In December 1972, you sang Salome for the first time in a new production at the Vienna State Opera. I remember that on the day of the premiere, an important Austrian newspaper printed a photo of you on the front page. What was it like to have the attention of a whole city, even a whole nation, focused on you?
I never really followed people praising me or taking me down. In fact, I was more likely to take note of a reproach than a praise. After all, this is much more sensitive. On the day of such a premiere, I was certainly very happy, but probably also a little nervous. Because performing in your own city is always difficult. It is no different in America. Young American singers don't have it easy there either.
Your relationship with the Vienna State Opera was also not without conflicts. The first engagement was a long time coming, although you had already made your debut in Bayreuth with great success. And during the Karajan era, you even avoided Vienna for a while.
I have always appeared on the stage of the Vienna State Opera with the greatest respect. Nowhere else is that feeling so strong, not even at the Met, which really was my home for more than 37 years. I will never forget the day when, as a poor little girl, I first attended a performance at the Vienna Opera in a standing place. It was an overwhelming experience. Maybe that is what made me so exceptionally sensitive to everything that concerns Vienna. I am sure I have made mistakes too. I just couldn't keep my mouth shut. That's why I went to Karajan, after my great success as Desdemona in a purely Italian ensemble. I then asked him if he thought it was right that Emilia should receive three times my salary. And he replied: "Yes, I think it is right. First make a career for yourself and then I'll pay you the same." I was totally perplexed and I ran away crying. But as terrible as that was for me at the time, there is something I appreciate in Karajan: he was sincere with me. Because I abhor nothing so much as lying. So I made that great career. I left Vienna and went to America, where I have sung so often that some people even believe I am an American.
But as "Kaiserin", you will not be forgotten so easily in Salzburg. Was it one of your favourite roles?
Absolutely. In Munich, where I had a permanent engagement in the early fifties, there was a black board announcing both the new productions for the next season and the roles. Suddenly I read: "Die Frau ohne Schatten" - Färberin: Leonie Rysanek. I did not know this opera at that time. I immediately ran to the archive and went through the piano score. There I saw not only the role of the dyer's wife but also that of the empress, with so many more high notes. No, I thought to myself, if there is one role that I can sing in this opera, it is that of the empress. I immediately went to Rudolf Hartmann and told him, cheekily as I am, "Mr Intendant, either you give me the role of the Empress or I won't sing at all." To which he responded, "You have gone mad. That is a thankless and difficult role. Surely the really great part is that of the dyer's wife." I didn't care. To me, only the high notes counted. In the end, I proved him wrong, because I had a huge success as Empress. This role has become very close to my heart and it was very hard for me to say goodbye to it.
Karl Böhm was someone who immediately understood that the role of empress suited you. It was also he who finally offered you an engagement at the Vienna State Opera in 1955.
He was in fact my musical father and took good care of me. He loved my voice, although, especially in "Die Frau ohne Schatten", he admonished me very often: "And girl, don't park too long on those high notes". I always promised him and promised myself to keep my promise, but I could not resist. In the period that I had those high notes fully under control, I always found pleasure in being able to sing them with such ease and quality. That was no affectation, but rather a kind of satisfaction. Böhm also prevented me from singing a number of roles that I would have liked to do. So I was very surprised when he phoned me one day and asked me if I wanted to make a TV recording of Elektra with him.
Were Elektra and the Brünnhilde from "Die Walküre" of your early years in Innsbruck the only excursions into the high drama repertoire?
Actually, yes. Although there was a run-in to "Isolde" twice. The first attempt came from Wieland Wagner. When I did the Ring in Bayreuth with him in 1965, he said it was high time to prepare for Isolde. He also planned a new Tristan for Bayreuth, whose Isolde he saw in me. Unfortunately, he died shortly afterwards, so it never happened again. A second offer came from Carlos Kleiber. In the meantime I had rehearsed the part and was also determined to sing it. But this came to the attention of Karl Böhm, with whom I was preparing a "Rosenkavalier" in New York. Immediately at the first rehearsal he said to me: "What have I heard? You are going to sing Isolde? You are not Isolde! And you'll never be able to sing the role of the Empress or Ariadne again." He really drove me crazy. And then it happened. I had a few days off and together with my chorus rehearsal director I went through the entire part of Isolde four times. And suddenly I had no voice left. I immediately ran to a doctor friend of mine who, after examining my throat, asked me, "For God's sake, what happened? When I confided to him that I had sung Isolde, he advised me, "Fingers off!" That was such a shock to me that I had to cancel Carlos Kleiber, whom I find truly fascinating. Unfortunately, he has never forgiven me.
Besides Wagner and Strauss, you have often sung Italian roles.
In fact, I have sung more parts from the Italian than from the German repertoire. The role that I performed the most was Tosca. Sieglinde and Chrysothemis followed. I have always enjoyed the Italian genre.
When you switched to character roles in the mid-80s, did you ever consider singing the role of Claire Zachanassian in Gottfried von Einem's "Der Besuch der alten Dame"?
Von Einem himself offered me the role. I have had a look at the score, and I must admit that I was very tempted. It is a wonderful role. But I was afraid of the third act. Of course, I could have fooled myself, but that is not in my nature. So I said to myself: "If you really can't sing it the way it should be, then don't touch it! I am very proud by nature and I do not tolerate disappointments. I cannot live without love. A psychologist would probably say that the real reason for my career is the lack of love. Because I didn't know it in my youth, I looked for it later and found it.
Of course, you have also known low points in your life, in your life as an artist? How did you look at them?
The worst crisis I ever experienced had less to do with my voice than with my mental state at the time, in fact a direct result of my first marriage and an illness. I was thirty at the time and was seriously thinking of quitting. But someone who meant well advised me not to be so unwise. I would do better to withdraw from the profession for a while, take some distance from things and above all, rest. So that's what I did. But it was very difficult to start again, not so much because I had lost my gift or talent, but more because my self-confidence seemed to be lost. Whenever I went on stage, a little devil whispered in my ear: "But you can't sing that! I will never forget the series of performances of Aida at the Met. Of the ten performances, five were rather mediocre, three somewhat acceptable, one more or less good and only one excellent. To get to the stage, I had to go through a narrow corridor, where a toilet lady sat. It kept flashing through my head: Why didn't I choose to beToilet-Madam? I was in a bad state back then. I am prone to depression. Doubts often overwhelm me. I then ask myself over and over again what I owe my success to? Because I'm not that good! These are crises that either undermine you or make you stronger. Fortunately, I have a wonderful husband who is almost morbidly optimistic. He doesn't begrudge me my depressions. Again and again, he helps me get over them. I am often surprised myself at what I am capable of, such as my debut at the Teatro Colon when I was almost seventy.
You often wanted to swap places with the toilet lady. But there must have been times when you did not want to swap places with anyone?
I often ask myself that question, who would I want to swap places with? With Mother Theresa perhaps. I would like to be that good, that noble, that social. I come from a poor family. When I saw the terrible poverty in South America and lived in a luxurious flat myself, I often told my husband: "I don't really deserve that". But he then reassured me that I could make people happy with my voice. He may be right. It is not for nothing that God has gifted me with this voice.
Do you sometimes listen to the voices of young singers?
Yes, and I must say that I don't share the opinion of many colleagues when they say that there are no more voices today. There are many good voices. What is missing, perhaps, are the great and recognisable personalities.
What do you think the reason for that is?
Mainly due to the fact that young people are hardly ever tested and therefore rarely have to go through purgatory. They are catapulted straight to the top. In the beginning it all seems easy. After all, I have experienced this myself. People think they are great, and that is a good thing. Because as a young singer, you need that kind of arrogance, to make yourself felt. You can't go on stage and doubt yourself. A healthy portion of ambition is necessary. The disappointment follows of its own accord, because sooner or later the first moment of crisis comes. And then you have to deal with it and you don't know what to do. Young singers have a hard time these days. Nobody cares about them anymore. I was lucky to work with people like Knappertsbusch or Furtwängler. For the recording of 'Die Walküre', Furtwängler went through the entire score with me. Who, apart from a Jimmy Levine, still does this today? He is one of the few who still cares about singers and rejoices in a beautiful voice. Zubin Mehta, too, grants singers their success. Lorin Maazel, with whom I used to work a lot in Berlin, also loves beautiful voices. But who else? Who among the young conductors still deigns to rehearse? The supply of singers is great. Conductors are eager to take advantage of this. If a voice is broken, they just drop it and take the next one.
Who would you like to have met one day?
Richard Wagner. Whether he was really as fascinating as his contemporaries described him? I do believe he was a man with whom I would have liked to have had an affair.
On the other hand, there is the love-hate relationship with his grandson Wieland.
Wieland has left a strong impression on me. When we met for the first time in Bayreuth in 1951, I was just 25 and had not even completed two full opera seasons. At first, I was definitely in love with him. But he certainly was not in love with me. I don't think I was his type. Working with him was a high point in my life, but because certain remarks by him hurt me insanely, a black shadow will always hang over it. He could be very cynical. He must have been severely complex, or suffered from some illness, otherwise I cannot explain his behaviour. In essence, what he had in common with Karajan was that he was difficult to approach as a human being. Up to a certain point, but not beyond.
What role did directors play in your life? Did Wieland Wagner leave his mark on you? Isn't it always said that he developed his ideas from the personality of the singers?
I am perhaps the only one who has not fully fallen into that trap. Wieland was an intellectual. I may be an intelligent woman but I am not an intellectual. I have difficulty restraining my emotions. Wieland did not like that. I will never forget how he pampered me in 1951 in Bayreuth right up to the dress rehearsal. I was his discovery as Sieglinde. Then came the premiere. The press was exuberant and all the major theatres in Europe, except Vienna, fought over me. Then he suddenly dropped me like a stone. Later on, too, periods of aversion and affection alternated. Often he really cared for me, but then there were phases when he vented his cynicism on me. Then it was impossible to talk to him. I often suffered greatly from that. To this day, I still don't understand what was going on between us. But without a doubt, I learned a lot from him, especially when it came to my effervescent power and my excess of emotions. With him, I learned to dose my power and to control my emotions.
But wasn't it Wieland Wagner who elicited from you the scream of Sieglinde, which has become so famous and which has been copied by so many other singers ever since?
I actually developed this cry out of a certain emotion. I was so moved by everything that was happening around me at the time. I just had to scream it out. It came from my deepest self, from my belly. It was a cry of lust, an anticipated orgasm. The sword that Siegmund pulls out of the ash tree also has its meaning. Of course, many singers have since copied this cry. However, they would do better not to do it if they do not experience the same thing.
Was this spontaneity, your abundance of emotions, the reason why you rarely went to the studio?
I'm still an emotional type. As soon as I go on stage, I'm a different person. I am no longer Rysanek, but the 90-year-old countess in "Pique Dame". I am then that old, flawed and horrible person. And so it goes with all the roles. Only when I leave the stage does the role fall off me like a rug. That was also the reason why I did not give many lieder recitals. I only sang lieder at home, because that is good for the voice. Record studios didn't really suit me either. You have to stand in front of the microphone in the right way. You can't take a step to the left or right. That doesn't suit me. That's why I often turned down offers for recordings. I knew in advance that I would never be as good as on stage. I am someone who often overshoots the mark, but with full commitment.
Did you ever think about staying on stage as an actress after you left the singing profession?
At first, I just wanted to be an actress. But I don't think I could have done the same if it weren't for the music. For me, sound is like a wall I can lean against. It protects me and isolates me from the audience. I need such a distance. I need to be able to think away, away from myself and away from the people. I need to be able to forget that there are 2000 people sitting there, listening to me. And that is where music helps. I know that I have a good speaking voice and that I could do that without any problem. But I don't want to. I have sung for almost 50 years and worked with so many important directors: Carl Ebert, Otto Schenk, August Everding, Götz Friedrich, Jonathan Miller, Luc Bondy. All directors I have worked with.
But you will continue to visit the opera ?
I love opera, theatre and concerts. I will certainly not stay home bitter or jealous because I can no longer be on the stage. I love beautiful voices and I am always happy to listen to beautiful voices. What I don't do anymore is listen to my own old recordings. It does make me a little melancholic to have to accept that old age has taken its toll on me.
Source : Opernglas, August 1996. Translation K.Guy Stevens