Lotte Lehmann :: Biography

By Beaumont Glass

Lotte Lehmann was one of the most beloved singers of her era. She was a favorite of Richard Strauss, Giacomo Puccini, Hans Pfitzner, Erich Wolfgang Korngold, Bruno Walter, Arturo Toscanini, Otto Klemperer, and Thomas Mann. Many who heard her consider her interpretations of the Marschallin, Fidelio, Sieglinde, and Elisabeth still unsurpassed. She moved critics in London, Vienna, Paris, and New York to hymns of praise such as one seldom if ever encounters today. She inspired an almost fanatical devotion in her audiences.

She was also a prolific writer. Among her eight published books is an autobiography, Anfang und Aufstieg -- literally, 'the beginning and the upward climb.' It was published in England as On Wings of Song, in America as Midway in My Song. As the title suggests, it was incomplete. It appeared in 1937 when she was 49 years old. She lived another 39 years and they were active ones, years in which she conquered the vast domain of the German Lied and distinquished herself as a remarkable teacher of interpretation. To fill the gap, Capra Press of Santa Barbara published a comprehensive biography of Lehmann in her centenary year. It is based upon a mass of fascinating material in the Lotte Lehmann Archive of the University of California, Santa Barbara, and was written by the author of this article. Lehmann herself left many autobiographical fragments which have been incorporated into the book.

Charlotte Sophie Pauline Lehmann was born on 27 February 1888 in the north-German town of Perleberg, about halfway between Hamburg and Berlin. Her father was a sort of civil servant, very industrious, very orderly, very methodical. It was his fondest hope that his daughter would someday follow in his footsteps. Above all she must have a position that entitled her to a pension.

Her dismal marks in arithmetic soon disabused him of that dream. Her favorite classes were elocution and writing. She was very proud that a Berlin paper printed one of her poems. The ten marks she earned for that effort meant more to the embryonic prima donna than many a fabulous fee in her future.

Everyone in the family loved to sing -- old familiar ballads, folk songs, hits of the day. They knew next to nothing of classical music. Lotte was allowed to take piano lessons. One day a neighbor heard her singing around the house and persuaded her parents to let her audition for the Royal High School of Music in Berlin. Her father was assured that she would someday be able to make a respectable living as an oratorio singer -- with a pension. Lotte had no repertoire; but one of the more advanced students coached her in Siebel's aria from Faust and 'Jerusalem' from Mendelssohn's St. Paul. She was accepted as a student of singing. She began to frequent the top gallery at the opera. Emmy Destinn and Geraldine Farrar became her idols. Opera seemed a shining beacon. Soon she found herself dissatisfied with the oratorio-orientation of her course at school.

She was given free tuition at the Etelka Gerster School of Singing. But the vocal methods practiced there, although successful for some students, were nearly disastrous for Lotte. She was expected to sing with a little wooden stick between her jaws, to keep the same degree of opening for all tones, high or low. And when she had difficulties with the second aria of the Countess from The Marriage of Figaro, her teacher forced her to repeat that aria over and over again at every lesson until she was overcome with panic and nausea at the sound of the first chord. She was dismissed from the school (on 31 December 1908) and told that she would never earn a penny with her voice.

Her father enrolled her in a commercial course. She pleaded with him for one more chance.

Salvation came in the ample form of Mathilde Mallinger who, many years before, had been Wagner's first Eva in Die Meistersinger and who now managed to work wonders with Lotte's voice.

In 1910, after a year and a half with Mallinger, Lotte signed her first contract: a beginner's engagement with the Hamburg Municipal Theatre. The role of her debut, on 2 September 1910, was the Second Boy in The Magic Flute; she spent most of her brief time on stage trying to pull the skimpy tunic a little lower over her legs. According to her own account -- unequivocally confirmed by the producer -- she was at first hopelessly awkward as an actress. She had no idea what to do with her hands and feet. If there were two or three steps to descend she was certain to stumble. Her lovely voice, however, kept her in the company. For two seasons she spent most of her time in page boy tights, as 'Edelknaben' in Tannhäuser and Lohengrin, but now and then a female part came her way. Three weeks after her debut she was cast as Freia in Das Rheingold. One critic made the comment that among the gods of Valhalla she appeared to be the chambermaid. Then came her first grateful role, Anna in The Merry Wives of Windsor, not in the Hamburg house but in a suburban performance. This time the reviews were highly encouraging. The producer scolded her for beating time with her legs; but her singing captivated the audience and the word soon spread through the home theatre. During those first months in Hamburg Lotte wrote several long, detailed letters every week to her brother Fritz in Berlin. Those letters preserve a vivid picture of backstage life. Here are some random samples: 'You can't imagine anything more gemütlich than those rehearsals. What a lot of tomfoolery they are all up to! They act so familiar. If one of them pinches your cheek or puts his arm around your waist it doesn't mean a thing. If a girl would make a fuss about it she'd be finished....' 'This [Otto] Klemperer is a fresh fellow. Yesterday I had a rehearsal.... I happened to come a bit too early and was alone with him. Naturally he swept me into his arms with that stormy "temperament" of his. I fought him off with all my strength. Fortunately he doesn't hold my resistance against me. He was very friendly afterwards. If he were not such a brutal type, for whom a harmless "flirt" is out of the question, it might be very pleasant for me; as it is, he is a much too dangerous human being.'

Real success, when it came, was very sudden. Otto Klemperer persuaded the theatre to let her sing Elsa in Lohengrin. He coached her intensively for a week. He shouted at her in front of the cast. The rehearsals were humiliating. But the performance made her a star. It was the happiest day of her life until then, 29 November 1912. She forgot herself and her insecurities and became Elsa. From then on she was cast in leading roles. She found herself a great favorite of the public and the press. Young fans followed her everywhere. Her signature tune that everyone wanted to hear was an aria from Die toten Augen by Eugene d'Albert. She had created the role of Myrtocle, one of her most popular in Hamburg.

Lehmann made her very first recordings, Elsa's Dream and the Song to the Breezes, in the summer of 1914 for Pathé in Berlin.

The director of the Vienna Court Opera came to Hamburg to hear a certain tenor sing Don José; instead he hired the Micaëla. Lotte made her debut in Vienna as the guest Eva in a performance of Die Meistersinger, 30 October 1914. Two seasons later she was a regular member of the company. As such her official debut was in the role of Agathe in Der Freischütz, on 18 August 1916, the emperor's birthday and the traditional opening night of the season. The critics predicted that she would soon be a favorite in Vienna, as she had been in Hamburg. Nevertheless, she felt that something was missing. Something special was needed to make a real sensation in Vienna. That 'something special' came her way a few months later. The second version of Richard Strauss'sAriadne auf Naxos was nearing its premiere when Marie Gutheil-Schoder, one of Strauss's favorite singers, became ill and missed a rehearsal. Lehmann was called in to take her place, temporarily, in the part of the 'Composer.' Strauss was immensely impressed with her and decided then and there that she would sing the first performance, rather than Gutheil-Schoder, for whom he had originally written the role. The morning after the premiere 'all Vienna knew who Lotte Lehmann was.' From then on Strauss wanted her for all his premieres. He coached her himself at his villa in Garmisch. She created the Dyer's Wife in Die Frau ohne Schatten (10 October 1919, in Vienna) and Christine, a portrait of his own wife Pauline, in Intermezzo (4 November 1924, in Dresden). For many years she was his favorite Marschallin. He is said to have written the part of Arabella with Lehmann in mind; but politics intervened and she did not sing in the Dresden premiere.

Puccini came to Vienna in October 1920 to supervise the first production there of his Trittico and found in Lotte Lehmann his ideal Suor Angelica. 'Go to Vienna!' he said to all who doubted the effectiveness of that centerpiece to his 'triptych.' Puccini also greatly admired Lehmann as Mimi and as Manon Lescaut. Later she sang the Vienna premiere of Turandot, actually a 'double premiere' with first Lehmann and Leo Slezak and then Maria Nemeth and Jan Kiepura as Turandot and Calaf. Lehmann recorded two of Turandot's arias, and her recording of the second includes several phrases that are strikingly different from either the standard score or the recently rediscovered original version of the Franco Alfano love duet.

Lehmann's first Marschallin came about almost through a fluke. She had sung both Sophie and Octavian in Der Rosenkavalier, but not as yet the part for which she is now best remembered, when Covent Garden offered her a contract that was dependent upon her singing the role of the princess, in the mistaken assumption that it was already a part of her repertoire. She was anxious to sing in London (where she had actually already made an inconspicuous debut in the summer of 1914 as Sophie at Drury Lane), especially since the conductor was to be Bruno Walter. So she kept her secret to herself and signed the contract. Walter worked with her on every detail of the role. It was the beginning of a very inspiring collaboration. That first performance, on 21 May 1924, and that engagement laid the foundation for her international fame.

Meanwhile she had met her future husband, Otto Krause. She was his birthday present. His first wife, very wealthy, had engaged Lotte Lehmann, his favorite opera star to sing at his birthday party. The unforeseen result: he fell in love with his gift. And she with him. He asked his wife for a divorce. For four years she refused. Four children were involved. The scandal titillated Vienna. Finally, in April 1926, Lotte became the second Mrs. Otto Krause -- or rather Otto Krause became the first Mr. Lotte Lehmann. He played that part extremely well and was a great help and support to her during their years together.

Lehmann was in demand all over Europe. Her appearances in Berlin as Marie/Marietta in Die tote Stadt by Erich Wolfgang Korngold not only won her ecstatic praise from the composer but resulted in one of her most popular and best-selling records, the duet with Richard Tauber of the 'Lute Song.' She also recorded a moving aria from another Korngold opera, Das Wunder der Heliane. She created the title role, in which she was called upon by the story to appear nearly nude.

Lehmann sang in the Salzburg Festivals every summer from 1926 until 1937. In 1928 she conquered Paris, Stockholm and Brussels in 1929. Her Fidelio, which she had sung for the first time in 1927, was hailed as the greatest in the world. She was decorated by the king of Sweden; France made her, first, a chevalier of the Legion of Honor, then, later, an officer (she thought 'chevalier' much more romantic).

Her North American debut was with the Chicago Opera, 28 October 1930, as Sieglinde. The Metropolitan waited until 1934. Maria Jeritza, who had been Lehmann's principal rival in Vienna for years, wanted the Met for herself, it is said. After a phenomenally successful Lehmann recital in New York's Town Hall, on 7 January 1932, the Metropolitan bowed to public pressure. Jeritza left at the end of that season. (Many years later, in 1962, the two rival prima donnas were brought together for a Met broadcast intermission interview. A tape exists, by the way. [Now also CD.] Lehmann commemorated that earth-shaking event with a cartoon portrait in color of herself and Jeritza, long cat-tails emerging from under their skirts.)

On 11 January 1934 Lehmann made her Metropolitan Opera debut as Sieglinde in Die Walküre. Her success was triumphant. She was in demand all over America for concerts and recitals.

Then, one year later, Kirsten Flagstad burst upon the scene, out of relative obscurity, like a supernova that outshines all other stars. She was the supreme Isolde and Brünnhilde of her day. Although most critics and the more discriminating members of the Metropolitan audience preferred Lehmann as Sieglinde, Elisabeth, and Elsa, roles she had made peculiarly her own, there was an unprecedented demand to hear Flagstad in anything she was willing to sing. Lehmann sang very few performances. Flagstad generally sang four times a week, always to sold-out houses. She has often been given the credit for having saved the Met during the depression. But her advent was an undeniable blow to Lehmann's operatic career in the United States. In any case, America never heard her in what may have been her greatest artistic achievement, her Fidelio. That was one of Flagstad's roles. The most admired Brünnhilde and Sieglinde of their day appeared together only three times, twice in San Francisco (13 and 22 November 1936) and once in Milwaukee (14 December 1937), never at the Met. There is an interesting off-the-air recording of most of the Second Act of one of the San Francisco performances, with Melchior and Schorr, Reiner conducting.

For many years Lehmann had dreamed of one day singing Isolde. Franz Schalk and Bruno Walter had both promised to hold back the orchestra for her sake. She even scheduled some performances in Chicago. But always, each time, at the last moment she backed away from the part. She often sang the 'Liebestod,' however, and she recorded it as well.

Lehmann's famous recording of excerpts from Der Rosenkavalier was even less complete than anyone had at first realized: after the great trio in Act III she simply left the studio, forgetting that there was still the phrase 'Ja, ja' to come. Since no one knew where to find her and the recording session was almost over, her colleague Elisabeth Schumann volunteered to sing the Marschallin's last line as well as her own part of Sophie on the last record side.

Some of Lehmann's most delightful recordings were of light music. Utterly enchanting is 'Eine kleine Liebelei' and late in her career she made a charming album of 'Songs of Vienna.'

Lehmann had one especially distinguished fan: she began to notice Arturo Toscanini in the front row at all her recitals and her performances at the Metropolitan. They did a radio concert together, his very frst commercial broadcast (11 February 1934, the 'Cadillac Hour'), in which Lehmann sang 'Dich, teure Halle' and the Fidelio aria. Their artistic rapport took fire. It became a love affair. In 1935 they performed Fidelio together at Salzburg; a year later they added Die Meistersinger. Those were highlights of Lehmann's career. Toscanini held a special place in her heart to the very end.

For Lehmann's sake, Toscanini transposed Leonore's aria down a half-step, starting in the phrase 'der spiegelt alte Zeiten wieder' because he wanted to keep the rainbow in C Major. Another innovation that can be heard on the wretched but fascinating recording that has survived is a small flourish at the end of the aria that is printed in the score as optional notes but very rarely ever performed.

A reviewer commented after Lehmann's Salzburg Eva that she looked more like Walter's mother than his sweetheart; Walter was the young American tenor, Charles Kullman. Except for one more Eva at the Met, already contracted, she never sang the part again. Maria Reining sang Eva in Salzburg the following summer.

Meanwhile the Nazi nightmare was darkening much of Europe. Lotte had a famous fight with Göring. She was forbidden to sing in Germany.

The 'Anschluss' came in 1938. Lehmann's stepchildren, Jewish through their mother, seemed to be trapped in Vienna. Otto Krause, Lehmann's husband, had developed tuberculosis after a taxing trip around the world. He was sent to a sanatorium in Davos. On 4 May1938, on stage at Covent Garden during the flrst act of Der Rosenkavalier, Lotte collapsed under the strain. A few days later her stepchildren bluffed their way across the Austrian border on the Orient Express and joined her in Paris. One catastrophe had been averted. The whole family sailed to America and applied for US citizenship. Then, a few months later, Otto died while Lotte was on a concert tour. She felt utterly lost without him. She canceled her remaining Metropolitan performances for that season, but was obliged to honor her commitment to an Australian tour (her second -- the first, with Otto, had been a particularly happy time for her).

As she renounced her operatic roles, one by one, her career as a lieder singer reached its finest bloom. Her Salzburg recitals with Bruno Walter at the piano had been annual artistic highlights of the festivals between 1933 and 1937; Lehmann considered Walter her greatest teacher. But it was during her last ten years as a singer that Lehmann came fully into her own as a supreme interpreter of the German Lied. Some seasons her usual schedule of three sold-out recitals at Town Hall was expanded to as many as eight lieder recitals in New York City alone. Her fans in New York, it seems, could never get enough of her.

She bid farewell to the Metropolitan Opera on 17 February 1945 in Der Rosenkavalier. Her very last appearance in opera was in Los Angeles on 1 November 1946, again as the Marschallin, with Jarmila Novotna as Octavian.

In 1948 she appeared in a Hollywood film, Big City, playing opposite the child star Margaret O'Brien. The president of M-G-M called her "the greatest screen mother in the world." But her contract was not renewed.

About this time she wrote a pair of remarkable books on the interpretation of lieder and opera, More Than Singing and My Many Lives, respectively. They are an indispensable part of the Lehmann legacy.

Her famous 'farewell recital' in New York, on 16 February 1951, was recorded. She made a moving speech. When she broke down at the last line of Schubert's "An die Musik", nearly the whole audience was in tears.

The actual last 'farewell' was a recital in Pasadena, California, on 11 November 1951.

After her retirement as a singer, Lehmann had an extraordinarily successful new career as a teacher. Her master classes were a revelation, a glimpse at the inner workings of an incomparably creative artistic imagination. She never taught singing as such, only interpretation. Unlike many great artists, she was gifted with the ability to articulate her vision in words. She inspired a generation of young singers to surpass themselves, and former students of hers are singing on opera stages all over the world today.

The essence of her art was her total identification with what she was singing, and the mastery with which she communicated her feeling to the audience. Those who were privileged to hear her will never forget her.