With the opening of the Met’s 2014-15 season in September
(negotiations between management and unions permitting), I will once again take
as my point of departure Metropolitan productions and then offer a
retrospective glance at historical performances of the opera in question.
During the summer interval OperaPost will focus on the Met roster as it was affected
by World War II. I begin with Tiana Lemnitz, a singer based in Germany, whose
debut at the Met was anticipated but did not happen either before or after the
conflagration. The subjects of subsequent posts will be the French dramatic
soprano, Germaine Lubin, and the Italian mezzo, Ebe Stignani, both of whom
would certainly have come to the Met in due course had it not been for the
looming international conflict.
On another note, I would be grateful if you would take a
moment to give me your feedback on previous posts and plans for those
forthcoming. Please click on the word “comments” or on the image of the pencil
below the posts.
Tiana Lemnitz was born in Metz (then Germany) in 1897 and
died in Berlin in 1994. We find a reference to the soprano in the Metropolitan
Opera Archives in a letter from Edward Ziegler, assistant to the then Met
general manager Edward Johnson, of June 1936. Ziegler had heard Lemnitz at
Covent Garden, in Strauss’s Der
Rosenkavalier. He wrote, “[Lemnitz as Octavian] was excellent and gave a
very spirited performance. The voice is warm and sure, somewhat opaque in the
lower register, but full and vibrant in the upper. I am told she makes a fine
Eva [in Die Meistersinger] however,
it is impossible for us to have her this year, though she has promised me to
ask for leave of absence [from her home theatre] for the season 1937/8.”
Lemnitz did not keep her promise. But then, by 1937, very few German leading
artists would or could come to the United States. She was again invited in the
1950s and again declined, although she did sing in Buenos Aires’s Teatro Colón
early in the decade. What part Lemnitz’s Nazi sympathies and fervent allegiance
to the Third Reich, if any, played in her eschewing of the Met, is difficult to
ascertain. Lotte Lehmann recounts the episode of
her “one and only fainting spell in my life.” She was at Covent Garden for Rosenkavalier in May 1938, the same
opera Ziegler had seen in the same theatre two years earlier, when she was
“surrounded by an absolutely new cast. They came from Berlin and were all Nazis,
especially Miss Lemnitz … she of the angelic floating voice was Octavian. I
remember that my voice was getting hoarse from inner tension, and instead of
disregarding it, she told me: ‘If you cannot go on, I shall sing for you’—and
that did it! I could not bring out one tone, and left the stage and the curtain
had to fall.”
Lemnitz became well known to record collectors with the
release of Sir Thomas Beecham’s late-1930s recording of Mozart’s Die
Zauberflöte. Her Pamina stood out in
a stellar cast. Soft, shimmering high notes of ineffable purity were the
soprano’s trademark. But there was much more to her voice and art, most notably
the ability to expand a phrase or a note on endless breath for maximum
emotional effect. Pamina’s aria, “Ach, ich fühl’s,” is a test that exposes the
tiniest defects in a singer’s technique; for Lemnitz it is a vehicle that
demonstrates her mastery. She lingers slightly on notes that other sopranos are
only too eager to release. She relishes the difficult fioriture on the word
“Herzen.”
Among her records, Agathe’s “Leise, leise” from Weber’s Der Freischütz, became the standard
against which all other versions of the aria are measured.
Verdi occupied a strong position in Lemnitz’s repertoire.
Here she sings the Act I duet from Otello with Torsten Ralf. Listen
again to her command of expressive rubato, the subtle lengthening and
diminishing of the note values. Then, there is her unforgettable timbre,
sometimes light, sometimes dark. Her partner is as attentive to the text as
she. Few have essayed the heroic role of Otello with the solid, sweet
mezzo-piano Ralf deploys at the end of the duet. Ralf, the first major European
artist to make his Met debut at war’s end, sang Lohengrin in the first opening
night broadcast in the company’s history.
Fascinating stuff. How the geopolitical scene of World War II affected the Metropolitan Opera seems like a rich and fascinating topic. Can't wait to read more.
ReplyDeleteRegarding previous posts, I find the way that you balance commentary with archival footage to be fascinating. I am also charmed by your tagline, "Reviewing the present, rehearsing the past." I always learn something here, and come away enchanted.
I have long had in my record collection the Beecham Magic Flute, the Otello duet with Torsten Ralf and other scenes and arias. One cannot give more praise than that already mentioned here.She was a vocal artist of the highest degree and of a type of singing that is simply unknown today.
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