Elisabeth Rethberg was one of the most highly-regarded sopranos of the decades between the world wars. For twenty years, her silvery spinto voice captivated Metropolitan Opera audiences, and her records were major staples in the Brunswick and Victor catalogues.
Born Lisbeth Sättler in Schwarzenberg, Germany, her earliest musical education was with her father who was a music teacher. At sixteen, she began studying voice and piano at the Dresden Royal Conservatory. Her debut took place at the Dresden Opera in 1915, as Arsena in Johann Strauss’s Der Zigeunerbaron opposite the rising tenor, Richard Tauber. The following year, she was entrusted with the Countess in Mozart’s Le nozze di Figaro and Eva in Wagner’s Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg. In 1919 She sang the Empress in Richard Strauss’s Die Frau ohne Schatten in the Dresden premiere, and nine years later sang the leading role in the world premiere of Strauss’s Die ägyptische Helena.
Rethberg’s Metropolitan Opera debut came in 1922 as Verdi’s Aida. She soon took up residence in New York and joined the Met where she remained for twenty years. There she performed thirty roles by Verdi, Mozart, and Wagner. She often returned to Europe to sing at La Scala, Covent Garden, and The Salzburg Festival.
Rethberg’s first group of records were made in Berlin between 1920 and 1922 for the Lindstrom company, appearing on their Odeon label. She returned to the company in 1931 and 1933 to record several additional selections. These recordings have never been reissued complete and are included here for the first time. This set includes all of her recordings for Brunswick, Victor, and the Gramophone Company, with the notable addition of six previously unpublished Brunswick records remastered from the singer’s own test pressings. The set concludes with three selections recorded by the Bell Telephone Laboratory, excerpts from a 1933 performance of Der Freischütz at the Vienna State Opera, and several appearances on US radio programs between 1937 and 1940.
Born Lisbeth Sättler in Schwarzenberg, Germany, her earliest musical education was with her father who was a music teacher. At sixteen, she began studying voice and piano at the Dresden Royal Conservatory. Her debut took place at the Dresden Opera in 1915, as Arsena in Johann Strauss’s Der Zigeunerbaron opposite the rising tenor, Richard Tauber. The following year, she was entrusted with the Countess in Mozart’s Le nozze di Figaro and Eva in Wagner’s Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg. In 1919 She sang the Empress in Richard Strauss’s Die Frau ohne Schatten in the Dresden premiere, and nine years later sang the leading role in the world premiere of Strauss’s Die ägyptische Helena.
Rethberg’s Metropolitan Opera debut came in 1922 as Verdi’s Aida. She soon took up residence in New York and joined the Met where she remained for twenty years. There she performed thirty roles by Verdi, Mozart, and Wagner. She often returned to Europe to sing at La Scala, Covent Garden, and The Salzburg Festival.
Rethberg’s first group of records were made in Berlin between 1920 and 1922 for the Lindstrom company, appearing on their Odeon label. She returned to the company in 1931 and 1933 to record several additional selections. These recordings have never been reissued complete and are included here for the first time. This set includes all of her recordings for Brunswick, Victor, and the Gramophone Company, with the notable addition of six previously unpublished Brunswick records remastered from the singer’s own test pressings. The set concludes with three selections recorded by the Bell Telephone Laboratory, excerpts from a 1933 performance of Der Freischütz at the Vienna State Opera, and several appearances on US radio programs between 1937 and 1940.
CD 1 (78:20) | ||
I. Odeon Acoustical Process Recordings, Berlin, 1920–1922 | ||
| with orchestral accompaniment except where noted | ||
| 1. | LE NOZZE DI FIGARO: Porgi, amor, qualche ristoro (Heil’ge Quelle reiner Triebe) (Mozart) | 3:14 |
| April 1921; xxB 6639 (Rxx 80166) | ||
| 2. | DIE ZAUBERFLÖTE: Ach, ich fühl’s, es ist verschwunden (Mozart) | 4:17 |
| September 1920; xxB 6563-2 (Jxx 81060) | ||
| 3. | DIE ZAUBERFLÖTE: Ach, ich fühl’s, es ist verschwunden (Mozart) | 4:13 |
| September 1920; xxB 6563-3 (Rxx 80165) | ||
| 4. | Ridente la calma (Der Sylphe des Friedens) (Myslivecˇek, arranged by Mozart)) | 3:56 |
| October 1920; xxB 6570 (Rxx 80168) | ||
| 5. | L’AFRICAINE: Adieu, mon doux rivage (Leb’ wohl, freundlich Gestade) (Meyerbeer) | 4:01 |
| September 1920; xxB 6564 (Rxx 80160) | ||
| 6. | CARMEN: Votre mère avec moi sortait de la chapelle (Sonntag war’s, aus der Kirche) [Act 1 duet, side 1] (Bizet) | 3:40 |
| Richard Tauber, tenor | ||
| 8 April 1921; xxB 6643 (Rxx 80712) | ||
| 7. | CARMEN: Tu la verras! Eh bien! (Bei meiner Mutter?) [Act 1 duet, side 2] (Bizet) | 4:10 |
| Richard Tauber, tenor | ||
| 8 April 1921; xxB 6644 (Rxx 80713) (21 bars are omitted between sides 1 and 2 of this duet recording) | ||
| 8. | CARMEN: Je dis que rien ne m’épouvante (Ich sprach, daß ich furchtlos mich fühle) (Bizet) | 4:31 |
| September 1920; xxB 6562-2 (Rxx 80161) | ||
| 9. | MADAMA BUTTERFLY: Quest’obi pomposa (Die prunkende Schleife) [Act 1 duet, side 1] (Puccini) | 4:10 |
| Richard Tauber, tenor; orchestra conducted by Carl Besl | ||
| April 1922; xxB 6743 (Rxx 80732) | ||
| 10. | MADAMA BUTTERFLY: Un po’ di vero c’è (’s ist schon was Wahres dran) [Act 1 duet, side 2] (Puccini) | 4:07 |
| Richard Tauber, tenor; orchestra conducted by Carl Besl | ||
| April 1922; xxB 6744 (Rxx 80733) (46 bars are omitted between sides 1 and 2 of this duet recording) | ||
| 11. | PRODANÁ NEVEˇSTA: Jako matka požehnánim (Nun in Lust und Leide) (Smetana) | 3:07 |
| Richard Tauber, tenor | ||
| 8 April 1921; xxB 6646 (Rxx 80749) | ||
| 12. | DER ZIGEUNERBARON: So elend und so treu ist keiner auf Erden (Johann Strauss II) | 2:51 |
| September 1920; xxB 6566 (Rxx 80167) | ||
| 13. | Pastorale—Un jour de printemps (Im holden Mai), Op. 21, No. 9 (Bizet)) | 3:52 |
| October 1920; xxB 6568 (Rxx 76215) | ||
| 14. | Ständchen, Op. 17, No. 2 (Richard Strauss) | 2:34 |
| with Max Jaffé, piano | ||
| April 1922; xxB 6641 (Rxx 80086) | ||
| 15. | Freundliche Vision, Op. 48, No. 1 (Richard Strauss) | 3:54 |
| with Max Jaffé, piano | ||
| April 1922; xxB 6640 (Rxx 76229) | ||
| 16. | Die Einsame from CHINESISCHE LIEDER, Op. 5, No. 1 (Patáky) | 2:55 |
| with unidentified pianist | ||
| October 1920; xxB 6573 (Rxx 76216) | ||
II. Brunswick Acoustical Process Recordings, New York City, 1923–1925 | ||
| with orchestral accompaniment, except where noted | ||
| Note: Brunswick’s procedure was to assign a matrix number for each take recorded. The surviving recording ledgers often list two matrix numbers for a selection, indicating that two takes were recorded, with no indication as to which take was published. Matrix numbers are not usually visible on Brunswick’s published discs, but occasionally complete or partial matrix numbers can be seen. For this reason, we have given the published matrix number when it is known, but in most cases, we have simply listed the two numbers representing the two takes recorded. | ||
| 17. | Ständchen—Leise flehen meine Lieder, No. 4 from SCHWANENGESANG, D. 957 (Schubert) | 2:49 |
| with orchestral accompaniment; Fredric Fradkin, violin | ||
| 29 February 1924; 12595 or 12596 (10134) | ||
| 18. | Ave Maria, D. 839 (Schubert) | 2:39 |
| with harp accompaniment; Max Rosen, violin | ||
| 14 April 1924; 12867 or 12868 (10163) | ||
| 19. | Wiegenlied, D. 498 (Schubert) | 2:58 |
| with piano accompaniment | ||
| 23 January 1925; 14670 or 14671 (assigned 10165 but likely unpublished) Transferred from a test pressing owned by Elisabeth Rethberg | ||
| 20. | Der Lindenbaum (arranged by Friedrich Silcher as a folksong based on Schubert)) | 3:08 |
| 23 January 1925; 14668 or 14669 (assigned 10165 but likely unpublished) Transferred from a test pressing owned by Elisabeth Rethberg | ||
| 21. | Hans und Liesl—Und der Hans schlich umher (Woyna) | 2:30 |
| with Friedrich Schorr, bass baritone | ||
| 10 March 1925; 15100 or 15102 (unpublished) Transferred from a test pressing owned by Elisabeth Rethberg | ||
| 22. | Auf Flügeln des Gesanges, Op. 34, No. 2 (Mendelssohn) | 2:41 |
| with orchestra and harp accompaniment | ||
| 9 April 1924; 12841 or 12842 (10163) | ||
| 23. | Wiegenlied, Op. 49, No. 4 (Brahms) | 2:00 |
| 14 April 1924; 12871 (unpublished) Transferred from a test pressing owned by Elisabeth Rethberg | ||
| Languages: | ||
| All tracks sung in German | ||
CD 2 (80:02) | ||
II. Brunswick Acoustical Process Recordings, New York City, 1923–1925 | ||
| with orchestral accompaniment, except where noted | ||
| 1. | AIDA: Ritorna vincitor (Verdi) | 4:23 |
| 30 October 1923; X11764 (50043) | ||
| 2. | AIDA: O patria mia (Verdi) | 4:42 |
| 30 October 1923; X11763 (50043) | ||
| 3. | ANDREA CHÉNIER: La mamma morta (Giordano) | 4:18 |
| 14 April 1924; X12863 or X12864 (50054) | ||
| 4. | LA BOHÈME: Sì, mi chiamano Mimì (Puccini) | 4:38 |
| 9 April 1924; X12839 or X12840 (50054) | ||
| 5. | TOSCA: Vissi d’arte (Puccini) | 3:22 |
| 30 March 1925; X15338 or X15339 (50065) | ||
| 6. | MADAMA BUTTERFLY: Piangi? Perchè? … Un bel dì, vedremo (Puccini)) | 4:26 |
| 30 March 1925; X15340 or X15342 (50065) | ||
| 7. | Au printemps (Gounod) | 2:19 |
| 10 March 1924; 12672 or 12673 (10166) | ||
| 8. | Élégie (Massenet) | 3:14 |
| with unidentified pianist and Frederic Fradkin, violin | ||
| 26 March 1925; 15307 or 15309 (10189) | ||
| 9. | Solveig’s Song from PEER GYNT, Op. 23 (Grieg) | 2:56 |
| 29 February 1924; 12597 or 12598 (10134) | ||
| 10. | Jeg elsker dig (Ich liebe dich), No. 3 from HJERTETS MELODIER, Op. 5 (Grieg)) | 2:44 |
| 10 March 1924; 12669 or 12670 (10124) | ||
| 11. | Nur wer die Sehnsucht kennt, Op. 6, No. 6 (Tchaikovsky) | 3:16 |
| with Willem Willeke, cello | ||
| 28 January 1925; 14743 or 14744 (10166) | ||
| 12. | Canzonetta — War schöner als der schönste Tag (Loewe) | 2:36 |
| 14 April 1924; 12865 or 12866 (10124) | ||
| 13. | La serenata (Angel’s Serenade) (Braga) | 3:22 |
| with Fredric Fradkin, violin | ||
| 26 March 1925; 15310 (10189) | ||
| 14. | Verlassen bin I, Op. 4, No. 1 (Koschat) | 2:42 |
| 28 January 1925; 14745 or 14746 (unpublished on 78rpm) Transferred from a magnetic tape copy of a test pressing now lost | ||
| 15. | Der Spielmann (Hildach) | 3:08 |
| 10 March 1925; 15103 or 15104 (unpublished on 78rpm) Transferred from a magnetic tape copy of a test pressing now lost | ||
III. Brunswick Electrical Process Recordings, New York City, 1926 | ||
| with orchestral accompaniment, except where noted | ||
| 16. | SOSARME: Rendi’l sereno al ciglio (Handel) | 4:23 |
| 27 May 1926; XE19372 or XE19373 (30119) | ||
| 17. | SERSE: Ombra mai fù (Handel) | 4:13 |
| 27 May 1926; XE19374 or XE19376 (30119) | ||
| 18. | LE NOZZE DI FIGARO: Deh vieni, non tardar (Mozart) | 3:17 |
| 20 May 1926; E19342 or E19344 (15122) | ||
| 19. | DIE ZAUBERFLÖTE: Ach, ich fühl’s, es ist verschwunden (Mozart) | 3:41 |
| 20 May 1926; E19345 or E19347 (15122) | ||
| 20. | DER FREISCHÜTZ: Leise, leise, fromme Weise (Weber) | 4:21 |
| 20 May 1926; XE19340 or XE19341 (50154) | ||
| 21. | LOHENGRIN: Einsam in trüben Tagen (Wagner) | 4:25 |
| 19 April 1926; XE18825 or XE18826 (50086) | ||
| 22. | LOHENGRIN: Euch Lüften, die mein Klagen (Wagner) | 3:35 |
| 26 April 1926; E18903 or E18904 (15116) | ||
| Languages: | ||
| Tracks 1–6, and 16–18 sung in Italian | ||
| Track 7 sung in French | ||
| Tracks 8 and 13 sung in English | ||
| Tracks 9–12, 14, 15, and 19–22 sung in German | ||
CD 3 (75:41) | ||
III. Brunswick Electrical Process Recordings, New York City, 1926 | ||
| with orchestral accompaniment, except where noted | ||
| 1. | TANNHÄUSER: Dich, teure Halle (Wagner) | 3:34 |
| 19 April 1926; E18827 or E18829 (15116) | ||
| 2. | TANNHÄUSER: Allmächt’ge Jungfrau (Wagner) | 4:36 |
| 26 April 1926; XE18905 or XE18907 (50086) | ||
| 3. | AIDA: Ritorna vincitor (Verdi) | 4:21 |
| 26 April 1926; XE18908 or XE18909 (50084) | ||
| 4. | AIDA: O patria mia (Verdi) | 4:46 |
| 19 April 1926; XE18830 or XE18831 (50084) | ||
| 5. | OTELLO: Ave Maria (Verdi) | 4:33 |
| 14 June 1926; XE19562 or XE19563 (50154) | ||
| 6. | Ave Maria, D. 839 (Schubert) | 2:51 |
| with Frederic Persson, piano, and Max Rosen, violin | ||
| 2 June 1926; E19436 or E19437 (15145) | ||
| 7. | Der Nussbaum, No. 3 from MYRTHEN, Op. 25 (Schumann) | 2:57 |
| with Dan Lieberfeld, piano | ||
| 16 June 1926; E19579 or E19580 (15145) | ||
| 8. | Es steht ein Baum in jenem tal (Taubert) | 3:01 |
| 16 June 1926; E19581 or E19582 (10259) | ||
| 9. | Murmelndes Lüftchen from GESÄNGE AUS DEM SPANISCHEN LIEDERBUCH (Jensen) | 2:39 |
| with string quartet and piano | ||
| 15 June 1926; E19564 or E19566 (15148) | ||
| 10. | Du bist wie eine Blume (Rubinstein) | 3:14 |
| with Dan Lieberfeld, piano, and Fredric Fradkin, violin | ||
| 16 June 1926; E19583 or E19584 (15148) | ||
| 11. | Élégie (Massenet) | 3:15 |
| with Frederic Persson, piano, and Max Rosen, violin | ||
| 2 June 1926; E19431 or E19432 (10253) | ||
| 12. | La serenata (Angel’s Serenade) (Braga) | 3:31 |
| with Frederic Persson, piano, and Max Rosen, violin | ||
| 2 June 1926; E19433 or E19434 (10253) | ||
| 13. | The cuckoo song (When daisies pied and violets blue) (Arne)) | 3:28 |
| 20 May 1926; E19337 or E19339 (assigned 10247 but likely not published) Transferred from a test pressing owned by Elisabeth Rethberg | ||
| 14. | The plausible lover (Carey) | 3:15 |
| 20 May 1926; E19334 or E19336 (assigned 10247 but likely unpublished) Transferred from a test pressing owned by Elisabeth Rethberg | ||
| 15. | Believe me, if all those endearing young charms (Moore) | 3:17 |
| with string quartet and harp | ||
| 4 June 1926; E19484 or E19485 (10256) | ||
| 16. | Would God I were the tender apple blossom (County Derry air) | 4:09 |
| 20 May 1926; XE19331 or XE19333 (50118) | ||
| 17. | The snowy-breasted pearl (Old Irish air) | 4:23 |
| 27 May 1926; XE19377 or XE19378 (50118) | ||
| 18. | Home, sweet home (Bishop) | 3:08 |
| 16 June 1926; E19577 or E19578 (10256) | ||
| 19. | Es war ein Traum [It was a dream] (Lassen) | 2:33 |
| 15 June 1926; E19567 or E19569 (15147) | ||
| 20. | A moonlight song (Cadman) | 2:30 |
| 15 June 1926; E19570 or E19571 (15147) | ||
| 21. | Auf geheimen Waldespfade [By a lonely forest pathway] (Griffes) | 3:01 |
| with Frederic Persson, piano | ||
| 2 June 1926; E19480 or E19481 (15146) | ||
| 22. | A spring fancy (Densmore) | 2:36 |
| with Frederic Persson, piano | ||
| 4 June 1926; E19478 or E19479 (15146) | ||
| Languages: | ||
| Tracks 1, 2, and 6–10 sung in German | ||
| Tracks 3–5 sung in Italian | ||
| Tracks 11–22 sung in English | ||
CD 4 (78:10) | ||
IV. RCA Victor Recordings, New York City, Liederkranz Hall, 1929–1931 | ||
| with orchestra, conducted by Rosario Bourdon (except tracks 1 and 2) | ||
| 1. | AIDA: Ritorna vincitor (Verdi) | 4:18 |
| Berlin State Opera Orchestra, conducted by Fritz Zweig | ||
| 11 November 1927; Gramophone Company CWR1331-2 (EJ185) | ||
| AIDA: Act 3 (Nile Scene) (Verdi) | ||
| with Giuseppe De Luca, baritone and Giacomo Lauri-Volpi, tenor | ||
| 2. | Qui Radames verrà ... O patria mia | 3:42 |
| with Berlin State Opera Orchestra, conducted by Fritz Zweig | ||
| 11 November 1927; Gramophone Company CWR1332-2 (EJ185) | ||
| 3. | Ciel, mio padre! | 4:19 |
| 20 January 1930; RCA Victor CVE-58610-1 | ||
| 4. | Su dunque! sorgete | 3:55 |
| 20 January 1930; RCA Victor CVE-58611-1 (8207) | ||
| 5. | Pur ti riveggo mia dolce Aida | 3:25 |
| 1 February 1929; RCA Victor CVE-49707-2 (8160) | ||
| 6. | Là, tra foreste vergini | 3:45 |
| 1 February 1929; RCA Victor CVE-49708-3 (8160) | ||
| 7. | Ah no! fuggiamo! | 2:18 |
| 1 February 1929; RCA Victor CVE-49709-2 (8206) | ||
| 8. | Ma, dimmi: per qual via | 3:27 |
| 20 January 1930; RCA Victor CVE-58609-1 (8206) | ||
| 9. | ATTILA: Te sol, te sol quest’anima (Verdi) | 3:14 |
| Beniamino Gigli, tenor, and Ezio Pinza, bass | ||
| New York City, studio 2 31 December 1930; RCA Victor CVE-67749-1 (unpublished on 78rpm) | ||
| 10. | ATTILA: Te sol, te sol quest’anima (Verdi) | 3:05 |
| Beniamino Gigli, tenor, and Ezio Pinza, bass | ||
| New York City, studio 2 31 December 1930; RCA Victor CVE-67749-2 (8194) | ||
| 11. | I LOMBARDI: Qual voluttà trascorrere (Verdi) | 4:22 |
| Beniamino Gigli, tenor, and Ezio Pinza, bass | ||
| New York City, studio 2 31 December 1930; RCA Victor CVE-67748-1 (unpublished on 78rpm) | ||
| 12. | I LOMBARDI: Qual voluttà trascorrere (Verdi) | 4:20 |
| Beniamino Gigli, tenor, and Ezio Pinza, bass | ||
| New York City, studio 2 31 December 1930; RCA Victor CVE-67748-2 (8194) | ||
| 13. | UN BALLO IN MASCHERA: Ma dall’arido stelo divulsa (Verdi) | 4:41 |
| 23 December 1929; RCA Victor CVE-58138-2 (7582) | ||
| 14. | UN BALLO IN MASCHERA: Morrò, ma prima in grazia (Verdi) | 4:36 |
| 30 January 1930; RCA Victor CVE-58630-1 (7582) | ||
| 15. | OTELLO: Piangea cantando (Verdi) | 4:30 |
| New York City Studio 2; 29 December 1930; RCA Victor CVE,67743-2 (7393) | ||
| 16. | OTELLO: Ave Maria (Verdi) | 4:15 |
| New York City Studio 2; 29 January 1930; RCA Victor CVE-58628-1 (7393) | ||
| 17. | IL RE PASTORE: L’amerò, sarò costante (Mozart) | 4:33 |
| Yacob Zayde, violin | ||
| New York City Studio 2 29 December 1930; RCA Victor CVE-58139-4 (7472) | ||
| 18. | DON GIOVANNI: Batti, batti, o bel Masetto (Mozart) | 3:48 |
| New York City Studio 2 29 December 1930; RCA Victor CVE-67742-2 (7472) | ||
| 19. | FAUST: Il était un roi de Thulé (Gounod) | 3:58 |
| 10 December 1929; RCA Victor CVE-57592-2 (7179) | ||
| 20. | FAUST: Ah! je ris de me voir (Gounod) | 3:35 |
| 10 December 1929; RCA Victor CVE-57593-2 (7179) | ||
| Languages: | ||
| All tracks sung in Italian except tracks 19 and 20, which are sung in French | ||
CD 5 (72:35) | ||
IV. RCA Victor Recordings, New York City, Liederkranz Hall, 1929–1931 | ||
| with orchestra, conducted by Rosario Bourdon (except tracks 1 and 2) | ||
| 1. | TANNHÄUSER: Dich, teure Halle (Wagner) | 3:21 |
| Berlin State Opera Orchestra, conducted by Fritz Zweig | ||
| 11 November 1927; Gramophone Company CWR1329-2 (D1420 and EJ184) | ||
| 2. | LOHENGRIN: Einsam in trüben Tagen (Wagner) | 4:19 |
| Berlin State Opera Orchestra, conducted by Fritz Zweig | ||
| 11 November 1927; Gramophone Company CWR1330-2 (D1420 and EJ184) | ||
| 3. | DER FLIEGENDE HOLLÄNDER: Traft ihr das Schiff (Wagner) | 6:15 |
| 30 January 1930; RCA Victor BVE-58631-2 and BVE-58632-1 (1477) | ||
| 4. | DIE MEISTERSINGER VON NÜRNBERG: Sieh Ev’chen! Dacht’ ich doch (Wagner) | 4:35 |
| Friedrich Schorr, bass-baritone | ||
| 30 December 1929; RCA Victor CVE-58145-2 (8195) | ||
| 5. | DIE MEISTERSINGER VON NÜRNBERG: Hat man mit dem Schuhwerk (Wagner) | 4:32 |
| Friedrich Schorr, bass-baritone | ||
| 30 December 1929; RCA Victor CVE-58146-2 (8195) | ||
| 6. | BOCCACCIO: Hab’ ich nur deine Liebe (von Suppé) | 4:16 |
| New York City Studio 1 30 April 1931; RCA Victor CVE-53074-1 (7415) | ||
| 7. | DIE FLEDERMAUS: Klänge der Heimat [Czardas] (Johann Strauss II) | 4:22 |
| New York City Studio 1 30 April 1931; RCA Victor CVE-53075-1 (7415) | ||
V. Odeon Recordings, Berlin, 21 May 1931 | ||
| with orchestra, conducted by Frieder Weissmann | ||
| 8. | LE NOZZE DI FIGARO: Porgi, amor, qualche ristoro (Heilige Quelle reiner Triebe) (Mozart) | 3:18 |
| Be 9005 (O-4976) | ||
| 9. | CARMEN: Je dis que rien ne m’épouvante (Ich sprach, daß ich furchtlos mich fühle) (Bizet) | 3:58 |
| xxB 8486 (O-8378;7184-M and 9050-M) | ||
| 10. | MADAMA BUTTERFLY: Un bel dì, vedremo (Eines Tages seh’n wir) (Puccini) | 3:45 |
| xxB 8487 (O-8378;7184-M and 9050-M) | ||
| 11. | DER ZIGEUNERBARON: So elend und so treu ist keiner auf Erden (Johann Strauss II) | 2:40 |
| Be 9004 (O-4976) | ||
VI. Odeon Recordings, Berlin, 22 June 1933 | ||
| with unidentified orchestra and conductor | ||
| 12. | L’AFRICAINE: Adieu, mon doux rivage (Leb’ wohl, freundlich Gestade) (Meyerbeer) | 3:11 |
| Be 10391 (O-4530 and O-4848) | ||
| 13. | CAVALLERIA RUSTICANA: Voi lo sapete (Als euer Sohn einst fortzog) (Mascagni) | 3:10 |
| Be 10390 (O-4530 and O-4848) | ||
| 14. | CAVALLERIA RUSTICANA: Voi lo sapete (Mascagni) | 3:12 |
| Qu558 (English Parlophone RO 20307) Note: the matrix prefix Qu was used by the Lindström company to designate recordings intended for foreign markets. This Italian sung version was issued on English and Australian Parlophone. | ||
VII. The Gramophone Company Recordings, Berlin, 21 September 1934 Recordings made for the Hugo Wolf Society | ||
| with Coenraad V. Bos, piano | ||
| 15. | No. 29 from ITALIENISCHES LIEDERBUCH: Wohl kenn’ ich Euren Stand, der nicht gering | 1:31 |
| 16. | No. 21 from ITALIENISCHES LIEDERBUCH: Man sagt mir, deine Mutter woll’ es nicht | 0:59 |
| 2RA93-2 (DB2370) | ||
| 17. | No. 36 from ITALIENISCHES LIEDERBUCH: Wenn du, mein Liebster, steigst zum Himmel auf | 1:35 |
| 2RA93-2 (DB2370) | ||
| 18. | No. 11 from ITALIENISCHES LIEDERBUCH: Wie lange schon war immer mein Verlangen | 1:56 |
| 19. | No. 28 from ITALIENISCHES LIEDERBUCH: Du sagst mir, daß ich keine Fürstin sei | 1:06 |
| 20. | No. 26 from ITALIENISCHES LIEDERBUCH: Ich ließ mir sagen und mir ward erzählt | 1:28 |
| 2RA94-1 (DB2369) | ||
| 21. | No. 32 from ITALIENISCHES LIEDERBUCH: Was soll der Zorn, mein Schatz, der dich erhitzt? | 1:24 |
| 22. | No. 24 from ITALIENISCHES LIEDERBUCH: Ich esse nun mein Brot nicht trocken mehr | 1:31 |
| 2RA95-3 (DB2369) | ||
| 23. | No. 31 from ITALIENISCHES LIEDERBUCH: Wie soll ich fröhlich sein und lachen gar | 1:46 |
| 2RA95-3 (DB2369) | ||
| 24. | No. 7 from SPANISCHES LIEDERBUCH, GEISTLICHE LIEDER: Mühvoll komm’ ich und beladen | 4:20 |
| 2RA96-1 (DB2703) | ||
| Languages: | ||
| All tracks sung in German except track 14, which is sung in Italian | ||
CD 6 (75:15) | ||
VIII. RCA Victor Recordings, New York City, Studio 2, 1939–1940 | ||
| with chamber orchestra, conducted by Bruno Reibold | ||
| 1. | DON GIOVANNI: Là ci darem la mano (Mozart) | 3:22 |
| Ezio Pinza, bass | ||
| 8 May 1939; BS-036864-2 (2154) | ||
| 2. | LE NOZZE DI FIGARO: Se a caso madama (Mozart) | 2:36 |
| Ezio Pinza, bass | ||
| 11 May 1940; BS-050556-2 (2154) | ||
| 3. | LE NOZZE DI FIGARO: Porgi, amor, qualche ristoro (Mozart) | 3:35 |
| 11 May 1940; BS-050558-2 (2155) | ||
| 4. | LE NOZZE DI FIGARO: Crudel, perché finora (Mozart) | 2:49 |
| Ezio Pinza, bass | ||
| 11 May 1940; BS-050555-1 (2155) | ||
| 5. | LE NOZZE DI FIGARO: Dove sono i bei momenti (Mozart) | 4:22 |
| 11 May 1940; CS-050559-2 (18015) | ||
| 6. | DIE ZAUBERFLÖTE: Bei Männern, welche Liebe fühlen (Mozart) | 3:00 |
| Ezio Pinza, bass | ||
| 10 May 1940; BS-050557-1A (10-1104) | ||
IX. Non-commercial recordings, 1932 and 1933 | ||
Lyric Theater, Hoboken, New Jersey, 28 December 1932 | ||
| Test Recordings made by the Bell Telephone Laboratory Kurt Ruhrseltz, piano | ||
| 7. | Auf Flügeln des Gesanges, Op. 34, No. 2 (Mendelssohn) | 3:33 |
| BTL2467 | ||
| 8. | Vergebliches Ständchen, Op. 84, No. 4 (Brahms) | 1:44 |
| BTL2467 | ||
| 9. | TANNHÄUSER: Dich, teure Halle (Wagner) | 3:14 |
| BTL2468 | ||
Vienna State Opera House, 10 May 1933 | ||
| Recordings made on a home recording machine | ||
| Three fragments from DER FREISCHÜTZ (Weber) | ||
| Vienna State Opera Orchestra, conducted by Josef Krips | ||
| 10. | Wie nahte mir der Schlummer | 4:08 |
| Note: the recording ends with “sende deine Engelschaaren” | ||
| 11. | Nur die Nachtigall und Grille | 3:34 |
| Note: the recording begins with the third syllable of “Nachtigal.” Fifteen bars are missing between Tracks 10 and 11 | ||
| 12. | Und ob die Wolke sie verhülle | 2:29 |
| Note: The orchestral introduction was not recorded | ||
X. Selected Radio Appearances, 1937–1940 | ||
The Magic Key of RCA, New York City, 28 March 1937 | ||
| with the Philadelphia Orchestra, conducted by Eugene Ormandy | ||
| 13. | Milton Cross introduces Elisabeth Rethberg | 0:45 |
| 14. | OTELLO: Ave Maria (Verdi) | 4:32 |
| 15. | Marienlied (Marx) | 2:20 |
| 16. | Hat dich die Liebe berührt (Marx) | 2:51 |
The Magic Key of RCA, New York City, 24 October 1937 | ||
| with the NBC Symphony, conducted by Frank Black | ||
| 17. | Milton Cross introduces Elisabeth Rethberg | 0:22 |
| 18. | LA FORZA DEL DESTINO: Pace, pace, mio dio (Verdi) | 5:12 |
| 19. | Morgen, Op. 27, No. 4 (Richard Strauss) | 3:18 |
| 20. | Er ist’s, No. 6 from MÖRIKE LIEDER (Wolf) | 1:24 |
The Ford Sunday Evening Hour, 30 January 1938 | ||
| with the Detroit Symphony, conducted by Eugene Ormandy | ||
| 21. | Truman Bradley introduces Elisabeth Rethberg | 0:26 |
| 22. | FIDELIO: Abscheulicher! Wo eilst du hin? (Beethoven) | 7:12 |
Civic Concert Anniversary Program, New York City, 25 February 1940 | ||
| with the NBC Symphony, conducted by Edwin McArthur | ||
| 23. | Milton Cross introduces Elisabeth Rethberg and Ezio Pinza | 0:42 |
| 24. | LE NOZZE DI FIGARO: Crudel, perché finora (Mozart) | 2:46 |
| with Ezio Pinza, bass | ||
XI. Appendix | ||
| 25. | Lucky Strike Presents Miss Elisabeth Rethberg | 4:57 |
| ca. April 1937; RCA Victor CS 07760 | ||
| Note: On Wednesday evening, 31 March 1937, Elisabeth Rethberg appeared on the radio program “Your Hit Parade” sponsored by the American Tobacco Company. A portion of the program, including her endorsement of Lucky Strike cigarettes, was rerecorded by RCA Victor and reproduced on a twelve-inch single-faced vinyl pressing for airing on local radio stations. | ||
| Languages: | ||
| Tracks 1–5, 14, 18, and 24 sung in Italian | ||
| Tracks 6–12, 15, 16, 19, 20, and 22 sung in German | ||
Producers: Ward Marston and Scott Kessler
Audio Conservation: Ward Marston and J. Richard Harris
Photos: Gregor Benko, Harold Bruder, Bill Ecker/Harmonie Autographs and Music, Russ Hornbeck, Jeffery McMillan, Rudi van den Bulck/Charles Mintzer Collection, Barbara Rominski, curator of the San Francisco Opera Archive, and Nestor H. Maskauchan/Tamino Autographs
Booklet Coordinator: Mark S. Stehle
Booklet Design: Takeshi Takahashi
Booklet Foreword: Will Crutchfield
Booklet Essay: Michael Aspinall
This project is fully sponsored by William DePeter
Marston would like to thank Will Crutchfield and Jeffery McMillan for their invaluable assistance with editorial advice.
Marston would like to thank Christian Zwarg for providing discographic data for Rethberg’s Odeon recordings.
Marston would like to thank Mark Bailey, Director of the Yale Collection of Historical Sound Recordings, for providing a digital transfer of a primary disc source for CD 6, tracks 21 and 22.
Marston is grateful to the Estate of John Stratton (Stephen Clarke, Executor) for its continuing support.
Foreword
by Will Crutchfield, ©2025
Elisabeth Rethberg’s reputation was golden in her prime, and deservedly so: few singers have come so close to perfection in so many ways, and across so wide a repertory. In the records she made from 1920 to 1933—presented complete for the first time in this Marston edition—she represents a kind of ideal of the full-lyric soprano voice. Silvery, unforced tone; ample volume with complete control in the softest and loudest dynamics; shapely and natural phrasing allied to unaffected expressiveness; sovereign technical command of legato, registration, trills, and florid vocalise alike—all these were Rethberg’s stock in trade. And she deployed them in a voice whose sheer beauty remains astonishing no matter how long one has known it, no matter how many others one has enjoyed.
If she is not remembered in exactly those terms today, it is probably because we pay so much attention to the exciting documents of the next decade. Live performance broadcasts, with stellar colleagues and conductors, naturally draw our attention, and often reward it, but they do not quite live up to the promise of the studio recordings. All singers lose something in the sheer ease of physical responsiveness as middle age approaches, but differ in how they cope with it. In Rethberg’s case, it transpires that some of her grace and elegance must have been more instinctive than conscious, for while her voice remains steady and secure, she does not always disguise the additional effort it has begun to cost her. So we begin to hear some blunt phrasing, brusque attacks, and hard-hitting top notes that we would not have expected from all those classic Odeons, Brunswicks, and Victors.
Everything is relative, though. The least satisfying Rethberg broadcast still provides a level of vocal fulfillment that is hard to find in even the best present-day interpretations of her repertory. In the earliest of them, the 1933 Freischütz arias from Vienna are exquisitely sustained and poised, thrilling on the top notes, free and easy throughout. Later on, her best qualities are found in moments that are not too loud, too high, or too declamatory—but there are enough such moments to make us thankful for the chance to hear a great singer in so much music she did not record in the studio. In the end, at her best and even at her second-best, she affirms the incalculable service a singer can render to music by devoted cultivation of the basic virtues.
ELISABETH RETHBERG
—“a singularly captivating voice”
by Michael Aspinall, ©2025
Introduction: The German Soprano
When reviewing the London concert debut of Mlle Jetty de Treffz at the Philharmonic Concerts in May 1849, Henry Fothergill Chorley, music and literary critic of The Athenaeum, snapped that she had:
…a clear and sufficient soprano voice; but she sings with too much of the German manner—which is no manner of singing at all so much as a simple reading of the music, in which every charm of vocalism is disregarded. We do not believe in ‘pike-staff’ plainness as applied to Mozart…
Two weeks later, along came Mlle Babnigg, from Hamburg, and Mr. Chorley again sharpened his wit and his pen: “For Art’s sake, faults which would exclude an English vocalist from the Philharmonic Orchestra must not be sanctioned in a stranger merely because she arrives from the land of classical instrumental music.” As for a Fidelio that he heard in Berlin, “The principal singers hardly reached mediocrity.” Madame Rudersdorff (Hermine Küchenmeister-Rudersdorff, 1822–1882) was Ukrainian, studied in Paris with Bordogni, and later became something of a beloved star in opera and concert in England and the USA so she must have profited from Chorley’s criticism of her in 1853: “In proportion as she can forget the violent ways of German singing will the concert-public in England which she can gather and retain be large.”
In No. 1391 of The Athenaeum, reviewing performances of Il serraglio by a German opera company visiting London, he wrote about “Mozart’s music which, though beautiful and vocal, is still very difficult, and stands now beyond the reach of any German singers in our knowledge” and he protests against:
…the false direction taken by Music in Germany, arising from the notion that, by way of nationality, it is needful to protest against Italian airs and graces—and that a bald delivery of the notes as written is the non plus ultra of vocal accomplishment.
There had always been a few exceptions to this dreary panorama: one of the most remarkable sopranos of the eighteenth century was Regina Mingotti (1722–1808). Born in Naples, the daughter of an Austrian army officer, she married the impresario Pietro Mingotti in Hamburg and studied with Porpora in Dresden. After singing operas in Madrid under the direction of Farinelli she migrated to Paris and then to London, where she was fêted as a great star, and eventually undertook the management of the King’s Theatre.
Even more famous was Gertrud Elisabeth Schmeling (1749–1833) who made her great career under the name of her husband, the cellist Giovanni Battista Mara. While touring Europe as a child violinist she studied singing in London, in Vienna with a pupil of Porpora, and later in Leipzig with the composer Johann Adam Hiller. The Electress of Saxony sent Madame Mara to Frederick the Great, known for his horror of German methods of singing, and he could not believe his luck, for behold! Madame Mara sang like an Italian!—and the Maras remained practically Frederick’s prisoners for the next ten years. In 1780 Gertrude Mara and her husband managed to escape artistic captivity and fled to Bohemia, and finally turned up in London in 1784, where they remained for eighteen years. She divorced signor Mara, who then drank himself to death, and Madame Mara married a flautist twenty years younger than herself. It is theorized by Henry Pleasants [in The Great Singers, London, Victor Gollancz, 1967] that Mara and young Florio may have launched the fashion for soprano arias with flute obbligato, but she is best remembered for her interpretation of Handel’s “I know that my Redeemer liveth.” After performing opera, oratorio, and concerts and working with such musicians as Haydn, she left England in 1802 and retired to Moscow to write her memoirs.
The great dilettante, composer and critic Lord Mount Edgecumbe wrote much in her praise, and probably Mara was second in his estimation only to Brigida Banti. He accorded the very highest praise to Mara when he wrote: “Pacchierotti’s duettos with Mara were the most perfect pieces of execution I ever heard.” [perfect execution here means florid execution, i.e. precise articulation of of complex ornamental vocal music.]
Mr. Chorley greatly admired Madame Stockhausen (née Elisabeth Schmuck, 1803–1877) who had a long and successful concert career. In The Athenaeum (No. 395, 23 May 1835), reviewing a Philharmonic concert, he reports: “We never heard anything more exquisite as to taste, finish and sweetness than Mme. Stockhausen’s singing of Spohr’s ‘Sì, lo sento’;” and in No. 1380, referring to singing in the vast spaces of the Crystal Palace, he assures us “that purity of intonation is all-powerful on such occasions had been proved to us at the Westminster Abbey Festival—where the only voice that really told in that large and encumbered space was Madame Stockhausen’s—the smallest soprano of the company.”
In 1848 Henriette Sontag, Countess Rossi, returned to the stage because her noble husband had lost all his money. Rossini had secretly remembered her as a better Rosina than Patti, but for Mr. Chorley she was at her very best—insuperable—as a Mozart singer. In No. 1143 he describes her performance of the “bird song” from Haydn’s Creation at the Birmingham Festival, 1849:
…on which, though the music be not of the first class, we shall dwell with more than ordinary interest and pleasure, because not many months ago we were indicating how it ought to be executed, when discussing Mlle Lind’s too plain and robust version of this delicate bravura. Madame Sontag’s version seemed to us perfection. She leans to a greater moderation of tempo than is the taste of our day; but her execution is most delicate, her ‘changes’ are judicious and exquisitely finished, and the elasticity of her voice in this refined but showy music far outdoes the unmitigated organ-stop brilliancy of Mlle Lind.
Things were looking up! Madame Stockhausen’s most famous son, the baritone Julius Stockhausen (1826–1906), was a pupil of Manuel Garcia Jr. in Paris and London, and although he was not altogether happy with Garcia’s method his singing (with a voice more suited to concert work than opera), he was much appreciated in London. He taught in Germany for many years, producing fine pupils of a more polished “German” school. Pauline Viardot-Garcia (1810–1910), brother of Manuel Garcia Jr., taught many pupils in Paris and Baden-Baden, and between them Viardot and Stockhausen did much to raise singing standards in Germany. Their efforts were not lost on Wagner, who wanted his operas to be sung in a bel canto style rather than roared, and he invited Manuel Garcia Jr. to open a school of singing in Bayreuth. Unfortunately, Garcia was unwilling, and then Wagner died: two severe blows for German singing.
Renaissance—Lehmann and Brandt
The second half of the nineteenth century began to produce more German and Austrian singers who could be successfully “exported” to foreign countries. The legendary soprano Lilli Lehmann (1848–1929) and the Viennese mezzo-soprano Marianne Brandt (1842–1921), perfectly schooled singers and inspiring dramatic artists who often sang together in Berlin, New York, and Vienna, were hardly firm friends: although Lehmann repeatedly speaks very highly of Brandt in her autobiography, during their parallel careers a certain jealousy on Lilli’s part would occasionally show itself. On one ghastly occasion Brandt was singing her great interpretation of Leonore in Fidelio at the Metropolitan, and when she uttered (in the spoken recitatives) the words “Nichts, mein Florestan” [“It was nothing, Florestan”] the audience was shocked to hear raucous, mocking laughter break out and flood the house—from Lilli Lehmann’s box!
Both as singer and teacher, Lehmann stands out as a uniquely commanding figure of her period. Her only teacher was her mother, Maria Loewe Lehmann, a famous harpist and also a successful soprano. Wagner, who was a friend of the family and admired Lilli’s singing, asked Lilli and her sister Marie to sing at the first Bayreuth Festival in 1876. He handed the original manuscript of Das Rheingold to Lilli and she sang the part of Woglinde, the First Rhine Maiden, at first sight, accompanied by the composer. At Bayreuth she sang not only Woglinde in Das Rheingold and Götterdämmerung, but also Helmwiege in Die Walküre and the Forest Bird in Siegfried. Subsequently Wagner wrote the part of the First Flower-Maiden in Parsifal with her voice in mind, but she did not want to go to Bayreuth in 1882 for personal reasons. To please Wagner she did undertake to gather a group of twenty-four Flower-Maidens in Berlin and teach them their music. Her international career carried her to London, Stockholm, Paris, America, and finally Salzburg, where for twenty years she labored to support the Festival by singing, teaching, and bullying people into devoting time and money to honor Mozart.
Tired of being cast at the Berlin Court Opera in what she called “Princess roles” and feeling an irresistible urge to sing the great dramatic parts, she began to transform methodically her coloratura soprano voice into a full-scale dramatic soprano, while remaining a flawless Mozart singer and keeping La traviata in her repertoire for years. Her first London successes were in Fidelio, La traviata, and Mignon (as Philine) in 1880 and 1881. She sang her first Isolde in London in 1884, inspired by her soaring ambition and enabled by years of study and ruthless determination. During her long career, in Die Zauberflöte she sang in turn the first boy, the first lady, Pamina, and the Queen of the Night; in Le nozze di Figaro she was in turn Barbarina, Susanna, Cherubino, and the Countess; Zerlina and Donna Elvira led her at last to Donna Anna in Don Giovanni. Guest engagements in Vienna and elsewhere enabled her to become an historic interpreter of Donna Anna, Norma, Fidelio, and all the major Wagner operas: the first Woglinde had developed into Sieglinde, Brünnhilde, and Isolde.
In 1885 she had a guest engagement in Munich during which she sang the Ring cycle with the Bayreuth creators from 1876. Later that year she was granted a longer leave of absence than usual from Berlin to “guest” in Vienna and Dresden, giving her the opportunity to try out Donna Anna, Constanze in Die Entführung aus dem Serail, and Norma, as well as Fidelio and Tristan und Isolde. She turned her eyes towards America and signed a contract with the Metropolitan.
Lehmann made her Metropolitan debut as Carmen on November 23rd, 1885, and remained there as a glorious star until 1890, which involved her breaking her contract with Berlin and having to pay an enormous fine, which Berlin eventually forgave. She re-appeared at the Met in 1891–1892 and 1898–1899. The New York critics worshipped her:
The new songstress possesses a powerful and ringing voice, of which only the lower tones are of rather inferior quality, and her phrasing and execution are most admirable…. Physically, Fräulein Lehmann is comely as to countenance, though severe in expression, her bearing is dignified and graceful, and her every movement denotes an artist of intelligence and experience. (W.J. Henderson, New York Times.)
Although a personal friend, Henry Krehbiel’s praise of Lehmann in Götterdämmerung rings true:
Lehmann’s portrayal of the heroine was an achievement such as it is a happiness to witness, and will remain a benediction in the memory. Here is an artist whose vocal gifts and capabilities seem as inexhaustible as her zeal. There is never a thought of self when she plunges into the emotional stream which carries Brünnhilde through the drama. To present the character, fully, vitally, to exhibit the very fibres out of which her passionate heart-strings are woven, is the task which she sets herself, and to perform it she offers up her powers without reserve. The endurance, strength and sensuous beauty of her voice fills one with amazement when employed with such generosity as inspires her effort in the new drama. (Review in the New York Tribune of the Götterdämmerung of the January 15th, 1888 first performance of the opera in America.)
As a teacher Lehmann is perplexing. Her published vocal method, Meine Gesangskunst (“My Art of Singing”) is indubitably the interesting result of a long lifetime of close study of the singing voice, but it remains rather difficult to comprehend. The frontispiece of the book displays a formidable figure, dressed and crowned like an Austrian Archduchess, looking reprovingly at the reader. What daring young person, one wonders, could survive a lesson from such an overbearing presence? (She was known to throw books and even her bunch of keys at terrified pupils.)
The Odeon records made when she was nearly sixty, drawing on arias by Handel, Mozart, Beethoven, Meyerbeer, Verdi, and Wagner, plus Lieder and songs, are astonishing. The transformation into dramatic soprano had cost her more than she had anticipated: as one can clearly hear, in Handel’s “O had I Jubal’s lyre” the accuracy and brilliance of her agility is unequalled, but she cannot disguise the fact that the lower medium notes have become weak and worn. In Donna Anna’s recitative “Don Ottavio! Son morta!” which she delivers with tremendous dramatic intensity and including all the appoggiaturas, will-power is often called upon to cover up a weak middle note. She is without rival in two arias from Die Entführung, which even suggest the immense volume and power of her voice; not only is the florid singing thrown off with nonchalance and incredible accuracy, but we notice that when, above the stave, she has changed into head voice, the notes are still ruthlessly focused and penetrating. The soprano Florence Easton heard Lehmann before the 1914–1918 war, and remembered that: “She was very impressive, but it was a peculiar voice, some enormous notes at the top and the bottom, and often rather feeble in between.” Giulio Gatti-Casazza heard her as Norma in Vienna in 1903, and defined her as “an artist of the great line and the grand style, but with a voice that was hard.” The best New York critics agreed that her attack was often poor, sometimes throaty and lacking the perfect purity and ring of the Garcia school.
Altogether Lilli Lehmann was a unique phenomenon, belonging certainly to a recognizably Germanic school of singing, but artistic vision had led her to cultivate her own particular though impressive technique and style. Her great career and indomitable hard work won her a powerful artistic authority. Her best pupils were Geraldine Farrar and Olive Fremstad, both Americans: Fremstad began her international career as a mezzo-soprano, singing Adalgisa in Norma and Brangäne in Tristan und Isolde with her teacher in the leading roles.
Marianne Brandt
Marianne Brandt was initially rather more conventionally trained, by lesser mortals, but in 1869 and 1870 she studied with Pauline Viardot Garcia. Viardot recognized in her voice a similarity to her own, capable of singing both contralto and soprano roles, but urgently advised her pupil not to follow her own example. Brandt made her debut in 1867 and was engaged as first contralto at the Royal Opera, Berlin from 1868 to 1886. She was particularly admired as Fidès in Meyerbeer’s le prophète, a role she learned meticulously from Viardot, who had created the part. She also created Rubinstein’s Die Maccabäer in Berlin in 1875 and her performance of the part of Leah kept up public interest in the opera for years. She occasionally sang soprano parts like Donna Elvira, Sélika in L’africaine, and Valentine in Les Huguenots, despite Viardot’s warnings. This did not seem to do her voice any harm. In 1876 she created Waltraute in the world premiere of Götterdämmerung at Bayreuth and was scheduled to return there in 1882 to create Kundry in Parsifal, but she seems to have sung only the second performance because, as the conductor Walter Damrosch tells us, Wagner was enamored of the “rather amplitudinous charms” of Amalie Materna, the alternative Kundry.
We are told that Marianne Brandt’s voice had been trained in the “old Italian style” by Viardot, and that her scale was properly equalized from the low B flat to the high B flat, with solid, ringing notes from bottom to top. We have only three recordings of her, cylinders recorded in Vienna in 1905 (all reproduced in Marston CD 52053-2 The Contralto Voice) when she was sixty-three years old. Where Lehmann’s voice, though obviously big, is rather thin in tone and lacking in human warmth, Brandt’s voice suggests the Italian schooling of Viardot, based on the work of her father Manuel Garcia, père. There is a richer sound under flawless control, even though old age is sensed, especially on the shrieked high A sharp. But what dignified, what moving singing, what perfect articulation of artistic German pronunciation within a smooth legato! Her best recording, a moving rendering of the great aria of Fidès “Ah, mon fils”, is an invaluable guide to the correct Meyerbeer style, as well as a beautifully conceived interpretation. How arresting, how lovely is the opening attack (on D, fourth line)—“Ach, mein Sohn!” (piano)—followed by a text-book portamento down to B sharp and C sharp below the stave. Her personal “way” with the music (she forgets some words, but none of the notes) is a model of style. Lehmann would sound strange on a modern stage, but Brandt’s method, a mingling of the German with the Italian schools, would be heartily accepted. The voices of Lehmann and Brandt are both steady, but not “fixed:” Lehmann labors in places to produce her stream of sound, but Brandt just opens her mouth and the lovely voice pours out. The next generations of German singers (except those, like Anton Van Rooy, whose voices were ruined at Bayreuth) were careful to float rather than force the tone. Another interesting pupil of Pauline Viardot was the soprano Marie Dietrich (1865–1940) who made some delightful records.
Among the many influential singers and teachers of the German school the Hungarian soprano Aglaia Orgeni (1841–1926) studied with Mathilde Marchesi as well as with Viardot, so both her teachers were pupils of the Garcia school. Orgeni made her debut at the Berlin Court Opera in 1865, and appeared at Covent Garden as Violetta the following year, to a mixed reception. The old grouser Mr. Chorley liked her very much, and after hearing her in Lucia di Lammermoor wrote, in The Athenaeum (No. 2006, 7 April 1866):
There can be no question that this young lady’s is one of the most important first appearances which have been seen in London for many years…. Her style would, every now and then, be more finished if it were a little toned down, and did she make greater use of her mezza voce. She will do well, too, to beware of every temptation to force her voice; seeing that she may impair its purity without thereby gaining any real penetrative power…. Her cantabile is good and large—as may be heard when she has to lead concerted music; her executive powers are thoroughly developed; her taste in ornament is rich and unborrowed.
After a twenty-year career Orgeni dedicated herself to teaching. Several of her pupils were coloratura sopranos of considerable fame who have left phonograph records. The most highly thought-of by record collectors is Margarethe Siems (1879–1952) who studied not only with Orgeni but also with Battistini in Milan—but her records suggest Orgeni far more than Battistini. For Richard Strauss she created Chrysothemis, the Marschallin, and Zerbinetta (singing the aria in the original key of E, a tone higher than the usual version). Her record of “D’amor sull’ali rosee” from Il trovatore is haunting, one of the best we know, but in coloratura numbers such as “Ombra leggera,” “Io son Titania,” or “Ardon gl’incensi” her voice—a markedly big one for that repertoire—is reduced to a squeezed thread of sound that goes high—not without a certain effort—and needs to negotiate with extreme caution up in the stratosphere. It may well be that Siems’s famous contralto pupil Sigrid Onegin (who meticulously describes Siems’s teaching methods in her autobiography) gives a more complete picture of what the Orgeni school was aiming at: Onegin sings with steady emission of a rounded, Italianate sound with no obtrusive vibrato, an exemplary legato, and a complete coloratura technique; her Wagner records show a typically pre-Cosima style.
Other successful sopranos who were pupils of Viardot include the great Desirée Artôt de Padilla, who also studied with Francesco Lamperti in Milan. She taught, her pupils including her own daughter, the enchanting mezzo-soprano Lola Artôt de Padilla. Aglaja Orgeni could count among her many soprano students Erika Wedekind (1868–1944), Gertrude Förstel (1880–1950), and Hedwig Francillo-Kaufmann (1878–1948). Contraltos and mezzo-sopranos who by assiduous study managed to graduate to the major Wagnerian soprano parts include the American Edyth Walker (1867–1950) who studied with both Orgeni and Brandt, and the contralto Margarethe Matzenauer (1881–1963).
Johannes Ress, a very distinguished teacher, of whom I know only that he worked in Vienna, taught Selma Kurz, Lotte Schoene, Melitta Heim and the magnificent Anna Bahr Mildenburg, all great singers of different types. Bahr Mildenburg left only one recording, the recitative “Ozean! Du Ungeheuer” from Oberon, a unique demonstration of grand declamation. Her voice is perfectly emitted from bottom to top, with a mixture of Italian and German technique (this magnificent record may be heard on Marston CD 53004-2 Mahler’s Decade in Vienna). Kurz is still remembered by collectors: her voice is lovely, properly emitted with only a shade of a sense of “squeezing”, and a fabulous trill (sustained for twenty-five seconds or so in some records). The volume of her voice was impressive, and she sang a few Wagner roles. Unfortunately, she was known to musicians who accompanied her as “the singer with no ear.” Lotte Schöne was an irresistibly enchanting soubrette when the term was not disparaging; like the other pupils of Ress she has learned to develop her head register and bring its brilliant ring all the way down the scale. This was also one of the mainstays of Lilli Lemann’s technique. Both Lotte Schöne and Lotte Lehmann also studied with Maria Brossement, another of those shadowy figures about whom one would like to know more.
Looking back, critics consider the nineteen-twenties and thirties as a kind of “Golden Age” of German singing: much was contributed to the glamor of the period by such teachers as Oskar Daniel and Louis Bachner. Bachner (1882–1945) was a New Yorker who trained as a pianist, studying with Harold Bauer and Leopold Godowsky. He is said to have studied singing with Pol Plançon. He taught singing in Berlin for twenty-six years and in New York from 1935 to his death, his pupils including Sigrid Onegin, Frida Leider, Karin Branzell, Heinrich Schlusnus, Marjorie Lawrence, Ria Ginster, and Michael Bohnen. Things were indeed on an exciting level, and among the stars of that day one of the most talented and universally beloved was Elisabeth Rethberg.
Elisabeth Rethberg: An Interim Biography
A biography, Elisabeth Rethberg, Ihr Leben und Kunstlertum by Horst Henschel and E. Friedrich was published in 1928 in Schwarzenberg, and sadly remains almost the only source for details of the life and career (up to 1928) of this famous and beloved singer. What follows in this section is an edited republication of information laboriously collected by Mr J. B. Richards in the magazine The Record Collector (February 1948), with additional information by Leo Riemens in Vol. VIII, No. 1 (January 1953), all reproduced here by permission of the editor, Larry Lustig.
Elisabeth Rethberg was born Lisbeth Sättler in the Saxon town of Schwarzenberg on September 22nd, 1894. Her school-teacher father played the piano and organ, and her mother had a sweet voice. From the age of five she enjoyed her piano lessons from her father, and quickly became proficient: “I had literally to be dragged away from the piano … I learned to play the great sonatas of Beethoven, etc., by heart … while still very young I sang all the songs my mother sang and accompanied myself at the piano.” At the age of seventeen she gave a concert of songs by Liszt accompanied by her sister Kathie, and received a short, rave review in the local paper: “The soloist was Elisabeth Sättler who sang with a technical perfection many professional singers might envy.”
In 1912 she entered the Dresden Conservatoire, studying pianoforte and singing, and found herself ready to leave and spread her wings in the following year. Her singing teacher was Otto Watrin, a pupil of the celebrated August Iffert. In 1915, adopting the stage name Elisabeth Rethberg, she signed a contract with the Dresden Opera House; she must have sung very well at her audition for she made her debut on June 22nd, 1915, as Arsena in Der Zigeunerbaron with Richard Tauber. Beginning at the top, with Tauber, was exceptional—especially in Germany—but her remarkable memory as well as her beautiful voice helped her overcome the obstacles that confront young singers. In 1919 the Dresden conductor Hermann Kutschbach wrote:
Elisabeth Rethberg at the present time is the best woman singer at Dresden. Not only that, but she has one of the loveliest voices that ever existed. Since Lilli Lehmann I have heard no other singer with the same perfect culture and distinguished musical qualities. She is mistress of every artistic style. I predict an international career for her.
Arsena is an excellent part for a debutante, nicely written for the medium register but with opportunities to rise to high C as she leads the ensemble “Ein Freier meldet sich.” Rethberg was soon promoted to the leading soprano role of Saffi.
In 1918 she created a sensation in Die Entführung aus dem Serail: an English soprano who worked in Dresden in the 1950s told me that opera-lovers in that city still remembered it with awe. A journalist reported that she sang the coloratura music “with such perfect skill and ease that the listener forgot the extraordinary difficulty of the part. Particularly in the great aria ‘Martern aller Arten’ one felt the most wonderful power and virtuosity.” On December 11th, 1917, she created the Christkindchen in the first performance of Pfitzner’s Christelflein, and on February 23rd, 1920, sang in the world premiere of Der Fremde by Hugo Kauns.
In December 1918 one critic felt that Die Meistersinger “has reached for the present the greatest possible perfection in Dresden” when Rethberg sang Eva. Praise was bestowed upon her Irene in Rienzi, for Mimì in La bohème (with Tino Pattiera), and, in the summer of 1920, for her first Aida, proving “that she already had an abundant and blessedly full command of the role.” In 1920 she also sang in the first performances in Dresden of Die Frau ohne Schatten by Richard Strauss, and also Hänsel in Hänsel und Gretel.
Mr. Riemens made the surprising discovery that Rethberg’s contract with Dresden was of a type still operating today: when newly engaged singers at a German opera house read the small print in their contracts, they may see (and they will not be surprised) that together with principal roles (Saffi), they might be called upon to sing supporting roles (Arsena). Rethberg herself seems to have sung no fewer than 106 roles at Dresden between 1915 and 1928, her major undertakings including Agathe, Aida, Anna (Hans Heiling), Elisabeth, Elsa, Euryanthe, Countess Almaviva, Ilia (Idomeneo), Inez (L’africaine), Leonora (Il trovatore), Marie (The Bartered Bride), Mimì, Micaëla, Nedda, Oktavian, Sophie, and Tosca. Alongside these prima donna roles, however, she sang such lesser parts as Inez (Il trovatore), Kate Pinkerton (Madama Butterfly), the soprano noble orphan in Der Rosenkavalier, the first Brabantian boy in Lohengrin, Barbarina (Le nozze di Figaro), Pepa (Tiefland), Herodias’s page in Salomé, and the priestess in Aida.
In 1920 Arthur Nikisch heard her sing Telemann’s cantata Iris at the Leipzig Bach Festival and engaged her for the New Year Concert at the Gewandhaus, where she sang Beethoven’s “Ah, perfido!” and orchestrally accompanied Lieder by Wolf. In May 1921 she sang in the “Magnificat” and in cantatas at the first Scandinavian Bach Festival. From the autumn of 1921–1922 she was frequently heard in Berlin, acclaimed both at the Berlin State Opera and in concert. She received excellent notices: “She has a wonderful voice of rare beauty of tone and colour, and overcame the difficulties of the part with great ease.” (Madama Butterfly); “We have never yet heard so sweet, pure and beautiful an Euridice.” (Orpheus in the Underworld); “Since the heyday of Claire Dux we have not heard in Berlin such glorious Mozart singing.” She sang at the Vienna Hofoper and in concerts in Germany and Scandinavia. She would return to Dresden in 1923, 1926, and 1927 for Lieder recitals accompanied by the Master, Michael Raucheisen. It was in Dresden, on June 6th, 1928, that she created Die ägyptische Helena by Richard Strauss at its world premiere. Strauss’s publishers wanted Maria Jeritza for the name part, but the Dresden directors would not pay Jeritza’s high fee, insisting on a “Dresden” soprano singing the role, hence this golden opportunity went to Rethberg. She rose splendidly to the challenge, confirming her status as a leading star of international opera.
A Prima Donna Changes Trains
Once while changing trains in Berlin and having to wait a while, she went off on a whim to audition for Artur Bodansky, who offered her a debut at the Metropolitan as Aida in 1922. Rethberg’s contractual commitment to Dresden came to an end and, after a last Tannhäuser, she sailed off to encounter international fame in New York.
Elisabeth Rethberg made her Metropolitan debut as Aida on November 22nd, 1922, with Giovanni Martinelli, Sigrid Onegin, Giuseppe Danise, José Mardones, and Edmund Burke, conducted by Moranzoni. She was welcomed at the Metropolitan by critics in ecstasy over the beauty of her voice and the fine taste of her singing, qualities that illuminate her singing on records. Sigrid Onegin, also making her Met debut as Amneris, almost eclipsed Rethberg, for the critics were overcome by her big voice and elegant appearance. Rethberg would be a regular, much-loved member of the company for twenty years. On the night of her debut, however, a little incident had a disturbing effect on her precious, silvery voice. After the aria “O patria mia” in the third act, there was no applause. Anyone who has heard her acoustic Brunswick record of this aria, exquisitely sung with the pianissimo high C requested by Verdi in the score, will scarcely believe this. It seems that Martinelli tactfully explained to her that New York audiences were unused to hearing this high C taken softly, as it was always sung in a loud, forced tone by terrified sopranos who had not worked properly on their head register. “Well, if that’s what they want…” she ruminated, and from then on she usually gave them the C loud and clear. When she added Rachel in La Juive to her repertory in 1931, the Dean of American critics, William J. Henderson, wrote: “the effort to conquer the strenuous utterances so plentifully scattered through the score may not benefit her singularly captivating voice.” Her secure technique permitted her to take a few risks, but when she left the straight and narrow path to venture into dramatic soprano territory, the typically fresh and pearly tone of her voice was soon damaged. Renata Tebaldi and Montserrat Caballé both began having vocal problems after adding Aida to their repertoire and discovered that a lyric soprano must not abandon herself to impetuous drama without due caution.
Rethberg sang about 383 performances at the Met and on tour, finishing up with two performances of the Siegfried Brünnhilde in 1942 (if only someone had warned her about what happened when Melba tried the role in the very same theatre in 1896…). She appeared in L’africaine, Aida, Andrea Chénier, Der Barbier von Bagdad, The bartered bride, La bohème, La campana sommersa, Cavalleria rusticana, I Compagnacci, Don Giovanni (Anna and Elvira), Faust, La forza del destino, Der Freischütz, Guglielmo Tell, Iris, La Juive, Lohengrin, Madama Butterfly, Die Meistersinger, Le nozze di Figaro, Otello, Pagliacci, Der Rosenkavalier, Siegfried, Simon Boccanegra, Tannhäuser, Il trovatore, Die Walküre (Sieglinde), Die Zauberflöte—and many concerts. She also kept up a busy concert career apart from the Met.
Mr. Richards gives examples of the critics’ raptures at Ravinia Park, Chicago in 1926 (she also appeared there in 1923 and 1927): “Nothing more beautiful than her singing of Marguerite in Gounod’s Faust has been heard since Melba’s day;” “Her Marguerite is one of the greatest interpretations since Emma Eames;” “For twenty minutes the public applauded without ceasing the Nile Scene of Elisabeth Rethberg and Martinelli.” During the 1927 Ravinia Park season Rethberg added Cavalleria rusticana and Un ballo in maschera to her repertoire, and after La juive on July 27th, 1927, the Chicago critic Glen Dillard Gunn declared that Rethberg and Martinelli were “the greatest pair of singers in the world.”
Rethberg made her Covent Garden debut in 1925, singing one performance of Butterfly and four of Aida; despite her rapturous reception from audiences and critics alike, she did not return to London until 1934. Ernest Newman wrote that her Aida:
… had raised the season to a height it had not yet attained; all in all, the best artist we have had here since Lotte Lehmann left us; her voice is pure, warm and steady, and always in tune; she phrases beautifully and altogether has a fine sense of style.
When she re-appeared in London as Mimì in La bohème the general opinion seems to have been that she gave the best performance of Italian opera heard there for years. In 1935 she sang in Lohengrin, Schwanda the bagpiper, and Prince Igor. One critic remarked on “a slight hardness which occasionally manifested itself above the stave.” In 1936 she sang La bohème, Aida, Sieglinde in Die Walküre, and the Marschallin in Der Rosenkavalier. In 1939 she added Donna Anna in Don Giovanni. The role tested her severely, but a recording of “Non mi dir bell’idol mio” made at Salzburg around the same time demonstrates that, despite some evidence of her nearing the end of a hard-working career of some twenty-five years, her grasp of vocal technique compensated for the lack of bloom on the voice and, until Joan Sutherland came along twenty years later, no Donna Anna could reach Rethberg’s standard. “That it did not invite comparison with the Rethberg of other years is merely to say that 1940 is not 1928.”
Rethberg sang Aida at La Scala, Milan in April 1929 (alternating with Giannina Arangi Lombardi) and conducted by Toscanini, who declared that Rethberg was “the greatest living soprano.” Arangi Lombardi was strong competition, another prima donna whose soft singing was as polished as her loud singing. In “O patria mia” Arangi Lombardi took the high C very softly then slowly swelled the note to fortissimo (Arangi Lombardi can be heard in six Verdi arias as a supplement on Marston CD 52077-2 Hina Spani). Rethberg does not seem to have worked enough on crescendo and diminuendo. Also in 1929 Rethberg sang Die ägyptische Helena at the Teatro dell’Opera, Rome. In Florence she sang Leonora in La forza del destino. She was Countess Almaviva at Salzburg in 1922 and Donna Anna in 1937, 1938, and 1939. She sang at Chicago (1926, 1933–1934, 1936–1937, 1939, and 1941) as well as San Francisco, Cincinnati, Rio de Janeiro, Buenos Aires, Mexico, and Prague. Her vast concert repertoire, said to consist of about 1000 songs, was shown off in many concerts world-wide. As an example of the more spectacular orchestral concerts Mr. Richards quotes Beethoven’s Missa Solemnis at Carnegie Hall on March 8th, 9th, and 11th, 1934, with Sigrid Onegin, Paul Althouse, and Ezio Pinza, and with the New York Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by Toscanini.
In 1934 the Vocal Teachers’ Guild of America voted her “The world’s most perfect singer”, even though, excellent artist as she still was, in 1922 she had been considerably more “perfect,” as the recordings show. Rethberg’s last public appearance was at Town Hall, New York on April 20th, 1944, in a song recital featuring works by Brahms, Handel, Schubert, and Wolf. She died at Yorktown Heights on June 6th, 1976.
Rethberg on Records
The Acoustic Odeon Records
Among Rethberg’s short list of records for Odeon is a memorable souvenir of her debut: “Saffi’s gypsy song” from Der Zigeunerbaron by Johann Strauss II, which shows in the very first phrase how well her medium register is blended into the chest register when she descends to a fine C sharp below the stave at “wie der Zigeuner” [CD 1/12]. She is equally well-equipped technically in the medium and higher range, for in the Allegretto (or friskas) she sings “Flieh’ wie du kannst” (“fly as best you can”) first forte then she repeats the phrase in a delicious, teasing pianissimo up to the high A. This aria is a test of rhythmic mastery, and Rethberg passes the test. The quality of the voice is ravishingly beautiful. This is perhaps the best of Rethberg’s early records, showing considerable musical imagination for a performance directed at a recording horn, not a live audience.
Two takes of “Ach, ich fühl’s,” Pamina’s aria from Die Zauberflöte, were published [CD 1/2–3]. Take two was published first but quickly replaced by take three. The rare take two includes a little insecure flurry of notes at the start of Pamina’s long vocalise on the word “Herzen.” The conductor allows the orchestra to “breathe” together with the singer. It is interesting to hear how this slow music, testing the soprano’s breath support, brings out the different qualities of her timbre; in the medium register, from F (first space) to B flat, her vocal coloring is sometimes rather dark, more like her later records, while from B natural or C up to the F, top line, the sound is brighter, for she is gradually mingling her medium and her head registers. The G above the stave is beautifully shown off in this aria, a heavenly sound if taken piano and radiant if taken forte. At “fühlst du nicht der Liebe Sehnen,” a phrase beginning on the upper G and reaching to A flat and then B flat, she is forced into the usual German soprano’s compromise: she must either modify the vowels or screech. She modifies beautifully, better than most. In some records she leaves out the words altogether above the stave and concentrates on simply making a beautiful sound. At this date her high B flat comes very easily, but in a flute-like register, softly, different from the A flat. (Lilli Lehmann was the world’s expert in not allowing mere words to disturb her legato in the upper register, as we can plainly hear, for example, in “Ach, ich liebte” from Die Entführung.)
“Heil’ge Quelle” (“Porgi amor”) from Le nozze di Figaro, at first glance an “easier” aria than Pamina’s, catches Rethberg out somewhat: her tone is fluttery in the opening bars and both weak and fluttery at the conclusion [CD 1/1]. Nevertheless, singers will appreciate the lovely sound of the frequent, repeated upper E flat and F (“O mi rendi il mio tesoro”) and please note the two appoggiaturas that she correctly introduces in the last ten bars.
The five duet records that Rethberg made with Richard Tauber could not be of greater interest, not only because he was the star of stars in her orbit at the time. The duet from Act One of Madama Butterfly is unusually impressive for an acoustic recording [CD 1/9–10]. Odeon had been aware enough of the importance of the occasion to make a determined effort to produce something like the original Puccini orchestration. It is not a perfect vocal match, for Tauber uses his very personal voice and technique to fill his interpretation with charm and passion, whereas Rethberg starts off trying to sound impassioned but she is too fluttery; in the second part, however, she sustains the taxing vocal line well and the finale is simply grand, both voices soaring into the empyrean—fire and light, as words and music suggest—“Dolce notte! Quante stelle!” In their Carmen duet Rethberg could have been the best Micaëla on records, and she does sing along with Tauber in an ingratiating manner [CD 1/6–7]. However, she is unable to rival Tauber’s magical “special effects.” In the duet “Nun in Lust und Leide” from The bartered bride Tauber is kept to the medium-high range where his voice flows easily and he can exert his usual appeal, whereas Marie is restricted to the medium-low range, where she sings magnificently, with a lovely legato; then when she is called upon to sing “und uns ein Nestbaum bau’n” (“and build ourselves a little nest”) on a scale rising from D below the stave to the upper F, piano (with Tauber humming like an enormous bee in her ear) she reveals the Rethberg voice and sensitivity at their best [CD 1/11]. Both singers are warmed up now, and from here to the end is a feast of vocal delights, culminating in a taxing duel: Marie sings high B flat forte, and two bars later Hans repeats her phrase, including the high B flat an octave below hers. Tauber, who avoided singing loudly above A whenever possible, gives us a charming piano B flat.
She is in her best voice for a small group of Lieder recordings, of which the unusual choice of “Die Einsame” (“The Lonely Maiden”) by the tenor Kolomon von Patácky is outstandingly lovely [CD 1/16]. The fine pianissimo tone is marvelously sustained. Mozart’s “Ridente la calma” [CD 1/4], unfortunately in German, lacks spirit, as does Bizet’s delightful “Pastorale” which also lacks flirtatiousness and is taken at a funereal tempo [CD 1/13].
Two songs by Richard Strauss, “Ständchen” and “Freundliche Vision,” beautifully and inventively accompanied by Max Jaffé, reveal her natural aptitude for Strauss’s winding and leaping vocal lines [CD 1/14–15]. In “Ständchen” she is perhaps rather kittenish and her tone does not seem to bloom fully when she is singing quickly; while in the other, reflective song her tones fill out nicely and she captures, at a slow, lingering speed, the basic sadness of the music.
The Acoustic Brunswick Records
Rethberg’s acoustic Brunswick records from 1923–1925 probably catch her voice at its best, youthful, fresh, and emitted with apparent spontaneity. The first two records are excerpts from her debut role at the Metropolitan, Aida [CD 2/1–2]. “O patria mia” is a famous and rarely beautiful record, but in “Ritorna vincitor” we can hear that hers is not a true dramatic soprano voice, but more a big soprano lirico with considerable aptitude for coloratura—in this respect not too dissimilar from Joan Sutherland. Her opening line “Ritorna vincitor!” initiates two pages of dramatic recitative alternating declamation in both the lower and higher registers. When trying to be “dramatic” in her medium register, Rethberg is unconvincing and rather tremulous. It is clear from reviews that despite her pleasant plumpness she carried off dramatic roles with some conviction, but her artistic and vocal nature inclined to lyrical expression rather than to biting power. Moonlight prevails over sunshine in her temperament. Her chest register does not yet sound fully developed, though her “passage note,” the E first line, is a perfect example of the mixed voice. Hers was a big voice, carefully focused so as to be audible—even in the Met—when singing at any volume. Her basic artistic personality—placid and ladylike—leads her to rely on her exquisite piano singing wherever possible: like Montserrat Caballé, her technique for singing loudly is not quite so satisfactory, though this dichotomy was little noticed in the theater. In these Aida records her good intentions are partially frustrated by lack of time: “Ritorna vincitor!”, an aria requiring two sides of the record, has to be rushed through and cruelly cut to fit it onto one side—also to permit Rethberg to indulge in those beautifully expressive ritards, introduced into the music by nineteenth-century singers, giving full play to her heavenly head register. We note that the singer has not yet mastered the pronunciation of Italian vowels—and why not? There are only five of them (or seven, to be picky)!! Over the years Rethberg’s pronunciation of Italian would improve, but she never perfected it.
She uses portamento very gracefully, in these Aida records, mostly where Verdi has indicated it in the score. Needless to say, the final section “Amor fatal” of “Ritorna vincitor” is sung with breathtaking beauty, and at the Met she must have been gratified by ovations at this point.
In “O patria mia” the recording horn is kinder to her voice, because there are no passages of loud dramatic singing, and Rethberg’s lovely, haunting soft singing makes hers an almost ideal version of this music. (In a comparison between two great Aidas, Arangi Lombardi’s pianissimo buzzes with electricity while Rethberg’s is angelical, comforting and consoling). Arangi Lombardi is a hot-blooded Neapolitan Aida, electrifying both in sorrow and joy, while Rethberg is expressive, certainly moving, but she is a well brought-up young lady who has been taught never to lose control. We cannot but think that Rethberg’s pianissimo high C is not a complete success, for after reaching high B in the upward scale marked crescendo, the soprano is asked to emit the C dolce (sweetly) and Rethberg disconcertingly changes registers to produce a soft but penetrating note of doubtful quality which an Italian audience would certainly not have liked, because the note is fissa (“fixed,” meaning tight and whistling). We know that Verdi wrote a cadenza at this point in the aria for Adelina Patti, which she sang at Covent Garden and La Scala, and although I have never seen it, I think its real purpose must have been to avoid a high C pianissimo which might have exposed a weakness in Patti’s technique, though she was only in her mid-thirties at the time. Rethberg’s electrical 1926 remakes are rather different [CD 3/3–4]; “Ritorna vincitor!” goes even faster, and with plenty of retards to show off her pianissimo. The initial declamatory passages are now much better done, with precise attacks and a firmer voice less given to trembling. “O patria mia” is again successful, the high C taken forte and perhaps slightly wild after the subdued, movingly nostalgic tone of the aria itself. Following these four records with the score of Aida will reveal many examples of modifications to words, music, tempo—all indicating Rethberg’s sound grounding in nineteenth-century vocal style.
For all her success in the part, it is not easy to imagine Rethberg in Andrea Chénier, but one of the most striking among the Brunswick operatic records is poor Maddalena’s harrowing description of the degrading treatment she received at the hands of the rabble (not to mention the heroic self-sacrifices of her maid) [CD 2/3]. Avoiding the unladylike and squally outbursts of some verismo specialists, Rethberg recounts her painful experiences in a hushed but evocative voice: she is telling a gripping story and we listen attentively, rewarded by a triumphant high B. This is an unusually sensitive and truly original interpretation. Equally fine is “Un bel dì vedremo” from Madama Butterfly, beginning with the recitative, the last word being “Senti!” (“listen!”)—and we are indeed listening, for we are expecting a memorable soft attack on G flat above the stave, and we are not disappointed in the starlike “Rethberg special” that she bestows upon us [CD 2/6]. “Mi chiamano Mimì” is perhaps even better, and though not specially Parisian in her flirtation, she does reveal a certain sense of humor [CD 2/4].
Lieder and songs
We now come to Rethberg’s song recordings for acoustic Brunswick. The Wiegenlied (Lullaby) “Schlafe, schlafe” by Schubert, an unpublished test pressing kept by the singer, is one of her most beautiful records, every note a pearl, though she differentiates only slightly between the three strophes [CD 1/19]. Perhaps she sings “Der Spielmann” (“The Violinist”) by Eugen Hildach rather too quickly, but in this great and forgotten song Rethberg does catch the anguish of the young girl (who has been deserted) when she asks the street violinist if he has seen
her lover, that other violinist of long ago…. “He gave me a rose and I gave him my heart…” [CD 2/15].
Loewe’s “Canzonetta,” an attractive florid song, bears comparison with the celebrated versions by Alma Gluck and Rita Fornia [CD 2/12]. We can hear how she supports the vocalises firmly on the breath, as she also does in Grieg’s “Solveig’s song” [CD 2/9]. She sings particularly beautifully, in her freshest voice, two beloved songs with violin obbligato (well played by Fredric Fradkin): Massenet’s “Élégie” and Braga’s “Angel’s Serenade” [CD 2/8 and 13]. The latter, a great song for soprano and violin (or cello) obbligato, by the famous cellist Gaetano Braga, a dialogue between a despairing mother and her dying daughter, boasts a magnificent melody that Rethberg clearly enjoys singing: how her voice soars up and up as the girl (unwisely) follows the Angel’s voice—“I follow on!” Braga’s song was little sung in Italy because it was believed to bring bad luck! Gounod’s “Au printemps” requires rather quick singing with neat diction and, as we have noticed, Rethberg’s voice does not warm up spontaneously enough for a rapid, conversational musical line.
Electric Brunswick Records
The acoustic Brunswicks were not uniformly successful in capturing the beauty of this extraordinary voice, and the electrically recorded discs also alternate in quality. “Rend’il sereno al ciglio” from Handel’s Sosarme must surely qualify as one of her best records, capturing the full beauty of the tone, the instrumental precision of the vocal line, the surprising freshness of the voice, truly suggesting a young girl comforting her mother [CD 2/16]. Rethberg’s use of portamento is different here from her methods in Verdi—slightly wailing as she slithers down wide intervals. This might indicate that she had studied the aria at the Dresden Conservatoire (probably to a German text), and in recording “Rend’il sereno” she automatically returned to a Germanic style of portamento. There is even a tiny cadenza at the end, as lovely as a rising star. Another successful dip into the eighteenth century comes with Susanna’s “Deh vieni, non tardar” into which Rethberg inserts all the appoggiaturas [CD 2/18]. One should never expect too much interpretation in old records, but surely nobody ever explained to Rethberg the intensely erotic implications in Susanna’s amorous invitation (to two men in hiding—her employer and her fiance). It is, however, all deliciously sung. “Ach, ich fühl’s,” on the other hand, is rather too quickly run through, missing the full weight of Pamina’s sadness, and the high tessitura is beginning to sound too high for comfort [CD 2/19].
The recitative “Wie nahte mir der Schlummer” and aria “Leise, leise” from Der Freischütz seems to me one of the most beautiful phonograph records ever made: in this slow, prayerful music Rethberg sings at her very best, with silken and steady tone, long breath spans and touching expression [CD 2/20]. “Euch, Lüften” from Lohengrin is also music that might have been conceived for the Rethberg voice and manner [CD 2/22]. Unfortunately the recording of the “Ave Maria” from Otello, while very well sung—an exercise in the most fluid legato, almost every note perfect, does not capture the pearly tone of some of the other 1926 Brunswicks [CD 3/5].
Several of her electrically-recorded songs deserve special mention. Rubinstein’s “Du bist wie eine Blume” is a fine example of the nineteenth-century style of interpretation: the voice floats easily through the vocal line and the singer tries to make the music and the words sound as beautiful as possible, using rhythmic elasticity to bring the song to life [CD 3/10]. Other magnificent outpourings of lovely tone may be enjoyed in Wilhelm Taubert’s song “Es steht ein Baum in jenen Tal” with its haunting vocalise at the end of each strophe [CD 3/8]. Marston fans may know this song in its Italian version, “All’ombra di quel faggio,” so splendidly sung by Angelica Pandolfini for G&T in 1904 (Marston 52062-2 The Creators of Verismo). “A spring fancy” by John Densmore is an attempt to reconcile the traditional coloratura bird song with the modern music of Densmore’s day [CD 3/22]. Of course, Rethberg can sing it all with panache, but she has not been trained by Madame Marchesi, who might not have approved of Fräulein Rethberg’s imperfect trills.
Among the unpublished test pressings kept by Madame Rethberg are two gems of eighteenth-century song: Dr. Arne’s cuckoo song “When Daisies Pied” and “The Plausible Lover” by Henry Carey [CD 3/13–14]. How is it that these marvelous records were never issued? Were they not passed by Rethberg? Scarcely anywhere else do we find her singing throughout her medium range with such lovely, warm and solidly supported tone. A gentle sense of humour pervades her execution of Arne’s charming song, with the echo effects (“Cuckoo! Cuckoo!”) sculpted with brilliant precision, the final trill driven home with the accuracy and force of a drill! Henry Carey’s song, which I did not know, is sung equally enchantingly. Definitely one (or two) of her very, very best records.
The Gramophone Company Berlin Recordings
In 1927 Rethberg recorded four very fine records for The Gramophone Company in Berlin with a splendid orchestra, all magnificently conducted by Fritz Zweig, and all in a good acoustic permitting us to hear something of the expansion of a large voice in a big hall. In Elisabeth’s greeting to the Hall of Song from Tannhäuser she is meant to be ecstatic and overjoyed in the opening salute, but here we detect Madame Rethberg’s previously observed flaw: if she becomes over-dramatic and lets her emotions get out of control her voice begins to over-vibrate, but then how beautifully she sings the quiet, slow middle-section in contrast, with her pearly but still telling tone [CD 5/1]. Then, when Elisabeth’s mood changes back to excitement and rapture, Rethberg pulls herself together and carefully places in focus every single note; no quivering and shaking here, but firm, radiant and steady notes culminating in a thrilling high B natural. Elsa’s dream from Lohengrin begins with ravishing, but tremulous soft tone until Elsa wakes up from her trance-like narration, when she again focuses the tone so that the rather military final pages of the aria are delivered with panache and brilliance [CD 5/2]. The same session also yielded both of Aida’s arias: “Ritorna vincitor”—her best record of this aria—and “O patria mia” [CD 4/1–2]. Both arias suffer from cuts to cram the music onto one side, but Rethberg is in glorious voice, the microphone catching lovely tone in the medium and head registers. Some of her attacks are of a clarity and neatness that few of her contemporaries could rival. Her recitative singing in “O patria mia” has much improved, but the ascent to the forte high C is laborious, the dreaded note itself almost a yell. After this tremendous effort she is unable to attack cleanly the high A, marked pp, and although she manages a sort of piano on the final high A (normally easy enough for her), she seems unable to sustain the note and simply cannot diminish it, as Verdi requires. The conducting of Fritz Zweig in “Ritorna vincitor” is very impressive.
The Victor records
Elisabeth Rethberg began recording for Victor in 1929. The Great Depression was weighing heavily on the classical record industry otherwise we might have had more Rethberg records. In particular, the commercially risky venture of recording a complete Act Three of Aida with three ideal interpreters might have been extended to recording the whole opera. Let us be thankful for what we have, beginning with the conducting of Rosario Bourdon, a violoncellist who had conducted vocal records for Victor for many years. His knowledge of Italian performance practice is astonishing, on a par with Molajoli (on Columbia records) and Sabajno (on HMV).
Aida, Act Three [CD 4/3–8]
From her first utterance, “Ciel! Mio padre!” it is clear that Rethberg is in her best voice, and she goes on to sing Aida most beautifully, giving excellent vocal expression to all the wide gamut of emotions to which the Ethiopian princess is exposed in this magical third act. Giuseppe De Luca’s Amonasro has no equal on records: his voice, attractive but not of absolutely top quality, had been perfectly trained by Venceslao Persichini, who also taught Battistini and Ruffo. Though in 1930 De Luca was only fifty-four he was already entering into the last phase of his career; however, his eclectic schooling preserved his voice. His long career in both serious and comic roles had taught him to intensify and focus his tone, so though he could no longer thunder Amonasro’s curse as a younger man might, he could simulate rage without hurting his vocal mechanism and still terrify the more susceptible members of the audience. We marvel at the savage outburst of “Su, dunque! Sorgete,” which only a baritone trained in opera buffa could articulate with such passionate clarity, but, in fact, every phrase of De Luca’s is worthy of study. Giacomo Lauri-Volpi was that rarity, an intellectual tenor who sang well. His Victor records are his best—he was clever enough to realize that American audiences preferred singers who sang well and showed good taste. He believed that he sang like his great predecessors in the nineteenth century, and in Aida he shows himself to be a master of legato singing. His high notes may be squeezed (from F, top line of the stave there is an audible shift of registration) but they have the heroic Radames ring. This great tenor was not gifted with a sense of humor but instead had a very clear idea of what a heroic tenor should sound like, and his final line “Sacerdote, io resto a te” (“Priest, I remain in your hands”), a declamation on a sustained high A which audiences eagerly waited for, is indeed an example of spectacular vocal control that would overwhelm Italian audiences. All three singers (and the conductor) have committed to disc a “master-class” in how Aida should go.
The Basic Repertoire on Victor
We are now coming to Rethberg’s best known and most widely distributed recordings. When I began collecting records, Rethberg’s were considered to be the standard performances of the music recorded. Among the best-known and coveted by collectors were four double-sided records made by Victor in 1929–1930 of scenes from Faust, Un ballo in maschera, and Otello, plus two Mozart arias. Hers might well be the best recording ever made of the “Chanson du Roi de Thulé,” sung with divine simplicity, a musical effect only achieved by years of hard work on perfectly clean attack, floating the voice on the breath, keeping the legato flawless, and articulating the words clearly with limpid consonants [CD 4/19]. Turning the old 78 over, on the other side a different Madame Rethberg is heard; the “Jewel Song” is a quickly-moving piece, so here the voice, absolutely steady on the previous side, is now too fluttery [CD 4/20]. Her trill sounds choked and needs to be re-studied. Unfortunately she cannot supply the myriad changes of vocal color and mood that we relish in sixty-three-year-old Patti’s record, nor the interesting rhythmical variety that Melba, Eames, and Adams (all pupils of Gounod) offer us as they deck themselves with jewels. The Ballo in maschera arias are most beautifully sung and interpreted: on both sides she seems to have focused her voice all through her range, and every note is perfectly in focus, every attack exemplary, so she is in triumphant vocal form for “Ma dall’arido stelo,” in which the varying emotions warring in poor Amelia’s breast are vividly expressed [CD 4/13]. “Morrò, ma prima in grazia” is also the finest kind of Verdi singing: she launches the final cadenza with a perfectly placed high C flat, then articulates flawlessly and expressively the complex scale passing through A natural below the stave and up again to finish on the E flat, fourth space—a heavenly pianissimo [CD 4/14]. For “Piangea cantando” and “Ave Maria” from Otello she does not seem to be in quite such pearly voice, but the fine legato singing is there to admire [CD 4/15–16]. “L’amerò sarò costante,” with a rather shrill violin and an ugly double cadenza, and no appoggiaturas added to the vocal line, is still an agreeable record, though her trills are feeble [CD 4/17]. In “Batti, batti, o bel Masetto” neither singer nor conductor has understood the musical shape of the piece: like other sinners before and after, Rethberg actually performs the first part of the song more quickly than the second, which is meant to be a kind of cabaletta [CD 4/18]!
Unfortunately the duet from Act Three of Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg with Friedrich Schorr was recorded in a particularly cramped and unresonant studio, so the microphone did not, alas, pick up all the golden vibrations of her voice nor the rich patina of his [CD 5/4–5]. I rather wish they had recorded the more popular Act One duet, in which Rethberg and Schorr could have been compared with the wonderful performance of Lotte Lehmann and Michael Bohnen in their 1917 recording for Grammophon. The problem is this: Lehmann and Bohnen sing Wagner in the nineteenth-century style approved by the composer, while Rethberg and Schorr sing in the Bayreuth style of the nineteen-twenties. Schorr, whose beautiful voice is turned by the recording into a harsh quacking sound, is singing much too staccato and Rethberg follows his lead, although she never sang at Bayreuth! Vocal vices, however, are easily and rapidly passed on from singer to singer. Wagner was influenced by Italian comic opera when he wrote Die Meistersinger and in the score we find endless pages of “patter singing” which should suggest Il matrimonio segreto. Rethberg and Schorr give mechanical and inexpressive performances. Of course, in the Act Three duet Rethberg can make a glorious outburst out of her arioso “O Sachs, mein Freund” with an easy high B. Lehmann and Bohnen bring their duet to vivid life, Lehmann even roguishly suggesting Conchita Supervia at points, and Bohnen treating his vocal line as buffo music, vividly sung with the occasional musical interpolation. He articulates the words clearly without ever losing the legato. Their lifelike characterizations are wittily theatrical, and should be better known and considered as authentic examples of pre-Cosima Wagner singing. They have helped me to understand why Paderewski considered Die Meistersinger the greatest of all operas!
The Odeon records of 1931 and 1933
Many of the 1930s recordings of Rethberg catch her in her best voice, and the seven sides recorded by Odeon contain some exemplary singing. Especially brilliant is the aria from Der Zigeunerbaron, a thrilling performance in which the music gains from the experienced opera singer’s understanding of the contrast between the dreamy and the wildly excited sections [CD 5/11]. One of her very best! The same can be said for the lament of Inez—a rather shabbily treated seconda donna—for her homeland, from L’africaine [CD 5/12]. This is one of Meyerbeer’s loveliest inspirations, especially the opening section in which he makes the soprano and flute duet together in an original way. The engineers have captured the brilliant sheen on her soft singing quite remarkably well, even in the second part of each strophe where the rather trifling melody suggests that Meyerbeer was mis-remembering a Chopin waltz. The haunting sounds of Rethberg in this music have cast a spell on me since I first heard the record more than sixty years ago.
Hugo Wolf songs [CD 5/15–24]
In 1934 Elisabeth Rethberg was contracted by EMI to make records, accompanied by Coenraad V. Bos, for the Hugo Wolf Society series that the company was building up. A better choice than Rethberg could hardly have been found. The songs must have been chosen by Walter Legge, producer of the series: three sides offered a succession of three contrasting songs each, while the fourth was dedicated to “Mühlvoll komm’ich und beladen.” Rethberg is in excellent voice, the higher range in particular bright, pearly, and gleaming as in her best years. The performances are old-fashioned, her style being very similar to that of Lotte Lehmann, and for that reason commendable, in my opinion, but those passionately devoted to Wolf Lieder will form their own opinions.
Bell Telephone Laboratories
In 1932 the Bell Telephone Laboratories made a series of experimental recordings of great artists purely as demonstrations of the improvements in recorded sound with which they were experimenting. Rethberg recorded three sides on 33 hill-and-dale test records accompanied (not really adequately) by Kurt Ruhrseitz. The three recordings reveal her voice, full and brilliantly ringing, in a way that an ordinary microphone of the day could hardly match. Mendelssohn’s “On Wings of Song” is most beautifully sung, quite softly, with a flowing legato line and excellent enunciation [CD 6/7]. Brahms’s “Vergebliches Ständchen” (“A Fruitless Serenade”) was not such a happy choice and is sung much too quickly [CD 6/8]. She is not very successful in distinguishing the boy’s part from the girl’s, and we hastily pass on from disappointment to revelation: though the deterioration in the voice since her 1927 recording is quite clear, Rethberg is back on home ground and her radiant tones bring to vivid life Elisabeth’s entrance in Tannhäuser, with moving soft singing in the contrasting middle section [CD 6/9]. If the final high B is not quite of the best Rethberg quality (very nearly a scream, in fact) in compensation this remarkably vivid recording, with due space round the voice, reveals something of the real presence and charisma of the great artist.
Live from Vienna
We are fortunate to possess a long series of short passages recorded live at the Vienna Opera between 1933 and 1944, made from the wings by an amateur using primitive recording equipment. These are audio snapshots somewhat akin to the Mapleson cylinders recorded thirty years earlier at the Metropolitan Opera House. The sound quality of these recordings from Vienna is sometimes weak, sometimes harsh, with plenty of surface noise, but what a lovely thing. A supremely treasurable souvenir from this series is Rethberg’s singing, in 1933, of Agathe’s two great arias in Der Freischütz [CD 6/10–12]. Alas, she is rather hampered by the insensitive conducting of Josef Krips, who does not seem to have studied Weber style as profoundly as a German conductor should. He is somewhat wooden and inflexible in his stick-waving, but at least Rethberg is allowed to hang on a while to her delicious high notes. The quick section of the second act aria “Süss entzückt entgegen ihm” is spoilt by too rushed a tempo, putting the singer under an unnecessary strain. The recording begins just after Rethberg has begun to sing, but we hear how much feeling she manages to infuse into Weber’s heart-melting recitative. Then, between the two main sections of the aria comes a recitative giving Agathe splendid opportunities for expression, at “Nur die Nachtigall und Grille” where, again, I suspect the conductor was counting the beats instead of following Rethberg’s interpretation. How animated she is, how thrilling her tone at “O süsse Hoffnung!” leading into a brilliant execution of the cabaletta “All meine Pulse schlagen,” ending with an excellent high B natural. We are very fortunate to possess Agathe’s aria from Act Three, “Und ob die Wolke” which she never otherwise recorded: here her singing is quite perfectly lovely. These stimulating performances will always invite repeated listening because hearing Rethberg in a live stage performance reveals extra dimensions of her artistry.
Broadcasts
Several U.S. radio programs featuring Madame Rethberg exist on unique transcription discs, which conclude this set. These often give glimpses of the great musician. The exquisite timbre of the voice has deteriorated to an unfortunate degree, due to the heavy roles she sometimes undertook, pursuing the vain chimera of becoming a dramatic soprano. While all freshness has departed from the lower medium range, where the voice sounds weak and tremulous, or, as Italians say, “chioccia” [like an old hen], higher notes can still be very lovely, especially when attacked softly. She no longer has access to the complete Rethberg voice, but she has not lost much of her technique—above all, her breathing method still allows her to sing very long phrases. The one performance we possess of Rethberg singing Leonore’s aria “Abscheulicher!” confirms that Beethoven wrote cruelly for the voice, but Rethberg gives a lovingly molded execution of “Komm’, Hoffnung:” what a pity that nobody taught her how and when to insert the appoggiaturas [CD 6/22]! She gives us only one: on the final notes she sings “Liebe” correctly. Beethoven has written the same two notes, E–E, and Rethberg finally sings us the appoggiatura—F sharp–E. She grabs a breath or two in the final vocalizzo, following a sound tradition: although Beethoven’s idea of coloratura brilliance makes Leonore attack and sustain G sharp above the stave, then (in the same breath) leap down a ninth to begin a rapid upward scale to a sustained high B, Rethberg can still do this with insouciance, helping herself with snatched half-breaths. Her October 1937 appearance on NBC’s The Magic Key of RCA gives us a performance of “Pace, pace mio Dio” from La forza del destino [CD 6/18]. Rethberg had sung this opera in Germany early in her career and it has no secrets for her. She is still capable of giving a satisfactory performance of the aria—indeed, a master-class in how to sing it agreeably and in flawless taste while bringing it to a thrilling conclusion, even with reduced vocal resources.
The Last Word: Madame Rethberg Speaks
In 1923 Frederick H. Martens published the book The Art of the Prima Donna and Concert Singer (D. Appleton and Co., New York & London) containing articles by (among others) Geraldine Farrar, Lucrezia Bori, Emma Calvé, Florence Easton, Amelita Galli-Curci, Frieda Hempel, Maria Ivogün, Maria Jeritza, Sigrid Onegin, Rosa Ponselle, Rosa Raisa, Ernestine Schumann-Heink, Alice Verlet, and Elisabeth Rethberg, all attempting to give helpful advice to young singers. Rethberg must have just squeezed into the collection, as her interview would have taken place during her first Metropolitan season. Like most things of its kind it is rather vague and ingenuous—apart from Mme Rethberg’s clear ideas about her own value—though some of the advice she offers is well worth quoting, and gives me the grateful opportunity of concluding this review of a great but sometimes misguided singer with her own words:
It happens to be a fact that I could sing—and sing in tune and in time—before I could talk, when I was only a year old. Perhaps this was not strange, because we always had plenty of good music at home. And, growing up with Schubert, Schumann and Brahms, it is not surprising that I developed a taste for good music without effort.
I left my first vocal teacher in the Dresden Conservatory because my voice was growing smaller and smaller and my throat muscles more and more contracted…. So I left the Conservatory and began to study with a pupil of Iffert. The Iffert method and the Iffert exercises are excellent, and I soon noticed an improvement. I sang better and with greater ease. But Iffert is a little timid about deep breathing; his theory is that the breath must be produced without much effort. Now deep breathing, in my opinion, is absolutely essential to big tone…. For a great, firm, ringing tone one must be able to take a very deep breath, a breath that throws up the ribs and chest, and makes you feel that it comes from the very soles of your feet. Breathing of this kind, guided and controlled, is the soul of big-toned singing. I worked intensively by myself, but never went to a teacher again, after I had spent only a single year with this Iffert pupil.
I was delighted to have a chance to sing in opera and, of course, began by singing odd parts and acting as an understudy. … and as I was expected to sing any soprano role offered me, lyric, dramatic or coloratura, I had a wonderful training. This may have something to do with the fact that I feel quite at home in any of these three soprano voice types.
Die Frau ohne Schatten, by Richard Strauss, is really an opera of which I should approve, because the role of the Empress earned me ovations both in Dresden and Berlin. It represented a great personal success to me. But— the book, in which two old East Indian legends have been united in the bonds of an incomprehensible mysticism and theosophy, would tax a metaphysician’s mind to comprehend. The opera singer must be able to thoroughly understand the psychos of the character she represents; she must be able to identify herself with the character’s thoughts, motives and whole mental outlook; and the action of the work must have a basis of logical development. This, I think, is missing in Die Frau ohne Schatten. Or, if it is there, it is so hidden by subtleties that it is not apparent….
Technically, the roles, especially that of the Empress, are very difficult for the singer. First of all, a great range is required; then there are tremendous leaps throughout the melodic line, leaps of two octaves. And in the last act, after the singer’s voice has been subjected to the greatest strain, she is required to deliver a melodic declamation against the full orchestra, and following this, compelled to sing in the highest position, pianissimo, for a long time, never getting away from the high C and its immediate surroundings. Of all the operatic roles I have ever studied it makes the greatest demands…. Die Frau ohne Schatten is a modern fairy opera. If we compare it with Mozart’s fairy opera Die Zauberflöte, I think the latter has more in its favor. It is generally admitted that Mozart’s book is not an ideal one. Yet it does not present any abstruse philosophical problems. And in the beautiful Dresden revival in which I sang Pamina, the true fairy-tale quality of the opera was preserved by the cinematographic scene light effects, which followed each other in swift succession. The most artistic and colorful scenes were projected on the stage by the means of a sublimated magic lantern process, and no time was lost in shifting stage settings. The result was that the audience had a wonderful succession of glowing pictures which drew away attention from the words, at times naïve, and allowed the music to flow on without a break. And Mozart’s coloratura, while anything but easy, is written to sing, the natural possibilities of the voice with regard to melodic movement and range are always kept in mind. I never felt this more keenly than when I sang the role of Constanze.
Out of my own experience I would say that—provided that she have the range and the ability—there is no need for the soprano to confine herself too narrowly to a lyric, dramatic or coloratura style. In German we have a happy expression, jugendlich dramatisch, ‘youthfully dramatic,’ which I use as a kind of official label for my own singing voice. You see, the ‘youthfully’ might imply that I am young enough to sing either a lyric or a coloratura soprano role, while the ‘dramatic’ implies that I am a ‘singing actress.’ I believe that an experience such as mine at the Dresden Opera, where I had to sing anything and everything at a moment’s notice, so to speak, is invaluable for any young operatic singer. It compels her to become self-reliant, it stimulates her ambition, and forces her to develop her every resource. And as regards the dramatic, the acting in opera, it may be overdone as easily as underdone. After all, the real dramatism in opera lies in the voice…. When I sang the Nile aria in Vienna I knew that in order to bring out every beautiful detail of the song, I could not move about much on the stage. I did not do so, and as a result attracted much favorable attention by presenting the aria in ‘concert’ form, so to speak, placing the dramatic factor entirely in my singing, in tone and phrasing.
When I had to sign my American contract, I tried to have a clause inserted which would make allowance for home-sickness, but of course the management only laughed. When I am not in the mood, I cannot practice. But perhaps this is not a good thing to tell the vocal student, because it offers such an attractive excuse for not working.