In researching Spanish tenor Alfredo Kraus, I was struck by the overwhelming respect in which he was held by his peers. News of his death from pancreatic cancer on September 10, 1999, two weeks short of his 72nd birthday, was greeted with disbelief and sorrow.
His repertoire was not extensive and he only performed about 60 times per year, yet his career spanned both the international houses and the smaller houses in Italy and Spain. He only performed two Verdi roles, his Alfredo alongside Maria Callas in the now-famous Lisbon Traviata earning him cult fame, and the Duke of Mantua in Rigoletto, his debut role in Cairo in 1956 and 10 years later at the Metropolitan Opera. He did not leave his career decisions up to outside management, but acted as his own representative and made his own decisions based on his instinctive knowledge of what was best for his career. Rather than depending upon record executives to determine his marketability, he owned his own record company, Carillon, and released a recording of perhaps his most familiar signature role, Werther. At his death, his funeral was held in Madrid’s main opera house, the Teatro Real across from the royal palace.
In an article entitled “Tenors of our Time” in the August 1996 issue of World and I , author Melvyn Krauss said of Kraus, “…he never ventures into operas that he considers too heavy for his essentially lyric instrument. This sane approach to his art has meant that Kraus today can sing the same lyric repertoire he did 20 years ago.” He also advised up-and-coming tenors “…to follow the example of the strong-minded Kraus, who knew when to say no.…It’s a matter of putting lifelong development as an artist ahead of ready fame and fortune.”
This philosophy allowed Kraus to sing until he was almost 70. His voice was finally dimmed, first by the death of his beloved wife, Rosablanca, in 1997, and later by his illness and eventual death. Baritone Craig Mann remembers a performance after Mrs. Kraus’ death:
“The season before last…I saw Kraus as Edgardo in Lucia. Kraus’ wife had just passed away and there was some question as to whether he would come to Zürich and sing. The 69-year old Kraus came and sang wonderfully; however, it was the first time in my almost 40-year experience watching Kraus that I ever saw him momentarily falter. At the end of the tomb scene in that haunting, rising chromatic melody with the words, ‘Oh bella alma innamorata, bella alma innamorata ne congiunga il Nume in ciel,’ Kraus was overcome with emotion both times he had to sung this phrase. It was obvious he was not singing about Lucia. Thank you, dear Alfredo Kraus, and rest in peace.”
Tenor Paul Gudas remembers Kraus for his class and dignity. “During the rehearsals for Fille du Regiment–I was luckily ‘covering’ Hortensius, so I got to attend the initial piano rehearsals. At the first run through of ‘Pour mon ame’ (the nine High C Aria) Alfredo capped the aria by landing on what would usually be the final high C, going up to the D above it, then returning to the C. …Everyone’s reaction was incredible…Then Kraus shook his head, curled his lip, and said “No, is tasteless!” That is the Alfredo Kraus that I remember and treasure best–someone who could have grandstanded with that voice, but chose not to.”
Perhaps the best tribute to Alfredo Kraus can be found in this message on rec.music.opera written by Ximena Sepulveda: “He is not dead for us. He just went somewhere else, but his legacy will be here forever.”
