First published in 1996, this article relates the story of two
of history's great tenors that vanished just when they where
at the apex of their powers. Romanian tenor Joseph Schmidt,
of Jewish origin, fell victim of the persecution of Jews in
Nazi-governed Europe and died in an internment camp in Switzerland.
German tenor Fritz Wunderlich, perhaps Germany's best tenor
ever, died after having fallen down the stairs at a friend's
house, three weeks shy of his debut at the Metropolitan. Dr.
Kurtzman looks deeper into the tragic events. // J. Anthonisen,
Grandi Tenori.com. |
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A
few months ago I wrote a piece about tenors. In it, I discussed the
nine tenors who I thought were the best of this century. Obviously,
I made a very subjective choice that many would differ with. I could
have easily included more than nine. Consider two other singers not
well-known to any but aficionados - Joseph Schmidt and Fritz Wunderlich.
Both confirm Tennyson's dictum "that of all the words of pen
and tongue, the saddest are these, it might have been."
Joseph Schmidt
Schmidt was born in 1904, in Davidende, a small town in the Bocovina
region of Romania. He was a vocal prodigy whose talent was noticed
when he joined the choir of his local synagogue. He gave his first
recital in Czernovitz in 1924. In 1928, his uncle and manager Leo
Engel took him to Berlin where he quickly gained fame from his radio
concerts, but he did not appear on the opera stage in Berlin. His
diminutive size (he was less than five feet tall) prevented it though
it was the goal he valued above all else. For a long time I thought
he never appeared in a staged opera anywhere, but recently I read
that he gave 24 performances of La Boheme in Belgium and Holland
in 1939-40 before World War II ended his career and his life.
Schmidt loved Berlin and Germany and the German public loved him,
but the advent of the Nazi horror forced him to leave despite Goebbels'
cynical claim of admiration. He said he'd make Schmidt an honorary
Aryan. Schmidt made Vienna his base after 1933, but the Anschluss
again forced him out. He toured all capitals of Europe as well as
singing in the United States twice where he was billed as the "Pocket
Caruso." When the war broke out, he waited too long before
he attempted to get to America and ended up in a Swiss internment
camp instead. It was there that he died in 1942 from either heart
disease or tuberculosis - I can't tell for sure which.
In addition to his broadcasts, Schmidt made numerous recordings
and movies. Ein lied geht um die Welt (My Song Goes 'Round the World)
was his most popular. The film is painfully close to life and he
didn't want to make it. In it, he plays a singer whose voice makes
the heroine fall in love with him, but whose size sends her to the
embrace of his best friend. His size also results in his appearing
on stage as a clown instead of an opera singer. The film, which
the Nazis eventually banned, is available on video tape from the
Bel Canto Society (BCS-0529).
But it's his sound recordings that hold the most interest. They
are available from EMI (CDM 7 69478 2 and 0777 7 64676 2 [two discs]).
The former contains mainly operatic arias, while the latter is devoted
to songs. Everyone who hears Schmidt sing seems to come up with
the same image - the voice sounds like it's coming from a dream.
The sound is not Italianate, rather, is dusky and dark, a sound
associated with singers from central Europe. Every word is suffused
with meaning. His technique is effortless and astounding. Listen
to the sustained trill which he inserts at the end of Una furtiva
lagrima; no tenor who has recorded the aria produces and effect
anything like it. Schmidt's high notes flow as effortlessly as his
middle register and are brilliantly focused.
His facility with language is also remarkable. He recorded most
often in German, but was at ease in French, Italian and English.
His recordings in English reveal not even the hint of an accent.
In short (pun not intended), he was a marvel and another tragic
victim of the agony of this century.
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