant and taxing coloratura in heroic arias and expressive mezza voce in slow pieces.” Apparently, he had no equal in the pronunciation of recitative, and he “was unsurpassed in accompanied recitatives.

Giacinto Fontana, nicknamed “Farfallino”

Giacinto Fontana (1692–1739), nicknamed “Farfallino,” was primarily active in Rome between 1712 and 1736. Apparently, he specialized in singing soprano female roles, and was said to have had a high-pitched and small boyish voice. Rather feminine in appearance, he is known to have portrayed an occasional pregnant primadonna. It was his graceful stage appearance that probably earned him his nickname “Little Butterfly.” Graceful stage appearance aside, he seemed to have had a somewhat violent temper, as he almost fought a duel with another musician behind the scenes. “The music he sang does not suggest extraordinary technical abilities,” but he nevertheless created roles in operas by Bononcini, Scarlatti, Vivaldi, Vinci and the later works of Francesco Gasparini.

Sir Stephen Hough: The Composer

by Georg Predota, Interlude

One of the most distinctive artists of his generation, Sir Stephen Hough combines an international career as a pianist with those of composer, writer, and painter. The first classical performer to be awarded a MacArthur Fellowship (2001), Hough is a true renaissance man, exceedingly gifted as a pianist, educator, writer, painter, and composer.

Sir Stephen Hough

While his achievements as a pianist are well-known and documented, Hough is also a respected author with four books and hundreds of articles to his name. In addition, a solo exhibition of his paintings was presented in London in 2012. It’s hardly surprising that The Economist included him in the list of “Twenty Living Polymaths.”

In addition, Hough is also a published and frequently commissioned composer, having crafted works for orchestra, choir, chamber ensemble, organ, harpsichord, and solo piano. He has received commissions from the Takács Quartet, the Cliburn, the Berlin Philharmonic Wind Quintet, and the Gilmore Foundation, among many others. 

First Compositions

According to his father, Hough had memorised seventy nursery rhymes by the age of two. Be that as it may, singing was indeed his first form of musical expression, “especially as we had no classical music in my childhood home.” Hough sang hymns in primary school and church; later, he joined a choir in high school, and he joined the compulsory chorus at Julliard.

Hough started piano lessons at the age of six, and he began to compose at around the same time. He remembers writing a “Mass” in his teenage years, but Hough is generally dismissive of his juvenilia compositions. As he writes, “the Mass 

Transcriptions

Apparently, Hough composed a substantial number of works, but as he related in an interview, “mercifully, that pile of smudged sketches has disappeared.” These early efforts culminated in a viola sonata, the only early work that was actually published. However, for the next twenty odd years, Hough composed next to nothing, except an odd transcription or two. Hough related the story that after a recital in New York in the late 1990s, when he played his transcription of Rodger’s Carousel Waltz, he was chatting with the composer John Corigliano. 

Corigliano told Hough, “You should compose your own music. The only real difference between a transcription and writing your own pieces is using your themes rather than someone else’s.” This conversation became the starting point for a renewed engagement with compositions. Hough started to write little pieces for friends, and the bassoonist Graham Salvage from the Hallé Orchestra asked him to write a concerto. As Hough explained, “In a mad moment or reckless courage, I agreed to have a go and started sketching what eventually became The Loneliest Wilderness, my first serious piece in two decades.”

First Commissions

The Loneliest Wilderness was inspired by the poem “My Company” by Herbert Read (1893–1968), containing the following lines:

But, God! I know that I’ll stand
Someday in the loneliest wilderness,
Someday my heart will cry
For the soul that has been, but that now
Is scatter’d with the winds,
Deceased and devoid.

I know that I’ll wander with a cry:
‘O beautiful men, O men I loved,
O whither are you gone, my company?’

The work is based on two main musical ideas: the interval of a descending fourth and a rising chain of thirds. Introvert and restrained, this musical oration has a strong Jewish flavour to it, taking its inspiration from “the heart-breaking regret of an army officer as he looks back at the loss of the company of soldiers under his command.” 

Takács Quartet

Stephen Hough’s String Quartet No. 1

Dedicated to the Takács Quartet, Hough’s first string quartet premiered in December 2021. As it was commissioned as a companion piece to works by Ravel and Dutilleux, the composer set out to explore “not so much what united their musical language, but what was absent from them.” Although there are no quotes or direct references to the composers of Les Six, as captioned in the subtitle, the composer imagines unspecified places and memory where meetings might have taken place.

This string quartet “evokes a flavour more than a style,” according to Hough, “but a flavour rarely found in the music of Ravel and Dutilleux. In Les Six it’s not so much a lack of seriousness, although seeing life through a burlesque lens is one recurring ingredient; rather it’s an aesthetic re-view of the world after the catastrophe of the Great War. Composers like Poulenc and Milhaud were able to discover poignance in the rough and tumble of daily human life in a way which escaped the fastidiousness of those other two composers.”

Sonatas and Beyond

Stephen Hough’s Broken Branches

The term “Sonata” had a multiplicity of meanings over the years, but for Hough “it has kept its wordlessness and its seriousness; a sonata, regardless of form, is a statement of unity, if not uniformity.” And although the composer is wary of words or descriptions attached to them, he argues that “music is neither a thought nor an emotion nor a person, but very much its own entity. His sonata “Broken Branches,” is an oblique tribute to Janáček’s On an Overgrown Path, and a passage from Scripture: “I am the vine, you are the branches. Cut off from me you can do nothing.”

The sonata is constructed of sixteen small and inconclusive sections, like branches from a single tree. “Broken branches” functions in three ways; fragments of fragility, related in theme but incomplete and damaged.” The work seems to grow naturally out of Hough’s style of playing, and it opens with a “Prelude” and ends with a “Postlude” of identical music, but the anguish of the opening G-sharp minor becomes a glowing G major at the end. “Branches beginning life anew in a new spring.” The climax of this sonata is a section called “non credo,” based on “material from the Credo of my Missa Mirabilis, which explores issues of doubt and despair in the context of the concrete affirmations of the Nicene Creed.” 

A Statement of Faith

Stephen Hough joined the Roman Catholic Church at the age of 19, and he considered becoming a priest, in particular joining the Franciscan Order. Hough has extensively written about his homosexuality and its relationship with music and his religion. As he wrote, “Catholicism is still home for me. And despite everything, I haven’t found anything that suits me better.” Hough is attracted to the idea that Catholicism doesn’t emphasise rich and powerful people, but embraces poverty and simplicity. “Christianity celebrates what is ultimately important about being human—community, and concern for the widows, the prisoners, the prostitutes, people who are outcasts. I find that very attractive.”

The Missa Mirabilis is connected with a highly personal experience. Hough had been working on the piece for about one year when he had a serious car accident, overturning his car on the motorway at 80 mph. “I stepped out of the one untouched door in my completely mangled car,” he remembers, “with my Mass manuscript and my body intact, then wrote part of the “Agnus Dei” in St. Mary’s Hospital, waiting for four hours for a brain scan. I was conscious, as I was somersaulting with screeching metallic acrobatics on the M1, of feeling regret that I would never get to hear the music on which I’d been working so intensely in the days before. Someone had other ideas.” 

The Partita was commissioned by the Naumburg Foundation for Albert Cano Smit in 2019. As Hough explains, “composing four sonatas of a serious, intense character, I wanted to write something different – something brighter, something more celebratory, more nostalgic.” Scored in five movements, the outer movements “Overture” and “Toccata” are inspired by the world of a grand cathedral organ. The short three inner movements, “Capriccio,” and “Canción y Danza I & II,” are based on the interval of a fifth and partially represent an explicit homage to Federico Mompou.

Stephen Hough’s Fanfare Toccata

In 2002, Hough was commissioned to write a work for the 2022 Van Cliburn International Piano Competition, performed by all 30 competitors. Hough took his inspiration from a variety of toccatas he had learned over the years, including Scarlatti, Liszt, and Rachmaninoff, Poulenc, Prokofiev and Samuel Barber. This inspiration accounted for the fanfare flourish complemented by a deeply romantic tune. It really does speak well of Hough’s composition that all 30 competitors have decided to make the Fanfare Toccata a part of their regular recital repertoire.

Alessandro Scarlatti - His Music and His Life

The Scarlatti family was one of the most prominent musical dynasties in Italy, with various branches of the family living in Sicily, Rome, and in northern Italy. Alessandro Scarlatti (1660-1725) became the most important opera composer of his generation in Italy, and in April 1678 he married Antonia Anzalone. That union produced ten children, including Domenico, born on 26 October 1685 in Naples. Following in the footsteps of his famous father, Domenico composed three operas for Naples but was sent to Venice where he met Handel.

Detail of a painting by Gaspare Traversi, showing Scarlatti
tutoring Princess Barbara of Portugal

He subsequently appeared in Rome in 1708 to became maestro di capella to the exiled queen of Poland, Maria Casimira, and took on an appointment to the royal chapel of João V of Portugal in 1719. Before arriving in Lisbon, Domenico had already composed a number of keyboard pieces, and he kept adding to his catalogue by producing sonatas for his students. When his first publication, 30 sonatas called “Essercizi” were issued in 1738, it sold like hotcakes throughout Europe. During the last six years of his life, he organized his keyboard sonatas into various manuscripts, and he left us roughly 555 works in that particular genre.

Domenico Scarlatti (1685-1757) was an Italian harpsichordist and composer. His harpsichord sonatas are highly distinctive and original.

Domenico Scarlatti was born in Naples on Oct. 26, 1685, the son of Alessandro Scarlatti, the most famous composer in Italy in the early 18th century. Other members of the Scarlatti family were active as professional musicians. This background may have helped Domenico, for it encouraged his musical gifts and provided contacts in the musical profession. On the other hand, it gave him the problem of developing in his own way while under the influence of his father. Alessandro was not only a composer of genius, but a man of strong personality who did not get along well with some of his pupils and colleagues.

It is natural to assume, though there is no actual proof, that Domenico studied first with his father. As early as 1701, Domenico was appointed organist in the royal chapel at Naples. The following year he went to Florence with his father and stayed there for 4 months. Domenico then returned to Naples, where several operas of his were produced in 1703 and 1704.

A more important trip for Domenico occurred in 1708, when he went to Venice. There he became acquainted with Francesco Gasparini, a leading composer and the author of an excellent treatise on thorough-bass. It has been assumed, though again not proved, that Domenico studied with Gasparini in Venice. Also while he was in Venice, Domenico met and struck up a friendship with a young man, his exact contemporary, who was to become even more celebrated a composer: George Frederick Handel. It is from this period in Venice that we have our first report of Domenico's harpsichord playing. It describes how he played at a private musical gathering and astonished his audience by his brilliant virtuoso performance.

For the next 10 years Scarlatti worked in Rome. From 1709 to 1714 he was in the service of Maria Casimira, Queen of Poland, and for her private theater he wrote a number of operas. When Maria Casimira left Rome in 1714, Scarlatti became chapelmaster of the Portuguese ambassador. Then, from 1715 to 1719, he served as chapelmaster of the Cappella Giulia in the Vatican.

In 1720, or shortly before, Scarlatti left Italy; although he later returned to his native country, it seems that he never again took up a permanent post there. Probably in 1720 he was appointed chapelmaster of the royal chapel in Lisbon. This proved to be a most consequential appointment for Scarlatti. One of his duties was to teach members of the royal Portuguese family, and one of these members, the Infanta Maria Barbara, was a gifted and enthusiastic pupil. Her devotion to music was no passing fancy: she practiced and played the harpsichord apparently all her life. She also remained devoted to her teacher.

After Maria Barbara married Fernando, Prince of Asturias, in 1729, she moved to the Spanish court at Madrid, and Scarlatti went with her. He remained in her service for the rest of his life. He was knighted in Madrid in 1738; he married a Spanish woman, after the death of his first (Italian) wife; and he died in Madrid on July 23, 1757.

Scarlatti wrote 12 operas (2 of which were written in collaboration with other composers), chamber cantatas, sacred music, and over 550 sonatas for harpsichord. He composed much of his vocal music, both sacred and secular, before he settled in Spain. Most of it is characteristic music of the period: well composed but not particularly individual. A few of his vocal works are outstanding. But by and large Scarlatti was not at his best in writing for the voice. His true genius is revealed rather in his sonatas for harpsichord.

These sonatas are so individual, so varied in their forms and styles, that it is difficult to give a general description of them. One can say that the majority of the sonatas are built of two sections: they move from the tonic to the dominant key or to the relative major or minor and then back again to the tonic key. But within this basic form there are numerous substructures. And some of the sonatas are composed in forms altogether different.

The chronology of Scarlatti's sonatas has been much discussed and is still problematic. Most of his sonatas are preserved in copies made late in his life; but this does not necessarily mean that they were composed so late. Probably Scarlatti improvised his pieces, and perhaps wrote them down partially, during the course of his life. Then, at a later date, he had them written down in fair copies.

It seems that the earliest harpsichord pieces by Scarlatti are those in dance forms, or in forms similar to the toccatas of his father. Somewhat later Scarlatti began to compose those sonatas on which his fame rests: the brilliant virtuoso pieces with striking harmonies, bold dissonances, and sudden contrasts of texture. His sonatas are remarkable for the way they exploit the resources of the harpsichord—to musical advantage. They call for a large, two-manual harpsichord and for a highly proficient harpsichordist.

But brilliance and virtuosity do not account for the greatness of Scarlatti's sonatas. The best ones are perfectly realized works of art. Each one carries through its own, distinctive musical ideas, and each one is different from the others. This individuality is a central feature of Scarlatti's sonatas.

The characteristic, unique style of the sonatas seems to be original with Scarlatti himself. Although elements of his style can be traced to earlier keyboard music in Italy, Portugal, or Spain, there is nothing quite like the total effect. On the basis of his harpsichord sonatas, Scarlatti must rank as one of the most original creative minds in the history of music.