Read on to discover the eye-watering secrets of the castrati - opera's greatest stars of a bygone era...
Castrati... a painful, and permanent, surgical practice
Male readers may want to look away now, or at least cross their legs. We are, you see, going to begin by explaining how to make a castrato. It’s an uncomfortable subject, for sure, so if you’re of a nervous disposition, do feel free to rejoin us in a few paragraphs, where we’ll be exploring what a successful snip could lead to.
But now, to the operating table. Place: the Italian peninsular. Time: roughly, the beginning of the 17th century to the mid-19th century – an era when the science of anaesthetisation had still some way to go. And here we go. Before making the first cut, a surgeon would send a patient into a semi-comatose state by plying him with an opium-based drink or compressing his carotid arteries. Then the boy would be plunged into a bath of milk or hot water to soften the necessary parts, at which point speed was of the essence – cut the spermatic cords, remove the testicles, tie the ducts… and then fingers crossed.
'Many operations were performed by local barbers in rural backwaters'
The early-18th-century writer Charles d’Ancillon asserted that this operation would be carried out ‘with scarcely any pain’ suffered, but that seems unlikely. Don’t let the word ‘surgeon’ give you the wrong impression, either. While there were highly skilled medics carrying out castrations in centres of excellence such as Bologna and Florence, many operations were performed by local barbers in rural backwaters – boys heading in for a quick chop would emerge with something considerably more life-changing than a shortened fringe and tidy-up round the ears. Evidence suggests that other methods (largely involving crushing) were also available.
No exact figures are available, as castration was a clandestine matter, but a fair percentage of patients will not have survived the experience – the potential for infection and haemorrhaging made it a very risky business. What we do know, however, is that boys were usually between seven and ten years old at the time of castration: old enough to have shown enough musical promise to make the operation worthwhile; young enough to ensure puberty was some way away.
Castrati... What did they look like?
Also well reported are the physical attributes that would then accompany castrated boys into adulthood. As well as having a high voice, castrati would often grow remarkably tall – the result, it would seem, of the lack of testosterone preventing the epiphyses (the ends of the bones) from hardening in the normal way, so that the limbs would continue to grow unnaturally long. Noticeably absent were an Adam’s apple and facial hair, though many were blessed with luxurious locks on top. Other quirks, meanwhile, included body fat distribution more akin to a woman’s, plus large, barrel-shaped chests.
Now add to these odd looks a clumsy gait that seemed to beset even those who went on to enjoy a stellar career on the stage. As the French writer Jean-Pierre Grosley reported after a performance in Naples in 1770: ‘I was unable to share the pleasure derived by the Italians from these effeminate voices. They emerge from bodies which are so little in keeping with them: these bodies are made up of parts which fit so badly together; their movements in the theatre are so heavy and clumsy that I would have preferred an ordinary voice in an ordinary body.’
Castrati... Why did parents choose this dangerous operation for their sons?
All of which paints a grim picture: a painful, dangerous operation, leading to a freakish appearance and inevitable psychological trauma. Added to that was the opprobrium of the church, to the extent that those who carried out the operation (unless for medical reasons) faced excommunication. So why did castration happen? Why did their parents choose to put their children through such an ordeal?
A way out of poverty
Poverty is one obvious factor. A large number of those castrated came from desperately hard-up families in southern Italy, for whom directing their child towards a career as a singer seemed a way out of their current situation. Initially, dreams of operatic superstardom would not have been the prime appeal, as the first castrati in official employment pre-dated the birth of opera. At first, then, the main incentive would have been, ironically, a career in the church.
A career in the church
‘He that is wounded in the stones, or hath his privy member cut off, shall not enter into the congregation of the Lord,’ says the Old Testament (Deuteronomy 23:1), a view still held by the Church of Rome in the late-16th century. Shortly after he became Pope, however, Clement VIII had his ear turned by the voices of two castrati – history does not relate why they had been castrated – who, in 1599, he arranged to be introduced into the Papal Choir.
The perfect vehicle for filling the Sistine Chapel with glorious polyphony, castrati soon entirely replaced falsetto voices in the Papal Choir, as the Church trod a fine line between still theoretically disapproving of the practice while in reality turning a blind eye to it. The castrato voice was thus accorded a degree of respectability, while in the meantime conservatoires across Italy – particularly Naples – were taking in castrati from the poorest families and, in return for their commitment to stick around, offering them intensive training.
Castrati... the opera world beckoned
Many castrati would devote themselves to the service of the church, with the likes of Allegri’s 1638 Miserere – high Cs and all – among the well known works specifically written for their voices. It was, though, those who made the transition to opera that discovered the exceptional fortune and level of celebrity that would stamp their names into lasting history – from Baldassare Ferri in the mid-17th century to the likes of Senesino, Farinelli and Gaetano Guadagni in the 18th.
These are the figures who, appearing alongside the leading female singers of the day, could guarantee full houses teeming with swooning admirers, and whose talents inspired composers such as Monteverdi, Handel and Gluck to write some of their finest roles.
Castrati... What did they sound like?
What did these top castrati sound like, though? That, says countertenor Iestyn Davies, is something we can only try to imagine through piecing together the evidence available. ‘The closest we can get is through the one surviving recording of a castrato by Moreschi, but no-one really knows if he was any good,’ says Davies, whose own recordings include 2012’s Arias for Guadagni.
‘However,' Davies continues, 'we do have a pretty good idea that what happens at castration is that the height of the voice remains the same while, among the other physical changes, their large rib cages allowed for an increased lung capacity. The notion, then, is that there was this quite strong support system for what would have been a treble-like voice – someone once described it as the sound of a boy with the power of a tenor.’
Castrati... What was their voice range?
Evidence, says Davies, also lies within the music itself. ‘The composers of the 18th century knew the singers they were writing for,’ he says. ‘Take Handel, for example. The roles he wrote for Senesino in operas such as Giulio Cesare, Rodelinda and Radamisto sit in a certain part of the range – one that I’d say correlates to what a modern-day countertenor alto would sing, from the A below middle C to two Ds above it.
Farinelli’s repertoire sits maybe a third higher than Senesino’s – more like a mezzo-soprano – and while Guadagni’s range is similar to Senesino’s, in his instance the repertoire is affected by changes in taste and style. Guadagni is famous for singing in the premiere of Gluck’s Orfeo ed Euridice which we now know as a “reform opera” – compared to opera seria, it was much more concerned with the idea of the plot moving forward and there was less interest in the singer being able to show off with fast roulades and coloratura.’
The crowds went wild, from Italy to London, Lisbon to Moscow
Said showing off – aided by feats of breathing that were not in the armoury of the non-castrated singer – would send crowds wild in the tightly packed theatres of Naples and Rome, and the premieres of Handel’s operas in London and Gluck’s Orfeo in Vienna reveal how the cult of the castrati also spread well beyond the Italian peninsular.
Though the French had little time for them, castrati became in huge demand from Lisbon to Moscow, and not just in the big cities – in England, records from the Three Choirs Festival reveal that the likes of Guadagni, Venanzio Rauzzini and Giovanni Rubinelli made it out to the leafy shires too.
The biggest names commanded vast fees and would be showered with lavish gifts. Plus, where there were hordes of infatuated fans, there was also a ready supply of willing lovers – a lack of testosterone and reduced sex drive did not mean a complete inability to perform in bed, it would seem, and coming with built-in contraception proved an added attraction.
Diva antics...
Did all this adoration go their heads? In some cases, yes. Caffarelli, for instance, had a reputation for treating fellow performers with contempt, idly chatting to attractive members of the audience from the stage when others were singing. The very pretty Luigi Marchesi, meanwhile, would insist on entering the stage on horseback, wearing a plumed helmet and asking ‘Where am I…?’, irrespective of what opera he was appearing in. Caricaturists and satirists had a field day – these strange-looking beasts were already an easy target – but for every Caffarelli and Marchesi, there were many others whose more modest conduct went unremarked upon.
Castrati... popularity on the wane
For a while, the top voices had it all: wealth, fame, adulation. But it was never going to last for ever. Styles and tastes change and, heading into the early 1800s, castrati found their popularity on the wane as opera moved in new directions.
By the middle of the 19th century, they had pretty much returned whence they came – namely, the Papal Chapel – and while Rossini may have demanded the use of castrati in his Petite messe solennelle of 1863, he probably didn’t intend to be taken seriously. In the 1870s, Pope Leo XIII set in motion measures to end the recruitment of castrati to church choirs, and on 22 November 1903, his successor, Pius X, made the ban official.
A cruel practice that produced few megastars
The castrati had had their long moment in the sun, bequeathing a wealth of colourful stories and glorious repertoire for future generations. But, just as we began with a grim experience, we’ll finish with some food for thought. ‘We know that many boys were castrated,’ reflects Iestyn Davies, ‘but very, very few made it as castrato singers.’
Away from the Senesinos and Farinellis, countless others found themselves plying their trade in humble church choirs, still living in poverty. Many were castrated only to find they developed no singing voice at all. And then there were those who did not survive the operation. For all that we may enjoy the exploits of the famous, the subject of castration is a painful matter, in more ways than one.
