The Magnificent Giant

"He was a great natural performer, something on the scale of Niagara Falls." That assessment of Tenor Lauritz Melchior by Metropolitan Opera Assistant Manager Francis Robinson is hardly hyperbole. When he died last week two days before his 83rd birthday, Melchior's gargantuan talents and zest for life were firmly established in opera's hagiography.

Standing 6 ft. 4 in., weighing 270 Ibs., Melchior was oversize in every way. Soprano Marjorie Lawrence tells of the time when she and Melchior both lived at New York's Ansonia Hotel and she saw him wearing his bathrobe in the corridor. One of the hotel staff explained that "there was no bathtub in the hotel that could hold him, so Lauritz was on his way to the roof--where there was a swimming pool." His talent was just as massive.

High jinks and high Cs reigned supreme throughout the operatic career of the Danish-born heldentenor (heroic tenor). For 24 seasons (1926-50) at the Met, it was impossible to imagine Wagner without "the Great Dane." He sang in more than 1,000 Wagnerian performances--more than three times the total of any other singer--with no hint of diminution of the robust tenor that could swoop from a splendorous high to a deep, resonant low.

Judged by many to be the world's greatest dramatic tenor, Melchior actually began his career as a baritone. For four years he labored without distinction. Then a colleague observed that he was "not a baritone, but a tenor with a lid on." Melchior gradually made the switch, but he had to work another decade developing his technique as a tenor.

Temperamental. Still fame eluded him. All told, Melchior sang in Europe for 20 years before he got his big break: a matinee performance of Tannhaeuser at the Met in 1926. Most of the critics' reviews--and raves--went to U.S.-born Soprano Marion Talley, who made her debut in the evening. "She lasted five years," according to the Met's Robinson. Melchior's day finally came in 1929 during his first performance in Tristan at the Met. After that Melchior reigned as opera's supreme heldentenor.

For a quarter-century he was in constant demand in the world's great opera halls, sharing the stage with such stellar Wagnerian sopranos as Kirsten Flagstad, Frida Leider, Maria Miueller and Helen Traubel. Despite his rigorous schedule, Melchior never canceled a performance, something of a landmark for temperamental opera stars. Once while he was in Goetterdaemmerung he developed a swollen polyp that choked him; he found that by holding his head to one side he could sing--and sing he did for three hours.

With his great talent, he displayed a cavalier attitude toward the mundane aspects of his work, which sometimes invited criticism. He scorned rehearsals, frequently played hooky and provoked one conductor to waspishly observe that, if nothing else, one could depend on Melchior to make the same mistakes. While that judgment was harsh, it is true that during one of his umpteen performances of Tristan, Melchior fell asleep onstage, waking only when the mighty Flagstad fell over him at the conclusion of the Liebestod. But his dedication to his art was such that when he fractured his big toe during a performance of Die Walkuere at the Met, he managed to hold his note for the full count and complete the show.

Pride. Life offstage was no less strenuous. Melchior consumed mammoth meals, washed down by heroic quantities of aquavit and Danish beer. He traveled widely and was an enthusiastic big-game hunter. (He liked to wear the skin of a deer he had bagged as his costume in Siegfried.) He took great joy in entertaining friends with his wife "Kleinchen" during festive holidays like Christmas, when he unabashedly decked himself out as a jolly Santa Claus.

For all his jovial nature, Melchior had his share of pride. He departed from the Met in 1950 after General Manager Rudolf Bing approached lesser singers first with new contracts. Melchior threatened to withdraw unless his agreement was renewed immediately; Bing, notoriously unsympathetic to any ultimatum but his own, let him go.

Undaunted, Melchior moved to Hollywood and embarked on a heavy schedule of successful cross-country concert dates. In the lulls, he appeared in movies and revived his recording career, which spanned four decades and earned him a fortune.

His energy seemed illimitable. In his last years, Melchior continued to hunt big game in Africa, served as international president of the Danish Royal Guard, and last fall conducted the orchestra at the San Francisco Opera's 50th anniversary concert. He grew as deaf as Beethoven, but his passion for music was not impaired, nor his concern. A sizable portion of his time was devoted to administering the Heldentenor Foundation, which he established in 1968 to encourage new talent in an annual competition.

For some, the name of Melchior will always have a Wagnerian ring. Others will remember him singing The Star-Spangled Banner on opening day of baseball season--another of his passions--at Dodger Stadium in Los Angeles. But for most of the world, Lauritz Melchior will simply remain the grandest heldentenor in memory--a magnificent giant with a golden voice.

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