Alberto della Pergola (1884-1942)
...slowly the spellbound public left the concert hall. Behind me two
women were talking;
"How do you like Pergola?"
"I don't know, my dear! I understand nothing about music or
singers...but I do know that he is wonderful, enchantingly beautiful."
That is how the music critic, di Braila, concluded his review of the
concert that had taken place in one of the halls in the city in which
the tenor Alberto della Pergola had been presented for the first time.
Alberto della Pergola was a man of many parts. For some he was the
"tenor" who delighted with his concerts; for others he was the "Chief
Cantor" whose voice expressed joy and consolation on different occasions
throughout their lives; for very many others he was the "maestro," the
person who had guided them in their career or who had awoken in them a
love of music and song; for a very small number and for his wife he was
just "Alberto," and into that name they put all the affection they had
for him; to his sons he was "Babbo" which was the Italian Tuscan term
for 'father'; to the artists that he would visit in their dressing rooms
after the show he was the "fan" who could offer words of encouragement
and motivation to further progress without expecting compliments in
return; to the public who did not know him and saw him only on stage or
in the theater foyer he was a "character", reminiscent perhaps of
Marcello in the opera "La Bohème;" and finally, to some he was the
"father" or "father-in-law" of those two singers of the Romanian Opera
who proudly gloried in his name.
Alberto della Pergola was born 1884 in Florence, city of the arts and
of flowers. In that city of dreams he was able later on to marvel at the
works of Michelangelo or Benvenuto Cellini, Raphael or Botticelli and
attend the opera performances at the Politeamma or Verdi theatres or
else at the Della Pergola theatre, admiring the art of the famous tenors
of the time, the great Francesco Tamagno, Edoardo Garbin, Alessandro
Bonci or Amedeo Bassi. In the narrow streets of bygone days he could
follow the footsteps of Tuscan civilization, the rule of Guelf and
Ghibelline, Cosimo de' Medici or Lorenzo the Magnificent, recognize the
traces left by Dante Alighieri or Savonarola and listen to the
"stornelli" of lovers' serenades or admire the grand panorama of the
city from the Piazzale Michelangelo, Fiesole or the top of Giotto's
tower.
His passion for opera and for singers developed gradually as he
became older. In his typical Tuscan accent Alberto della Pergola would
tell the following story:
"I was part of the children's chorus when
Otello was put on for the first time in Florence in the interpretation
by the creator of the title role, the great Francesco Tamagno. For some
reason I'm not aware of, the company had the idea that the children
should take part not only in the section of Act Two where they have a
singing role, but also in creating the "tossing waves" in Act One. This
meant that at the beginning of the opera the little singers had to stand
under an immense canvas which, when moved, created the impression of the
"tossing waves" and foaming sea through which Otello's ship had to pass.
So, the whole group of children was standing under that canvas and,
bending over, by moving rhythmically but uncoordinatedly, managed to
stir up...the Mediterranean Sea. In my eagerness to create this
movement, I lost one of the shoes from the pair that the wardrobe
assistant had given me. Seized by fear, I timidly confessed what had
happened to me to the head of wardrobe who was very annoyed and
'administered' a couple of slaps. Inevitably, I began to cry and at the
sight of those heart-rending tears I was approached by the great (in
every sense of the word) Francesco Tamagno: 'What's up, my little one,
why are you crying?' the great tenor asked in his Piedmontese accent. In
between sobs I explained to Otello the reason for my tears. Immediately
Francesco Tamagno summoned the 'administrator of these slaps' and
without hesitation offered the head of wardrobe a coin that would easily
cover the cost of the shoe, adding 'But this is not enough! You've
recovered the cost of the shoe, but you've...also wasted a couple of
slaps on this child,' and without pausing for breath and on the same
basis he "conferred" a slap on the wretched man, saying: 'Right then,
now everything has been restored to you!; then, in the same spirit of
generosity he gave a gold coin to me as well."
Later on, when his voice underwent its natural change, Albert's great
passion for opera and the theatre led him to work behind the scenes as
"assistant dresser" that is, as the person who brought the costumes to
the dressing rooms and helped the singers to dress. Here is how Alberto
della Pergola described that episode: "At that time there were
various ways of creating illusions, simple, to be sure, but not lacking
in ingenuity. In the opera 'Faust,' Faust's transformation from an old
man into a youth was carried out right in front of the audience. A
trap-door would be placed in front of the chair in which the tenor sat
and from whose costume there ran a system of strings that ended up in
the trap-door inside which there was 'someone' who, at a given signal,
would pull on the main string and...the costume together with old
Faust's wig and beard would disappear somewhere, without it being
apparent where, that is to say into the trap-door. I hardly need to tell
you that that little assistant dresser was me and that, what is more, I
had produced magnificent results. Again and again the audience would
applaud that special effect. One evening the tenor singing the role of
Faust was obviously unwell and, even more obviously, was vexed by
certain impediments that were inconveniencing his throat and which he
found it quite natural to expel...far way over there into the trap-door
and without caring that there was 'someone' down there. I performed
miracles in dodging this 'surprise bombardment' and...I put up with it
as far as possible, but at a certain moment I lost patience and...went
home! It goes without saying that that evening Faust remained an old man
until the end of the first scene and that I was never again to resume my
profession as 'assistant dresser.' "
In his "Dizionario Musicale Illustrato (Illustrated Dictionary of
Music)" compiled by the blind musician, A.L. Ivela, Ivela writes the
following in the paragraph in which he speaks of himself: "That organist
and chorus director at the Spanish Synagogue, has written a collection,
entitled 'Iubal', of more than 200 traditional Sephardic religious
songs, both adapted and original, for Organ, Orchestra, Chorus and
Soloists, in great part inspired by and composed for the rare vocal
qualities of the famous tenor Alberto della Pergola, Chief Cantor at
that Synagogue."
When in the depth of the winter of 1909, Alberto della Pergola
arrived in Bucharest for an audition for the post of Chief Cantor at the
magnificent Spanish Temple, in addition to the Executive Committee of
the Congregation, there were two musicians present, A.L. Ivela and M.
Cohen-Linaru (who had studied music in Paris under Victor Massé, Georges
Bizet, Dubois and Félicien David). On that occasion Ivela confessed: "If
this young man knew what a voice he had, he would not have come here, to
the Spanish Temple." The truth was that Alberto della Pergola was well
aware of that gift and of how much fervor he would have brought to an
operatic career, but he was 25 years old, married and already had a son.
When he thought of the responsibility he had towards his family, he
could not allow himself the risks of a career in the theatre which – apart from its glitter
– also has its distressing side. The career of
Chief Cantor for a rich congregation would give him a peaceful and
secure life and also allow him to develop his voice. For all that, the
desire to create a respectable career while at the same time preserving
a peaceful family life, he was not constrained from widening his field
of activity with numerous concerts both for the Bucharest public and for
that outside the capital.
Endowed with a stupendous tenor voice whose range covered the
necessary two octaves, he brought to his musical phrasing an ardor that
coupled style with a perfect comprehension and interpretation of the
text, to which he added a facility to project astonishing high notes
which – if necessary and in good taste – he could "spin", reduce to the
minimum required for song.
Within a short space of time he became an exponent of that "bel
canto" style which was granted only to great singers.
In these concerts at the Romanian Athenaeum, Lidertafel, National
Theatre, Lyric Theatre or at the Palais de Glace, Alberto della Pergola
had the opportunity to display the full range of his potential alongside
singers such as Jean Athanasiu, Giorgio Folescu, Gregorio Teodorescu,
Tamasescu, Cutavas, Alessandra Feraru, Constanza Dobrescu and others.
Religious services at the Spanish Temple were also concerts and became
famous; specially written for della Pergola's vocal range, enchanting
melodies unfolded under the inspiration of Ivela. These services would
quite often be joined by Umberto Pessione on the organ, Marica Pessione
on the harp, Giorgio Folescu, Jean Athanasiu, Costanza Dobrescu, Josef
Thaler on the cello and many others. The Friday evening services would
be attended by not only by members of the Spanish Congregation and
neighboring congregations, but also by a whole procession of musicians
from the beginning of the century. There are still a few who can
remember the concert given at the National Theatre in order to celebrate
the end of the First World War and which included all the singers of
that time, Romolo Vrabiescu, Jean Athanasiu, Gregorio Teodorescu,
Mihailescu -Toscani, Alessandra Feraru, Dragulinescu-Stinghe. The
program concluded with the final act of "Carmen", sung by Enrichetta
Rodrigo (later on the wife of Jean Athanasiu) and Nicolae Leonard and
conducted by Egizio Massini. Before the concert Alberto della Pergola
received an "anonymous letter" in which it was threatened that he would
be booed "if he dared appear on the stage of the National Theatre". In
the face of such pressure and "advised" by his colleagues not to appear,
Alberto della Pergola plucked up courage and walked out onto the stage
before a packed house. There was an unimaginable noise and as well as
the threatened boos there were cries of "Tosca", "Martha", "Africana",
"Carmen", "Pescatori", "Manon" or "Lucia", a part of the repertoire with
which Alberto della Pergola had pampered the Bucharest public. He sang
"Bianca al par" from the opera "Gli Ugonotti" and generously responded
to the encores that were requested. Later on it was discovered that the
"anonymous letter" had been written by a...colleague.
From his very first years in Bucharest, Alberto della Pergola was
accepted as a "guest scholar" in Popovici-Bayreuth's opera classes and
had as his class companions Michele Nasta, Mircea Lazar, Michele
Vulpescu, Alessandro Lupescu, Giorgio Folescu, Gregorio Teodorescu and
many others. Here he completed his studies and perfected his style,
adding to it that natural "bel canto" that he had brought with him from
radiant Italy. In his appearances at the Conservatory he was always
accompanied by the famous Glattauer and later on in his concerts at the
Athenaeum by Umberto Pessione, a devoted friend with an enormous concert
repertoire with which he recorded the first records for the "Lyrophon"
and "Angel" companies.
In addition to the entire tenor repertoire, he added recordings of
numerous "Neapolitan songs", those enchanting melodies from the city of
Naples whose characteristic dialect he had absorbed during his military
service in that city of song. He also recorded a certain number of
Romanian romances ("Un dor ascuns", "Steluta", "Mindrulita de la munte",
etc.) to which he lent his charming Italian accent. He also recorded the
religious melodies of the Spanish Temple, not only those written by
Ivela, but also those by his successor, Josef Rosenstock, who was at the
same time Chorus Master at the Romanian Opera. The record companies
requested recordings with increasing frequency and issued them in
increasing numbers, both secular and religious. In this way Alberto
della Pergola put his mark on the pages of the history of Edison's
machine, beginning with those primitive recordings (a small room in
which singer and pianist were perched on top of chests and performed the
music in front of a tube) and then later on in larger halls furnished
with electrical equipment and microphones, prodigious inventions. The
quality of the recordings was constantly improving (although they were
far from that which can be obtained nowadays) as the significance of
Alberto della Pergola's artistic and interpretative maturity became
increasingly evident.
During the war he was asked by the great George Enescu to join a
company of singers who would comfort the wounded soldiers in the
hospitals with their music – on these occasions George Enescu also
provided the piano accompaniment. The ties of friendship and admiration
remained firm even after the end of the war and it was George Enescu who
introduced Alberto della Pergola to the Royal Palace on various
occasions. "I had been invited to sing at the Royal Palace by Carmen
Sylva, the Queen Elisabeth", related Alberto della Pergola. (Translator's
Note: In the latter part of her life, Queen Elisabeth of Romania took to
writing popular novels under the pen-name of 'Carmen Sylva' [Song of the
Forest.])
"Among the singers there was also the tenor, Bajenaru, who had
already been here at the Palace several times before me. On that
occasion he advised me that on being presented to the Queen I should not
speak without being addressed first. As a matter of fact, at the
reception that followed the concert, Carmen Sylva came up to me and in
perfect Italian asked me where I came from. Of course, I replied without
going into great detail and to her other questions replied with a plain
'Yes, ma'am' or obsequious 'Yes, Your Majesty.' Bajenaru who was nearby
gave a tug on the end of my coat-tails. When I replied in the same way
to another question, Bajenaru tugged so hard on my coat-tails that the
material came away in his hands. For the rest of the evening I had to
walk around with my hands behind my back and keeping close to the
walls!"
There was a certain fascination in the way in which Alberto della
Pergola narrated these short episodes from his life. They were always
tinged with that Florentine irony, but an irony combined with a sense of
the ridiculous, which thereby made itself the butt of the joke.
The clouds of war disappeared, the soldiers returned to their homes
and the wounded began to recover. Bucharest threw away the dark glass of
the street lamps and the dark-blue paper was removed from the windows.
The summer gardens re-opened, once again orchestras played in the
restaurants and evening strollers restored to Calea Victoriei (Victory
Way) its lively rhythm. Traders began once more to travel and to bring
back to "little Paris" (Bucharest's nickname) the choicest and most
elegant merchandise that good taste could offer. Life reacquired its
throbbing rhythm and prosperity reigned.
In the summer of 1920, Alberto della Pergola travelled to Italy, his
first visit after an interval of 12 years. He would see his parents,
brothers and sisters and relatives and childhood friends. He was
returning now as a mature man of 37. Physically he had not changed: his
hair was still black and curly, his short beard had grown smaller and
his face still retained the same smile and brightness. His way of
dressing had changed: now he wore a bow-tie and a wide-brimmed hat.
Seeing him on the street, it was impossible not to pause in admiration.
The Naples of his military service was also among the cities that he
visited. While on a trip to Capri, the enchanted isle that looks toward
the city of song and toward Sorrento, he observed on the steamer a
figure that he recognized, but he could not remember where he had seen
it. A travelling companion explained: "That's Enrico Caruso". Yes, it
was the greatest tenor, the singer whose records he listened to every
day, the man "with the golden throat" whose songs bore the unforgettable
warmth and perfume of Italy, the tenor whose style of singing he would
so much have liked to imitate but did not dare, was there on the boat
together with the other passengers. Without hesitating for a moment, he
went up to him and introduced himself, and the great Caruso replied
courteously to him, explaining that the next day he was to have an
operation in a Neapolitan clinic, under a Neapolitan doctor, the best in
the world! Enrico Caruso had put all his hope on his fellow countrymen
to whom he had remained faithful. He was pale and rarely let slip a
playful remark and in so doing betrayed his apprehension.
A few days later, 2 August 1921, Enrico Caruso passed away. The music
world was in mourning and the citizens of Naples, representing the whole
world, went to the funeral. From dawn Alberto della Pergola occupied a
place in the church where the funeral service was to take place. It was
an unforgettable moment: Titta Ruffo began to sing Stradella's "Pièta
Signore" but his tears suffocated the sound; the prayer was taken up and
finished by the celebrated tenor, Fernando De Lucia.
The war was over...but the war against a sickness that is without
mercy was just beginning and its victims were chosen at random.
The Italian singers who came to Bucharest always found an open door
at Alberto della Pergola's home. Without warning and to his wife Alice's
despair, he would bring them home to lunch or dinner, often to both. The
"Compagnia di Castellano" found food and lodging at Alberto della
Pergola's home, and the bonds of friendship with the young orchestra
conductor, Egizio Massini, that dated from that time were to remain
unbreakable. The tenor, Ippolito Lazzaro, the baritone, Umberto Urbano
or Angelo Capovia, the tenor, Attilio Perico, the baritone, Giuseppe de
Luca, the tenor, Fullin and finally the renowned Leo Slezak, all
frequented Alberto della Pergola's home. A unique atmosphere reigned
there: the walls of the music room were filled with photographs of
famous singers, the centerpiece being that famous photograph of the
celebrated trio of Caruso, Titta Ruffo and Chaliapin. The Italian
tricolor held sway over the piano and slightly to one side there stood
the wind-up tube-gramophone which every hour played the records of
Caruso, Titta Ruffo, Didur, Anselmi, Schipa, Stracciari, Selma Kurz, Leo
Slezak and Alberto della Pergola, as well as purely symphonic and
instrumental music alongside Italian songs. As regards the collection of
records sung by Caruso, he had almost the complete set and they were
devoured by family and friends alike. Every time that he brought home
the latest record sung by the great tenor, nothing else would be
listened to for that week and the record would be pronounced "the best
yet" sung by the great Neapolitan. Alberto della Pergola's four children
(another three had been born in the meantime in Bucharest) had become
famous for their performance of the quartet from "Rigoletto" accompanied
by their father. They only rarely got into a muddle...and then the
"pianist" would hastily play a final chord which would give the signal
for the well-deserved applause! It was, then, no wonder that the
children knew Rigoletto by heart. During the period before the World War
Alberto della Pergola began to give singing lessons at home and together
with his pupils he prepared and presented in public the two final acts
of "Rigoletto" and "La Traviata."
Another era was drawing to a close in the career of Alberto della
Pergola; that of 'maestro di canto'. To hear those who have just begun
such a career, one might imagine that giving singing lessons is
something easy and enjoyable; professional experience, however,
demonstrates that the responsibility of nursing the fragile voices of
the young, of those students who have placed all their faith and hopes
in the shrewd guidance of their teacher, is very great. It might prove
enjoyable only when the resulting fruits become visible and succeed in
satisfying the teacher. Time and again Alberto della Pergola would
plainly and sincerely declare "it is not the teacher who builds up the
pupil, but the pupil who gives strength to the teacher." Furthermore, it
is well known that nobody is interested in, nor can be bothered to
remember, the name of the teacher of a famous singer; nobody wants to
know who Caruso's or Maria Callas' teacher was; if the student manages
to become "someone," it is he or she that receives all the praise and
the teacher must remain in the background. Of the immense number of
pupils that were guided by Alberto della Pergola, there are some who
succeeded in making a good career, others an average one and…a few who
did nothing at all, or almost nothing. What, then, is the point of the
teacher? Della Pergola used to say: "I can give you indications, an
objective for you to aspire to, a love of the art of singing, but I
cannot create you; this is up to you yourself, with your talent and
perseverance, with your gift of knowing your own instrument and the art
of how to guide it. Up to a certain point I can show you the way and
encourage and help you, but you and you alone can smooth the way to fame
and possibly glory; if, guided by certain moral principles, I have not
destroyed your voice (as many do!), then believe me, I shall consider
myself happy and will acknowledge myself to be capable, perhaps even
successful; I can show you the road but...you yourself must embark on
the way!"
Shortly after the war, while the Opera was still unable to restart,
Alberto della Pergola prepared a production of "Cavalleria" and
"Pagliacci" performed by all his pupils. The production was conducted by
Umberto Pessione and staged by Mitu Dumitriu. The artist invited for
"Pagliacci" was the baritone, Jean Athanasiu who did not think twice
about appearing in public alongside some apprentice students. The
respect and admiration that he had for his colleague from the
Conservatory and fellow singer in the duets from "La Forza del Destino"
that they had sung in so many concerts, was guarantee enough for the
celebrated baritone. This recital introduced for the first time several
singers who later on were to devote themselves to the stage of the
Romanian Opera: Eliachim Algazi, and Ottavio Calmuski (later a tenor
under the name of Ottavio Arbore). Another public appearance of the
students was in two other opera acts (Tosca, Act III and Aida, Act III),
a production that highlighted the exceptional talent of a child that
subsequently was to conduct in the great theatres of Europe, in Vienna,
Zurich, Milan, Bologna, Naples, Lugano and many others, namely Otto
Ackerman. (Translator's Note: In 1902 the
Romanian government withdrew its subsidy from the Romanian Opera which
thereupon was forced to close down and was not able to start up again
until 1921. Consequently, these performances produced by Alberto della
Pergola would have been far more important than they perhaps seem,
providing the Bucharest public with some rare opportunities to listen to
opera.)
If we were to compile a list of those pupils that went through
Alberto della Pergola's classes and who succeeded in making a career, we
would commit an injustice if we were to omit anyone. However, we shall
recall those who made a name for themselves at the Bucharest and Cluj
opera houses: Eliachim Algazi, Michele Arnautu, Ottavio Calmuski-Arbore,
Leo Calmuski, State Botez, Giorgio Stefanovici, Roberto Shilton, Nicolae
Secareanu, Josef Rainer-Tautu, Thea Joanin, Gaby Sefanescu-Augustin, Ion
Manolescu, Spiridone Dumitrescu, Edith Della Pergola, Luciano Della
Pergola.
In 1926, after several years of teaching song at the Stoenescu
Academy, he joined with Egizio Massimi to found the "Egizio Massimi
Conservatory" in the palace of the Spanish Congregation in Negru-Voda
Street. Here they began to be productively active and in accordance with
the wishes of Alberto della Pergola: to create the possibility of
presenting in public, as frequently as possible, acts from the opera
repertoire. In one of the rooms of the Conservatory a platform was
erected, a drop-curtain installed, some scenery constructed, costumes
brought in and seats for the public arranged, and so a miniature theatre
was created. Admittedly, the productions were presented with piano
accompaniment only, but not without scenery and make-up. Performances
took place almost every week and the students applied themselves to
study as quickly as possible the scenes that were to be presented. In
this way a faithful public was built up that regularly filled the small
theatre hall. The music critic, C.C. Nottara, observed in one of his
reviews: "By the light of an oil-lamp, in the same way as our forebears,
art finds itself a place and takes shape to deliver the thrill of a real
performance." Many of the artists noted above took their first steps on
that stage, with emotions, hopes and worries comparable to the great
stages that they would subsequently appear on. Behind the scenes the
maestro would spur them on, assuring each one that "the next time" they
would do much better because progress very much depends on frequently
appearing on those "magic boards". It was no coincidence that, in his
enthusiasm for the Opera, Alberto della Pergola was among those who paid
taxes to the Tribunal for the Foundation of Romanian Opera. This stance
was rewarded with a permanent seat in the stalls for performances
presented by the Romanian Opera and from this selfsame seat he carried
out his work as music correspondent for the weekly Milanese paper, "La
Rivista Melodrammatica e Teatrale."
At the age of 44, Alberto della Pergola was widowed; his lifelong
companion, Alice, the Florentine girl with whom he had shared the joys
of family life, and who trembled and rejoiced at every service in the
Temple as at every concert, encouraging him and always offering
constructive criticism; Alice, his devotee to whom he had been engaged
for 6 years and married for 20 and with whom time and again he would
reminisce about their sentimental strolls along the Arno or on the Ponte
Vecchio, passed away after a long illness. There remained his children
who supported him in all his activities. He continued to be the director
of and inspiration behind the Conservatory which, although it bore the
name "Massini," was in reality his. In his widowhood he completely
neglected his health and threw himself with all his ardor into his daily
activities as a singing teacher.
"With a face out of a story by Alfred de Musset," said Victor
Eftimiu, the famous poet and writer who at that time was Director
General of Theatres, "or perhaps more accurately, the painting of de
Musset, nature endowed him with a spellbinding voice, an art that
revealed his personality and a smile in which there shone forth the
wonder of the Italian sun." These words were pronounced at the beginning
of a commemorative production in memory of Alberto della Pergola,
presented at the Romanian Opera and which, in accordance with the
"recipe", created by the Maestro, presented several opera acts with his
ex-pupils. There were students from former times and from the latest
group there to sing two acts from Trovatore and the final act from
Bohème. Those taking part were Edith Della Pergola, Michele Arnautu,
Nicolae Secareanu, Luciano Della Pergola, Thea Joanin, Ion Manolescu,
Gaby Stefanescu-Augustin, the Chorus of the Opera etc.
In 1934 the health of the singer and teacher, Alberto della Pergola
was shaken for the first time. A congestion of the brain reduced his
activities and his doctors forbade him to sing or give lessons, but our
Florentine would not give in and, recovering in some miraculous way,
continued to sing at the Spanish Temple and recommenced his lessons at
the Conservatory. The Second World War was approaching and with it those
persecutions that inflict deep wounds. The entire palace of the
Congregation was afflicted by them and so the Conservatory had to find
another site, which was utterly disheartening. A wild mob of fanatics
set fire to that magnificent Cathedral that had been a holy place and in
which the art of Alberto della Pergola, Ivela and Rosenstock had raised
hymns of glory to humankind and to Him who had created them. Such were
the sorrows that afflicted Alberto della Pergola but which he rose above
by devoting himself even more to the profession of teacher, to such an
extent that it was during one of these lessons that he suffered his
second, and fatal, stroke. His transfiguration lasted only a few days
and then absolute darkness closed forever those eyes that, perhaps
during their last moments, attempted to see once more the blue sky of
his Florentine birthplace. It was 16th January 1942 and, in the teeth of
an intolerant winter, people of every race and religion, ex-pupils,
admirers, colleagues and musicians, gathered at the Spanish section of
the Bellu Cemetery struggling against an equally intolerant mentality
that was full of menace for them. A tear shook the frost-frozen faces
and their spirits rallied. A colleague, himself also a singing teacher
and avowed competitor, declared in a gentle voice: "Many professional
defects may be ascribed to Alberto della Pergola, if we wish, but one
thing is certain, he never made a mistaken diagnosis. If he told someone
he was a baritone then, without question, he was a baritone. So...there
can be no one who can complain that Alberto della Pergola ruined their
voice...while as for us...may God have mercy on us!"
Alberto della Pergola put his mark on an epoch, that of the
beginnings of the art of song in Romania and he was proud of this epoch.
Perhaps in some home, in some isolated spot, you can still find a record
made by Alberto della Pergola, and then, from the depths of the grave,
there will resound a "Mindrulita de la munte," a "Serenata" by Toselli,
an opera aria or religious song. Whatever the song may be, the listener
will try to make out from amidst the roughness of these primitive
recordings the splendor of that voice that reigned over the concert
halls at the beginning of the century and which with its brilliance
raised up hymns and honor to Nature.
Written by Luciano della Pergola in November 1977.
Courtesy of Felicity Blatt.
Translation from the Italian by Michael Aylward.
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