This is how the Met’s general manager (1972-1975) remembered Corelli
<aside> 🇮🇹 Clicca qui per la traduzione in italiano 🇮🇹
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The author, Schuyler Chapin ended up in the position of the Metropolitan Opera’s general manager quite unexpectedly, after Bing’s successor, Göran Gentele died in a car accident just a few months after he got the job.
I preface this account by saying that it will not be 100% flattering to Franco, but I recommend reading it anyway, as it provides interesting insight into his tenure (and difficulties) at the Met in the post-Bing era.
The source publication: ‘Sopranos, mezzos, tenors, bassos, and other friends’ (by Schuyler Chapin & James Radiches). New York, Crown, 1995.
I confess I haven't read the whole book because I personally don't like Chapin's attitude and narrative style, and the way he seems to approach these artists with the condescension of a circus ring master, expecting a poodle's deference and discipline from top predators, and, in Corelli’s case, failing to put aside his personal disdain towards him despite all the diplomatic praise he expresses here in his regard.
Bing seems to have approached the company with the same cynicism Chapin demonstrates here, and started out in the same way with Franco, too, but over the years he came to genuinely like him, after having realized that Corelli's 'caprices' were not part of a show, Sir Rodolfo was dealing with a deeply sensitive, anxiety-ridden artist who wore his heart on his sleeve, and everyone would be better off if Bing were to protect him from unnecessary stress and create the smoothest and most gratifying environment for him to perform at his best. Clearly, Chapin never got over his initial bad impression on Corelli and never really understood him as a person, nor cared much for getting to know him better.
Nevertheless, it is important to note that Chapin started writing this memoir about 15 years after the events, and by then his recollections were quite distorted and he misremembered quite a few verifiable facts, and in his mind Franco was apparently left looking much more out of control than he really was, and as a result Chapin "embellished" and exaggerated his account of him to some extent (details in my comments in the text).
<aside> 👉 First, here are some Corelli-related excerpts from the book’s chapters on different artists Chapin worked with at the Met.
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Dorothy Kirsten and Franco Corelli after the April 20, 1973 performance of Tosca at the Met (conducted by Carlo Felice Cillario) - Photo by Stefanie Santini, shared with us by Kate Kathi Petroczy
"[...] in the spring of 1975, just prior to the Japanese tour, she flew in to save a Tosca on a non subscription Saturday night, and anyone present at that extraordinary performance will never forget it.
<aside> 🙄 Right away, Chapin misremembers and puts the story more than two years later than it actually happened. The real date is April 7, 1973. This was also Franco's last Tosca run (along with the 8 subsequent performances), after which he never sang the role of Cavaradossi again.
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That night I should have sensed an operatic disaster brewing after leaving her calm and orderly dressing room and moving on to that of her Cavaradossi for the evening, Franco Corelli. Here I found the tenor in a tantrum, railing furiously over some obscure Italian political matter he'd been arguing about with the evening's conductor, Carlo Felice Cillario.
He was, quite literally, shaking with rage. When I left his room I naively thought his display of extra energy might spice up the performance.
It never crossed my mind that political disagreements would become the evening's artistic focus, with conductor and tenor scoring musical points off each other for the entire performance. Matters reached a melodramatic climax in the third act, when Cillario refused to wait for the applause after Corelli's "E lucevan le stelle," and the tenor, furious, put his thumb to his teeth and ran off the stage. That left the audience stunned, the orchestra still playing the ascending scale leading to Tosca's entrance, and Tosca herself bursting onto the stage to find it empty and the audience buzzing around in a minor uproar. Until Corelli was pushed back onto the stage to resume his role, Kirsten had to sing all their love music to herself, a unique experience for any soprano. She was more amazed and amused than angry.
<aside> 🤨 *It would certainly have been a unique experience had it actually happened... But according to the audio recording, even if Franco left the stage after 'E lucevan', he returned to start the duet normally, only lagging by a few seconds behind the orchestra.
Anyway, more on this specific night later in Franco's own chapter.*
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On January 10, 1975, Tucker’s funeral took place at the Metropolitan Opera House. Almost three thousand fans, colleagues, and friends filled the auditorium to pay their last respects, among them Franco Corelli, the only fellow artist whom Tucker ever envied. Their rivalry had, at first, been fierce. It began in 1960 when Bing assigned the young Italian to the role of Calaf in his new production of Puccini’s Turandot, a role Tucker felt, by right and seniority, belonged to him. Corelli’s success made Tucker feel that Bing now had a new favorite and it wasn’t until some years later, when Corelli sought out Tucker for some professional advice, that their friendship began. The advice was simple: Corelli, having attended a rehearsal of Tosca, asked Tucker if he would sing “O dolci mani.”
“I would like to see you sing it,” Corelli asked, somewhat nervously.
Tucker was amused, and perhaps also a little touched by the request.
“To sing it right, Franco,” he said, “you have to be Jewish!”
Corelli laughed.
Franco Corelli and Richard Tucker dressed as Turiddu (Cavalleria rusticana) and Canio (Pagliacci) (1970) Metropolitan Opera Archives - Photographer: Louis Melançon
<aside> 💗 Now, the chapter on Franco himself:
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