Some time in the late
1950s I returned home from college to
find that a new LP of highlights of
the 1954 EMI recording of Don Carlo
had become the family pride and joy.
The more affluent of my student colleagues
had portable valve wirelesses but played
only pop. I was tired of hearing The
Garden of Eden and Elvis Presley
around Hall, so that sitting to
hear the new LP was a delight. But what
was this brooding dramatic music I was
hearing. I knew Traviata and
Rigoletto from the family LPs.
This was music of a different breed
and it haunted me. This was true not
least of the King’s great soliloquy
Ella giammai m’amo sung by Boris
Christoff and the portrayal of the noble,
selfless Rodrigo by Tito Gobbi. I was
hooked. As Andrew Porter notes in his
introductory essay and Lord Harwood
admits in his interview, for many Verdians
it is their favourite opera. It certainly
is for me.
What is little realised
today is how perceptions of Don Carlo
changed within the space of a few
decades. The distinguished critic Ernest
Newman was dismissive of it in 1933
and the work was scarcely heard. Today,
every major opera house has seen the
work produced, in one of its versions,
in recent years. This has happened despite
its demands on casting which make it
heavy on budget. This change did not
happen overnight. There was a production
at the New York Metropolitan Opera to
mark Rudolf Bing’s taking over the administration
of that house in 1950. There were no
notable productions during the fiftieth
anniversary of Verdi’s death the following
year and if Radio Italiana broadcast
a performance the Cetra record company
missed it. Giulini conducted performances
in Florence in 1955 but the occasion,
like that at the Met, made no waves.
When Covent Garden enticed the director
Luigi Visconti, together with Giulini,
it was to present Don Carlo.
Lord Harwood recounts, in the appendix
to this issue (CD 3 tr.9), going to
Italy to discuss casting with the two.
Boris Christoff and Tito Gobbi were
quickly agreed as was the young Canadian
tenor Jon Vickers. The pre-eminent dramatic
Verdi mezzo, more contralto, was Fedora
Barbieri and her casting was equally
quickly agreed albeit with some reservation
regarding the tessitura of the role.
Covent Garden proposed the London-based
soprano Amy Shuard as the Queen. She
had, however, also sung the role of
Eboli at Sadler’s Wells, and this worried
Giulini in respect of her tonal character.
The opportunity went instead to the
Dutch soprano Gré Brouwenstein
(or Brouwenstijn), who Giulini knew
had already sung some of the staple
Verdi soprano roles including Aida and
Desdemona in London and elsewhere.
The five-act version
was also agreed as the basis of the
new production. Giulini did not wish
to include the insurrection scene of
act four after the death of Posa, nor
the second verse of Elisabeth’s comforting
aria to her lady in waiting (CD 1 tr.21).
Other minor cuts were also made. Verdi
was not unused to having the work cut
and had had to accept major omissions
to enable Parisians to catch their trains
to the suburbs after the premiere. The
music of these Parisian cuts was only
discovered by Andrew Porter in 1969
and received their first performance
in a BBC broadcast three years later.
That performance, and the background
to the re-discovery of the unused music,
is dealt with in my review.
Verdi also agreed and participated in
a reduction to a four-act version in
1884. Despite regret about Giulini’s
omissions, particularly the insurrection
scene, the abbreviated five act version
is far more cohesive dramatically than
the four act version. As far as the
audience at the Covent Garden performances
was concerned the consequence of these
omissions was that the performance length
was reduced to 178 minutes, still a
long evening with intervals. That length
compares with the conductor’s 1970 recording
of the work, reviewed
by a colleague, which has 30 minutes
more of the score.
The production and
series of performances at Covent Garden,
of which this recording is of the second,
made waves throughout the operatic world
as no other production of Don Carlo
had done previously. It launched
the work into its rightful place in
the Verdi mainstream. These were the
days before videocassette recordings
or live video transmissions, at least
in the United Kingdom, and I longed
to see the production and particularly
with Christoff as Philip. With a young
family and a mortgage, visits to London,
let alone to Covent Garden, were not
on the agenda. Only later, when my work
took me on periodic visits to the capital,
did I get to see Christoff in the theatre.
I did get eventually to see the Visconti’s
production, with its magnificent sets
and costumes, but to my everlasting
regret it was not with Christoff as
Philip!
On listening to the
recording, the first thing that strikes
me is the lyrical nature of Giulini’s
conducting. I thought at first that
this was a function of the mono recording,
which I must say is of a good standard
given the circumstances and age. But
after playing about with the volume
control and using headphones as an alternative,
the impression remains. The conductor
accentuates the flowing nature of Verdi’s
melodies in the support of his singers
but without detriment to the drama of
the opera. One of the first soloists
to benefit from this approach is Jon
Vickers as the emotionally tortured
Carlo. In his interview Lord Harwood
notes that Vickers was not the most
Italianate of tenors. Yet throughout
the performance Giulini draws from him
the most sensitive singing and phrasing
that I have ever heard from this fine
artist who we tend only to remember
as the outstanding Otello of his generation
and as a Wagnerian. His vocal control,
soft singing and expressive phrasing
is heard from Carlo’s opening Fontainbleu
(CD 1 trs.1-2) through to his farewell
to Elisabeth (CD 3 trs.6-7). Gré
Brouwenstein as Carlo’s intended, and
later Queen, sings with full warm tone
and a wide variety of colour and gives
a very convincing portrayal of Elisabeth’s
many emotions and dilemmas. Her full
tone is more the mature Queen than the
innocent princess, and I cannot help
wondering what Amy Shuard, who I first
saw as Marguerite in the early 1950s,
would have made of it. Brouwenstein’s
rendering of her long act-five aria
Tu che la vanita (CD 3 tr.5)
is deeply impressive as is her characterisation
throughout. Fedora Barbieri sings the
rival Princess Eboli with rich tones,
and a slightly metallic edge to her
voice, whilst always being keen to put
character interpretation to the fore.
In his interview, Harwood implies her
casting was a little problematic as
she was more contralto than mezzo with
the role very much in the latter fach.
This is a state of affairs that can
be confirmed by those owning the 1956
Karajan Falstaff where she sings
Mistress Quickly with Reverenza
chest tones to die for. (review)
The fact that Amy Shuard, very much
a soprano, had sung the role of Eboli
at Sadlers Wells, and that both Solti’s
1965 (Decca) recording and Giulini’s
studio recordings featured mezzos, Grace
Bumbry and Shirley Verrett respectively,
both of whom went on to sing soprano
roles, gives an indication of the overall
tessitura. Perhaps any limitation in
Barbieri’s singing is heard in the Moorish
scene (CD2 tr.16) where her trill and
lack of appropriate vocal lightness
is apparent. Her dramatic O don fatale
(CD 2 trs.22-23) is some compensation
and is deservedly applauded before the
orchestral conclusion.
The really great singing
on this recording comes from the duo
of Boris Christoff as King Philip and
Tito Gobbi as Rodrigo repeating the
roles they sang on the 1954 HMV recording.
In a live performance, and with Giulini
conducting, their singing is so much
more dramatic. This is particularly
so in the second scene of act two after
Philip has so humiliatingly dismissed
the Queen’s lady-in-waiting. As the
royal retinue retires he calls Rodrigo
back with the word Restate! and
proceeds to open his heart to him and
concluding the audience with the chilling
warning Ti guardi dal Grande Inquisitor!
(CD 1 trs. 22-26). In those utterances
no other bass on record brings such
a shiver to the spine than Christoff.
This sub-plot involving the respective
strengths of church and throne has its
apotheosis in the dramatic confrontation
between the King and the aged Grand
Inquisitor and in their act four scene;
one of the greatest duets between two
basses in all opera (CD 2 tr.17). At
this performance the role of the Inquisitor
was sung by Michael Langdon, a member
of the Covent Garden company who went
on to mount the throne in a later revival
of the work. His power of enunciation
and characterisation show all the necessary
promise of a future that was realised
at Covent Garden and elsewhere. Prior
to that confrontation, Verdi gave Philip
one of the longest and most demanding
of bass arias in the soliloquy Ella
giammai m’amo (CD 2 trs 15-16).
Philip, in the loneliness of his study,
doubts his wife’s love and regrets that
the power he holds does not give him
the key to his own mental peace. The
pathos Christoff brings to the words
via tonal variation, nuance and colour
is heart-rending. One feels for the
man, whether he is all-powerful and
with bloodied hands or not. Giulini
draws from Christoff one of the most
telling renderings of this aria by this
singer, not least on the DG stereo recording
(nla) made when that label added La
Scala to their credits. Regrettably,
that issue did not surround Christoff
with a conductor and colleagues of the
quality heard here.
The act two scene between
the King and Rodrigo, referred to above,
is one that Verdi amended for the 1884
revision of the French original. His
changes made it much more taut and dramatic;
qualities that Giulini recognises in
his interpretation. It is in this scene
that Rodrigo, who earlier has had to
safeguard Carlo from Eboli’s wrath,
needs to show the nature of his character
by fearlessly revealing his ideals for
Flanders to the King. He must do this
without attracting royal doubts or admonition.
In the plot, Rodrigo does so to such
effect as to become the King’s confidante.
Gobbi walks this tightrope vocally with
variation of tone, nuance and clarity
of diction. His vocal tone is still
bitingly incisive. Here as in the scene
where he sacrifices his life for Carlo,
(CD 3 trs.1-4), Gobbi also shows, via
his vocal characterisation, his full
appreciation of the depth of what is
written in the libretto and the music.
Rodrigo is the axis of the plot. I know
of no other recording where this is
as obvious as in this performance. Gobbi’s
is a truly towering performance. His
studio recordings of Verdi’s Rigoletto,
Renato and Iago are some of the greatest
on record. His assumption of Rodrigo
in this performance can stand alongside
those memorable interpretations.
As I have already indicated,
the quality of the reproduction is more
than satisfactory. It is far better
than I expected when I heard of the
coming availability of this recording.
There are few stage noises and the applause
after the major set-pieces is warm and
appreciative without being over the
top so as to disturb the dramatic flow
of Verdi’s sublime masterpiece. Whilst
I might always regret not being there,
or seeing Christoff as Philip, this
is no bad substitute and I welcome its
availability most warmly. Any true enthusiast
of Verdi performances will speedily
add it to their collections.
Robert J Farr
for details 
Covent Garden Opera Chorus and Orchestra/Carlo
Maria Giulini 
