One has often said that I have made my way thanks to my natural gifts. Here let me tell you for once, in black and white, that I have worked day and night with endless pains, with hot tears of despondency and even despair, with giving up other interests that could divert and use up strength… Not fame, high fees or titles should be the initiative, they are not worth by themselves that you sacrifice your life blood… The selfless love for this, our profession, must be the motive.
November marks the 110th anniversary of the birth of Maria Ivogün. When it comes to the (traditional) coloratura soprano voice, it is her name which seems to best represent this voice type—heady sweetness, accurate, graceful, elegant execution and a delicious manner of performing. Indeed the one word that best describes this remarkable artist is “delicious.”
One must remember that it wasn’t until the early 1920s, the ascendancy of Toscanini and the predominance of verismo that teachers began to incorporate more “ heft” in their instruction to pupils possessing this type of instrument. Today the voice commonly known as the coloratura soprano has virtually disappeared.
Maria Ivogün was born Maria Kempner in Budapest on November 18, 1891. (Her professional name was a clever contraction of the name of her mother, Ida von Gunter, a famous operetta singer.) Although born in Hungary, Maria was educated in Switzerland and trained as a singer at the Imperial Academy in Vienna, studying under Irene Schlemmer-Ambros. Bruno Walter hired Ivogün out of the Academy, and she made her debut in Munich, in 1913, as Mimi in La Bohème. The 22-year-old followed this with a quick substitution for an ailing Queen of the Night. She was immediately popular with audiences and loyally remained at the Munich Staatsoper for 12 years (1913-1925), carefully guided and guarded by Walter. While there, her roles included Nanetta (Falstaff), Ighino in the world premiere of Pfitzner’s Palestrina, the Nightingale in the world premiere of Braunfels’ Die Vogel, Oscar, Norina, Zerlina, Rosina, Gilda, Constanza, Frau Fluth (Merry Wives of Windsor), Olympia, Zerbinetta (chosen by Strauss himself), Violetta, Manon, and the Queen in Les Huguenots. In addition to performances at Munich she frequently guested at Vienna, Salzburg, London, Chicago and Berlin. (And in 1925, when Walter left Munich and went to Berlin, the ever-loyal Ivogün followed). Ivogün never sang at the Metropolitan Opera, most probably due to the fact that Amelita Galli-Curci reigned over that house’s florid repertoire at that time.
From all reports it is clear that despite her gifts and the acclaim accorded her, Ivogün never behaved like a “star” but instead remained refreshingly modest and a considerate colleague. In 1921 she married the famous tenor Karl Erb, often singing and recording with him (though most of the recordings remained unreleased for decades.) Despite her occasional international guesting, it is obvious that Ivogün preferred to be attached to a single house, first Munich and then Berlin. In 1932 she and Erb divorced, and the next year she married her accompanist, Michael Raucheisen. Ivogün had been giving recitals since 1921 but through his guidance she developed into a Lieder artist of the first order.
Ivogün gave her final stage appearance in 1934. Her retirement, at the age of 43, left many dumbfounded as to the reasons for such a decision, especially when the soprano seemed at the peak of her powers. The reasons were many and complex. Part of it lay in the tremendous sense of responsibility Ivogün felt in serving her art. (Most photos of the singer out of costume show her to be a rather fragile looking woman who looked perpetually tired, with a haunted look in her eyes and an endearing but almost pathetic smile. I have always felt that there was an exhausted air about her in these photos.) Also, she was prone to depression. Serious problems with her eyesight and the failure of her marriage to Karl Erb undoubtedly did not help matters. But perhaps, even more devastating, was a personal tragedy that, over the years, may have influenced her decision. In 1928 her only sister was drowned at sea. It seems that Ivogün was never able to rid herself of the tremendous guilt she felt since it had been she who had persuaded her sister to make the trip. She cancelled all engagements for an entire year. Ivogün returned to the stage (at the insistent urging of Walter) during 1929 but retired five years later. In total, her career lasted just over 20 years.
After her retirement she concentrated on teaching and in 1948 accepted a position at the Vienna Music Academy. In 1950 she was appointed Professor at the Academy of Music in Berlin. During her respected career as a teacher, her two most prominent pupils were Elisabeth Schwarzkopf and Rita Streich.
Probably the finest tribute ever paid to Maria Ivogün comes from Elisabeth Schwarzkopf. It was early in her career when she was taken to Ivogün. Schwarzkopf had just finished performing Zerbinetta and was tortured by serious doubts about her voice and repertoire. Ivogün agreed to take her on as a pupil only if Schwarzkopf agreed that they would go back to the beginning and rebuild her voice from scratch. This was the beginning of a relationship that not only produced one of the greatest artists of the 20th century but that also fostered a staunch respect for Ivogün that has endured throughout Schwarzkopf’s life. But Ivogün’s regard for Schwarzkopf went beyond the typically formal teacher-student relationship. When Schwarzkopf contracted tuberculosis, it was Ivogün who took her to a sanatorium. It was Ivogün and her husband, Michael Raucheisen, who introduced Schawarzkopf to the Lieder repertoire and encouraged her to investigate its vast richness. Schwarzkopf’s resolute deference to Ivogün’s vocal advice has never abated, and this veneration is quite a testimony—especially considering the strong, independent personality from which it springs.
As the English vocal critic John Steane commented:
“Through Schwarzkopf’s singing, Ivogün’s art remained a living force within a new generation; and it is so still, for the pupil is now herself a professor. Her ultimate reference is still to that legendary ‘Ariel of the opera world,’ the one whose reputation would be defended (in extremis) at the cost of a bloody nose, and who re-created Schwarzkopf’s voice, giving it this time a firm technical foundation. In Schwarzkopf’s studio, discussion ranges far and wide, but there comes a point where debate, for the time being, must rest: a point which is signaled, as often as not, by the two words ‘Ivogün said…’” (Opera Now, January 1992).
Ivogün’s voice was one of sunlight, grace and delicacy. The middle and bottom registers were solid and full of color, and up to about high A or B flat she was able to generate considerable carrying power. Once past that point, however, careful negotiations with the passaggio had to be made into a pure, sweet head voice. Like many coloraturas trained in Germany during this time, Ivogün’s top register was not capable of much pressure and did not exhibit great sustaining power. Different from others, however, Ivogün obviously worked very hard on this adjustment to assure that it emerged smoothly. Ivogün also cleverly turned this deficiency into a virtue by making her musical points with the use of (what I would call) high note brevity. Many of her recorded arias end with top E flats or Fs but they are cleverly incorporated into the rhythmic framework of the piece and so emerge as ornamental or pointed exclamations rather than grand interpolations. It is an effect that is surprisingly potent and successful. By 1932 and her final recordings, the top register had strengthened, but high F was no longer an option.
From 1916 to 1932 Ivogün made approximately 74 sides for four companies: Odeon (1916-1919), Brunswick (1923), Grammophon (1924-1925) and HMV (1932). A few months ago, Preiser released a complete edition of all the Odeons (2 CDs, 98237) including 17 unreleased. It is a remarkable collection and offers the listener fascinating opportunities to study and compare published against unpublished discs. Gilda’s “Caro nome,” for example, was recorded four times (two times with a final top E) yet not one was deemed fit for publication.
In addition to the Preiser set, the budget-priced Nimbus has released a disc of her work (NI7832) which includes 18 recordings of which only five are Odeons. It provides an excellent cross section of her recording career and includes a few Lieder selections. Although Ivogün’s classic recording of Zerbinetta’s aria has appeared on numerous LP compilations, at the time of this writing the only CD on which it can be found is Volume II of Nimbus’ Great Singers (NI 7812). Although many bemoan Nimbus’ manner of reproducing historical discs, in some cases (like Luisa Tetrazzini, Marcella Sembrich and Maria Ivogün), I find the transfers illuminating. As if being heard in a concert hall setting, Ivogün’s voice shoots into the warm acoustics with great luster and beauty.
The Preiser two-disc set has many wonderful demonstrations of Ivogun’s beautiful timbre and remarkable facility. One of the most interesting is the “Ah non giunge” from Sonnambula. Her rhythmic accentuations of staccati high Fs at the end of the aria resemble joyous laughter Amina would have felt at the reunion with Elvino, a very clever effect on Ivogün’s part. Then there are all the fascinating versions of “Caro nome” and arias from Lucia, Entfuhrung, Barber, Traviata and duets with her first husband, Karl Erb. It is an indispensable set for those interested in this soprano’s work.
While listening to the various rereleases of this soprano, I found myself returning time and again to the Nimbus, which has some truly classic renditions. High on the list is Handel’s “Sweet Bird” (L’Allegro). It should be pointed out, though, that this is the archaic version of the aria used by coloratura sopranos, before the piece was indignantly reclaimed by the early music movement. Ivogün’s recording is an eloquent testimonial to her smooth legato, dewy, fresh tone and beautiful phrasing. Delicate trills and high staccati pepper her (mostly discrete) ornamentation. Norina’s aria from Don Pasquale remains one of her most engaging recordings, full of humor and superb top notes. Another comic gem and one perfect for Ivogün’s gifts and timbre was the great aria of Frau Fluth from Nicolai’s Merry Wives of Windsor. Here superb diction and an ironic comic sense permeate the piece but never cheapen the music. Recorded in 1917, the top voice is vibrant and easy and the difficult, ornamental run up to top F is whipped out with verve.
Lieder was very important to Ivogün and Nimbus offers two orchestrally accompanied selections by Schubert. They are notable for Ivogün’s classic, direct phrasing and attention to beauty of sound and subtle nuance. Ivogün obviously had definite ideas about this repertoire and she brilliantly executes them, easily taking the listener along with her.
One of her greatest recordings is of a silly piece—a vocal adaptation of Kreisler’s violin solo, “Liebesfreud.” Even so, this is a classic of its kind for Ivogün’s superb pitch and tangible joy in singing. Her beautiful middle voice is complimented by graceful, high coloratura arabesques and some superb pointing of staccati passages. Contrasting this are the four folk songs arranged by Grund (recorded in 1932). These are among the most moving of all her discs for their simplicity and exquisite phrasing. (One of them, “Z’Lauterbach,” was made famous as a recital encore by Montserrat Caballe.)
Maria Ivogün remains most closely associated with the role of Zerbinetta, and her most celebrated recording remains her archetypal rendition of Zerbinetta’s aria. (When she recorded the piece, the 1916 version of the opera was only 16 years old and Zerbinatta’s difficult scena had been rarely recorded.) Ivogün’s rendition only takes nine minutes (with only a tiny cut in the recitative section) yet it remains the performance by which all others are measured. Superbly conducted by Leo Blech, Ivogün provides a marvel of virtuoso singing and subtle humor. As had been apparent throughout her career as a stage performer, on this disc everything is in balance. Legato and fioritura are phrased with a sensitivity to the music and style at hand and breathing spots are carefully plotted and never obtrusive—a component of her art that was quite advanced and modern for her era. Although tempi are rather brisk—especially considering those chosen today, not once does one get the sense that Ivogün is rushing through the music due to its excessive difficulties. Indeed there is a remarkable sense of composure throughout that one misses in most other recordings. No coarseness mars this recording; there is only her sweet, sunshine-bright timbre and artistic, fluent coloratura, all dispatched with spirit and crowned with brilliant top notes. (There is even a good facsimile of a high D trill.) Later generations may find singers playing more with dynamics (recording time constraints for Ivogün played into this I am sure) but few have matched Ivogün’s direct, no-nonsense delivery of this intricate vocal obstacle course. This belongs in every Straussian’s library or anyone interested in the art of singing.
In 1932, Ivogün wrote an article for a book called We From the Opera (Verlag F. Bruckmann A.G. Munich) in which she offered advice to young singers:
“One has often said that I have made my way thanks to my natural gifts. Here let me tell you for once, in black and white, that I have worked day and night with endless pains, with hot tears of despondency and even despair, with giving up other interests that could divert and use up strength…Not fame, high fees or titles should be the initiative, they are not worth by themselves that you sacrifice your life blood…The selfless love for this, our profession, must be the motive.”
The recordings of Maria Ivogün prove that she lived by her own words. They also prove that, no matter what the repertoire, it is dedication to “the art” and not oneself that enables us to attain the spiritual height we all aspire to.
