A Singer’s Guide to the Great Composers: Strauss Pt2
People were astonished when, after the success of the expressionist operas, ‘Salome’ and ‘Elektra’, Strauss and Hofmannsthal next collaborated on a wonderful costume comedy set in the glamorous 18th century world of Imperial Vienna. It premiered, again in Dresden, in 1911, and was an immediate hit. ‘Der Rosenkavalier’ was put together by Hofmannsthal from a French novel and a play, and concerns the visit to Vienna by a country squire, Baron Ochs, to find a wife. He uses his cousin, Princess Marie Thérèse von Werdenberg, the wife of a Field Marshall in the Imperial army, as his Viennese contact. His chosen bride is the sweet, virginal Sophie von Faninal, the daughter of a wealthy nouveau-riche bourgeois.
The opera opens in flagrante as it were, as the Princess (or Marschallin) is in the throes of rampant sex with her much younger lover Octavian, Count Rofrano. The orchestra rises to a great climax, full of whooping horns, and then subsides with falling, drooping phrases as the lovers recover. At this moment, the curtain rises, and the couple enjoy breakfast after the exertions of the night. It seems that the Field Marshall is away again (campaigns and hunting mean he is rarely in Vienna), but the leisurely breakfast is interrupted by loud noises in the anterooms. Panic ensues as the lovers fear the return of the Field Marshall, but they soon realise that the row heralds a visit from the Marschallin’ s boorish country cousin. For the sake of propriety and safety, Octavian has nonetheless decided to dress up as his lover’s maid, and she/he catches the eye of Ochs as he bursts in, and now the scene is set for a double conversation of social propriety and lascivious interplay. It’s really complicated music and there are lots of words, many in South Austrian dialect, but it is a most enjoyable scene to play with misunderstandings aplenty. Ochs goes on at great length about his amorous adventures on his estate, while the Marschallin and Octavian exchange glances and try to bring the visit to an end. Eventually, the Levée begins, as all and sundry come into the bedroom to ask for favours, to sell things, to introduce the lady of the house to new musicians and for two Italian spies to offer their services. Ochs is introduced to a notary who tries to draw up a marriage contract, while an Italian tenor sings his new song. This whole scene is an amazing tour de force with competing exchanges going on all the time, and only comes to an end halfway through the tenor’s second verse as Ochs loses his temper with the notary. In all the fracas, the Marschallin tells Ochs that she has chosen the young Count Rofrano as his Rose Bearer for his new bride. I always thought this was an old Viennese tradition, the presentation of a silver rose to the intended by an emissary chosen by the husband, but it was actually invented by Hofmannsthal in a moment of genius. After the chaos of the Levée, the Marschallin is left to reflect on the passing of the years (she is mid-30s and Octavian is 17), and the fact that such a young man will inevitably leave her for a younger lover. She talks about going round the house at night, stopping the clocks, in the forlorn hope of stopping time itself. This is one of the great scenes in all opera, and a great actress like Elisabeth Schwarzkopf brought to it a sense of loss and sadness that is difficult to bear.
I have described the first act in detail, because I want to show how skilful both Strauss and Hofmannsthal were in putting together this masterpiece. Passion, love, comedy and great sadness, all are present in this one act. Strauss wrote music for all of the libretto, but in truth, it was too long, and most productions apply judicious cuts, particularly to Ochs’ long description of seduction and worse in his estate. Not much is lost, and much is gained, and this applies to the whole opera. When I sang Ochs in Bielefeld, I pleaded for more cuts, not out of laziness, but out of sympathy for the poor audience. Later when I understudied the role at the New York Met, I was relieved to find they had made further cuts. It’s still one of the longest and hardest roles in the entire bass repertoire, but at least it becomes manageable! I did however decide after that experience at the Met that I probably didn’t want to sing Ochs again. He is the most God-awful character, with very few redeeming characteristics, although enormous fun to sing and act. After the first night in Bielefeld, I received one of my best compliments when a nice German chap came up to me and asked whether I was from southern Austria. When I told him I was from Edinburgh, he couldn’t believe it, such was my success with the dialect!
In the second and third acts, as well as some fun and games, Strauss wrote some of the most astoundingly beautiful music for women’s voices. The scene of the Presentation of the Rose, between Sophie and Octavian, is a moment when time does indeed appear to stop, as the two young people meet for the first time. Towards the end of the 3rd Act and the opera itself, there is an exquisite trio for two sopranos and a mezzo, and the simple yet heartfelt duet between Sophie and Octavian, now paired off, to the chagrin but not surprise of the Marschallin.
At the end of Act 2, there is the fabulous scene when Ochs recovers from a minor tiff with Octavian, with a glass of wine, and lapses into a slow waltz tune on discovering that an assignation with the pretend maid, Mariandel, has been set up. He sings that “no night with him can last too long”, so virile is he, and ends on a deliciously long bottom E!
Strauss followed this miracle with several more superb operas, with Hofmannsthal, including ‘Ariadne auf Naxos’ (a brilliant play within a play concept), ‘Die Frau ohne Schatten’ (an extraordinary magical story with superb roles for the singers – sadly nothing much for me) and ‘Arabella’ (another costume drama with more exquisite music).
Hofmannsthal’s death in 1929 robbed Strauss of his perfect collaborator, and he spent the next few years fighting with the Nazis to keep his Jewish librettist, Stefan Zweig, on board, with gradually less and less success. Zweig had fled first to London, and then to New York, to escape the clutches of the Nazis. He eventually found himself in Brazil, but was so disillusioned by events in Europe, that he and his wife committed suicide there in 1943.
This tragedy was compounded by the fact that in 1942, Strauss had completed ‘Capriccio - A Conversation Piece for Music’, the idea for which had come from Zweig in the 30s. Various complications around the libretto meant that the bulk of the text was written by the conductor of the first performance, Clemens Krauss, and it is a work of genius. The plot revolves around an aristocratic brother and sister who are forever arguing about the pecking order of music and words. ‘Prima la Musica dopo le Parole’, says the Countess, ‘Prima le Parole dopo la Musica’, replies the Count. The action opens at a soiree where a composer, Flamand, is presenting his latest piece, a Sextet for Strings. The poet, Olivier, bursts in to show off his latest sonnet. An impresario is also present, and an argument ensues about the importance of poetry, music and drama. The famous actress, Clairon, (this all is set in 1775 in a chateau near Paris) arrives, and it becomes clear that the Count is a lover of words and also the actress, and that the Countess is torn between the musician and the poet for her affections. The whole story builds up to the point when, after hearing the sonnet spoken first, and badly, by the Count, Flamand the musician dashes off to set it to music. Olivier is aghast and Flamand thinks he has won, until the Count suggests that they write an opera together telling the story of that day’s discussion, to be put on by La Roche, the impresario. There are more twists and turns in the plot, involving two Italian singers, an ensemble of servants who discuss what’s going on, and a Prompter, who always falls asleep during a performance and only wakes up when it is over. Finally, the two lovers are asked to return the next day when the Countess will decide on the end of the opera (i.e. whom she has chosen), but we never find out and the Countess sings a marvellous solo scene in the moonlight debating with herself her dilemma. The opera ends with the announcement by the Major-Domo that Supper is served!
Brian performs in Capriccio
It is the most wonderful piece, with almost no action, and fascinating debates going on all the time. There are comic scenes, love scenes, extended and complex ensembles with all the characters expressing different thoughts and emotions and tours de force, like Flamand’s sonnet and La Roche’s huge monologue about the importance of theatre. Yet it was written at the height of World War 2 and premiered in Munich.
My mentor Hans Hotter was the original poet, Olivier, but, in the famous, and utterly wonderful recording from 1958, he sings La Roche. This is the role that I have sung over the length of my career. I first sang it in the 80s with Scottish Opera in John Cox’s sublime production which had started at Glyndebourne. We sang it in English, as surtitles had not been invented, and there was no point playing a conversation piece in a language nobody understood. John had updated it to the 1920s and it worked perfectly. Originally written as one very long act, the decision was taken in 1957 to insert an interval at the moment when the Countess orders hot chocolate, and this is a nice solution. I was much too young to sing it properly, but this early introduction meant that I jumped at future possibilities. I understudied it in German at Glyndebourne in the 90s and when I was asked to sing it in Bielefeld in 2009, I was finally ready. The role was based on the great theatre director Max Reinhardt, who had directed several of Strauss’ earlier operas and who went on to a career in theatre and film in America. He is pompous, opinionated, arrogant and largely right, and I love his character. Strauss composed his role perfectly for a high bass, and though it is long, it is enormously rewarding to sing. The production in Bielefeld had a few flaws, which I wrote about in “A Singer’s Life”, but was also very clever. Basically, the opera was set in a TV studio, and the discussions and ramblings mimicked a typical chat show. The interventions of Italian singers, and the actress, were like the musical breaks that occur in most chat shows, and the play within the play within the play was made manifest by a small proscenium arch in the middle of the stage, with a red curtain. One of the felicities of the libretto has my rather pompous character reminding the author of the stage play that exits are terribly important to characters in an opera, and that he should make sure that my character leaves with style. In this production, La Roche departs in mid-sentence through the arch and behind the curtain, scratching his behind as he goes out!
As a result of my German performances, I was able to go at short notice to Victoria in British Columbia in Canada, to take part in the Canadian premiere of the opera, nearly 70 years after its world premiere. Pacific Opera Victoria put on an absolutely marvellous production, updated to the 20s like John Cox’s, and I had the most wonderful time working with these young Canadians. As a result of these shows, I was asked to go the New York Met to understudy La Roche, although the singer contracted stayed well throughout! Those Canadian performances introduced me to the sadly missed soprano, Erin Wall, who I wrote about for EMR last year. She was a sublime Countess in ‘Capriccio’.
The only other Strauss opera in which I have sung was ‘Daphne - a Bucolic Tragedy’ with a text by Joseph Gregor, based on Greek mythology. Originally intended as a companion piece to another one act opera ‘Friedenstag’, it was premiered in Dresden in 1938, conducted by its dedicatee, Karl Bőhm. I sang it with the marvellously innovative Chelsea Opera, a group of top-class amateur musicians who find slightly obscure operas, which they then put on with professional singers in concert performances in London’s Queen Elizabeth Hall. ‘Daphne’ is a marvellous piece needing two world class tenors, a great soprano, and a deep alto and a bass. Consequently, it is rarely performed but Chelsea Opera put together a superb cast, and it was a huge success. It’s worth looking out for the recording made in 1964 on DG with Bőhm conducting and with Hilda Gueden, James King and Fritz Wunderlich. It is absolutely stunning, a live performance from Vienna of great quality. Sadly, Paul Schőffler who sang my role of Peneios, was past his best, but in general, this is one of the great Strauss opera recordings.
I mentioned the recording of ‘Capriccio’ with Hotter as La Roche above. It’s on EMI Classics with Wolfgang Sawallisch conducting and with Schwarzkopf as the Countess. My favourite ‘Der Rosenkavalier’ recording is also on EMI, with Karajan conducting and with Schwarzkopf, Ludwig, Stich-Randall and Otto Edelmann (as Ochs). The Solti recording is also very fine and is complete, with no cuts (not necessarily a good thing!)
Richard Strauss remains one of my favourite composers, and I have not even mentioned the wonderful Tone Poems he wrote for orchestra, such as ‘Also sprach Zarathustra’ and ‘Ein Heldenleben’. I would encourage you to discover more about this great man.
