Listening to My Old Records

by Lotte Lehmann

[in the booklet of Angel's "Great Recordings of the Century" LP COLO 112]

Listening to my old records—which I very seldom do—is a rather frustrating sensation for me. It makes me sad that " my time " is over. That my voice, once the instrument of my emotions, does not obey me any more, only—quite naturally—obeying the cruel demands of time.... I don't belong to those who live in the past. I like to look forward, not back. The present and the future have yet promises for me—and always a goal. But, listening to these recordings, the past opens once more its golden gates, and the radiant light of happy memories envelops me anew.

Fidelio! How could I ever try to relate the excitement, the intoxication of those times! From the first performance—at the Beethoven centenary—this was one of my favourite roles. Franz Schalk, at that time Director of the Vienna Staatsoper, wanted me to sing it, brushing away my fear that the role might be vocally too dramatic. I am eternally grateful to him—because singing Leonore, acting Leonore, was one of my greatest artistic experiences. I sang it under the baton of great conductors: Schalk,Walter, Beecham, Strauss, Furtwängler and Toscanini. The whole performance under Schalk went to Paris—and Leonore brought me my first French medal, the Golden Palm, which later on was followed by the Legion of Honour.

What memories! It is all so long ago that I may be permitted to mention it without being accused of boasting.... But you see, I lived this life in another world, upon another star, brighter than my world of today.

My repertory was rather varied. It certainly is a big step from Fidelio to Werther's Lotte, from Beethoven to Massenet. But what a challenge to do roles which are so entirely different! I loved singing Lotte. Our Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra seemed to like it too: they had always a lot of fun when at my first entrance I was surrounded by "my family "—all the children chanting "Lotte, Lotte, Lotte! " I never forget how all my friends below in the orchestra turned their heads, smilingly greeted me, as if they joined the action on the stage.... Most of the time, Alfred Piccaver was my Werther—his heavenly voice caresses yet my ears.

The role of Ariadne was really a "second love " for me: my first one was the Composer, this short and excitingly lovely part in the so-called "Prelude" of Ariadne auf Naxos. When I came to Vienna (1916) I got the role of the Composer as understudy (which hurt my feelings terribly by the way . . .). But Richard Strauss heard me once in one of the last rehearsals before the premiere, when I substituted for the excellent artist [Marie Gutheil-Sehoder] who was chosen to sing the premiere—and immediately he decided to change his plan: I sang the premiere. It was the beginning of my "career", an opening of doors into the great world.... One will understand that I always had a deep love for this role—and when later on I took over Ariadne I always stood in the wings during the Prelude, envy in my heart, listening to the Composer and wishing it would be possible to sing both roles....

Once something very funny happened: when Bacchus appears, Ariadne greets him singing, "Hail to thee, O messenger of messengers", but strangely enough I forgot it, thinking that Bacchus had these lines—God knows why I was so mixed up! . . . Strauss sent me a card the next day, saying: "Because the high B flat was so beautiful, I forgive you. In the next performance you will have to sing the phrase twice. But never mind, it was very lovely . . . Your sincere admirer, Strauss."

The sentimental, sweet Agathe in Weber's Freischütz has a special significance for me: it was my debut performance in Vienna in 1916. And, two years earlier, I had taken part in a very good performance of this opera in the wonderful open-air theatre of Zoppot, with Richard Tauber as my Max.

D'Albert's Die toten Augen also played an important part in my 1ife: the role of the blind woman whom Christ gives back her sight, and who—shocked by reality—prefers to be blind again, was the role I chose for my farewell performance in Hamburg in 1916, when I left the Hamburg Stadttheater for Vienna's Hofoper. It is not great music, but the role is magnificent and gives an opportunity to act as well as to sing—which I always especially enjoyed.

Das Wunder der Heliane by Erich Korngold was another exciting event. This opera is not very well known, but the recorded aria was chosen for that reason, I suppose. It is very melodious and a kind of "luscious" music, demanding the utmost of vocal power and endurance. The aria is the confession and defence of the lovey Queen, who is accused of immorality because she tried to give beauty to the youth who—innocently—was condemned to death.

What a change to sing Frau Fluth in Die lustigen Weiber von Windsor! Is it not wonderful to be able to live so entirely different personalities, living many lives, feeling the heartbeat of so many people? Frau Fluth—what fun it was, to become the gaily scheming happy woman who—in this recorded aria—rehearses the act with which she plans to fool the silly old Sir John! I think I always had as much fun as the audience.

Another humorous role, that of Rosalinde in Die Fledermaus, is a very pleasant memory for me because of the wonderful performance we had at Covent Garden, under the baton of Bruno Walter, with Elisabeth Schumann as Adele. I really don't think I was very good in this role, but the gaiety of the music may add something enjoyable to this record—at least, that is the reason it has been included. (1)

And now, as the last, we have Isolde's Liebestod. Isolde—the role I never sang, the role which I longed to sing through many, many years—never being able to fulfil this dream: my voice was not "high-dramatic"—I believe the role would have been the end of my singing career. Oh—at that time of my life I was touchingly foolish enough to say: "So be it my end! Could there be a better way of losing one's voice? " Fortunately I was wisely advised—and buried this dream. But at least I sang the Liebestod! I sang it for the first time under the baton of Arturo Toscanini in Vienna. For me it was one of those unforgettable hours of blissful abandonment, of dying in the surging waves of music, forgetting the world of reality . . . "Ertrinken, versinken" —there is nothing like it.

Now I close the shining doors of the past again and am back in my Today. It is good and wonderful, it is full of activities, of deeply gratifying work. I hope I will have yet the strength for some time to come, to look forward. Yesterday was beautiful—but there is always a beautiful Tomorrow.

1 Mme Lehmann is far too modest. London rightly adored her Rosalinde, and on the record her comical intonation (at the beginning of the second verse) on the word 'Pascha' shows how completely she entered into the fun of the part.