Prof. Dr. András Batta (music historian, university professor) - A.B.: Her Wagnerian roles alone add up to a lifetime's work: including recordings, she sang Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg some 300 times, followed by Sieglinde (Die Walküre), Elsa (Lohengrin), Venus, Elisabeth (Tannhäuser), Brünnhilde (Siegfried), Ortrud (Lohengrin), Brünnhilde (Götterdämmerung, Die Walküre), Kundry (Parsifal) and Isolde (Tristan und Isolde). It was as if an invisible hand was guiding her towards ever higher peaks of the art of singing. But one could also say that she followed the same line of development that Wagner followed in creating his heroines. The Wagnerian soprano's characterization was brilliantly summed up by Jens Malte Fischer in Opernwelt (1986/6):
“Den Sopran bei Wagner möchte ich in drei Kategorien unterteilen: den lyrisch-dramatischen Sopran…, mit wechselnden Schwerpunkten auf dem ersten oder zweiten Wortbestandteil (wenn man etwa Elsa und Elisabeth vergleicht), den jugendlich-dramatischen Sopran, wie ihn vollendet die Isolde und die Brünnhilde der Götterdämmerung verkörpern (während die der Walküre zwischen jugendlich-dramatischem und hochdramatischem Sopran angesiedelt ist). Die Entwicklung, die zu diesen Stimmfächern führte, fand im 19. Jahrhundert statt. Sie wurde von zwei Seiten bestimmt: von der kultursoziologischen des Musiklebens, in dem immer grösser werdende Konzertsäle und Opernhäuser auch immer voluminösere und durchdringendere Stimmen erforderten, und auch von der kompositorischen Seite, wo immer dramatischere Frauengestalten geschaffen wurden.”
A.B.: Do you agree with this explanation? Is it really necessary to build the pyramid of Wagnerian roles with this awareness? And what if life interferes and distracts and seduces the singer from the originally planned training programme?
Prof. emerita, Dr hab., Ks. Éva Marton (opera singer, university professor) - É.M.: Self-discipline and smart development are very important in our field. In 1968 I graduated from the Academy of Music in Budapest, and in the summer of 1969, in the beautiful Southern Hungarian town of Szeged, I sang a small part in Zoltán Kodály's fabulous song play, János Háry, at the Open-Air Festival. During a break in one of the performances, Miklós Lukács, then director of the Budapest Opera House, who was also a famous Wagner conductor, called me into his dressing room and asked me to play Sieglinde in Walküre. I was very young; you don't start a career with Sieglinde, you have to get there. I mentioned the request to my husband, Zoltán, but he immediately said that it was out of the question, that he wanted a happy woman for life, not a bitter, disappointed singer who had quickly ruined her voice... Then the director contacted me again and offered me Elsa from Lohengrin. Elza is a young, radiant figure, but from a vocal point of view, I still felt it was premature. As the Hungarian State Opera House was staging the complete Tetralogy for the first time after World War II, my first Wagnerian role was Freia in Rheingold in April 1969. A few sentences were all it took, nothing more than to embody eternal youth and beauty.... I also had the pitch for it. A kind Hungarian critic back then encouraged me by saying, "As much gold as the giants have paid for this little girl, she is worth it not only for her beauty but also for her voice." And, as luck should have it, indeed a giant came. It was in this role that Peter Mario Katona, who was working as Christoph von Dohnányi's assistant, heard me and brought me to the Maestro's attention. Dohnányi invited me to perform and then hired me in Frankfurt. This led us to settle in Germany. The divine Freia changed my life.
A.B.: After the eternal young heroine came Eve - it would have been odd if an Eve hadn't sung Eve - so: the next Wagnerian chapter is Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg, but now in Frankfurt.
É.M.: Indeed, it was my very first role in Frankfurt, and later I also made my debut with it at the MET in New York. I was lucky: I rehearsed Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg with a great German répétiteur in Frankfurt. I owe a lot to him. He spoke beautifully about the play, the characters, Wagner. He managed to make me very fond of German culture. At that time, I was not yet familiar with Wagner's ideas, his contemporary and ideological background, his relationship with Nietzsche, his aftermath. I was, in the words of Parsifal, "ein reiner Tor", in relation to Wagner's cosmos. Later I slowly became a "knower" ("wissend"). I have read a lot from him and about him, and I have come to understand his very complex personality. It has never occurred to me to approach him with any kind of prejudice, that I should not sing Wagner’s music because it was used for certain purposes during the persecution of the Jews in World War II. I can understand those who have painful memories of it, and perhaps I would react in the same way if I had experienced what they have. But the twisting of Wagner is a nasty, dirty part of history. His heroes for me were never superior people (Übermenschen). The gods and semi gods of the Ring are just like any of us. As with all truly great dramatic geniuses, Wagner's music-dramas are about the eternal questions that plague humanity: the lust for power, tyranny, earthly and heavenly love, life and death…
A.B.: ... and behind these messages was a whole life, because Wagner had already dreamed up his own world at a young age and made it the basis of his oeuvre. He managed to write everything in words and compose it in music as well. He left behind a completed oeuvre. Yet perhaps no other operatic composer has so many interpretations as Wagner's music dramas. Wasn't it difficult to reconcile the eternal in you with the director's associations and the musical-stage gestures of momentary expression?
É.M.: Is this a good (interesting) question. I've always been interested in how I can bring a character to life in a way that people can believe and experience it. The role, in its textual - musical - theatrical unity, is like a book, on the basis of which the imagination transforms the signs and instructions of the creator, once written down, into real people and real situations. I have always tried to update the piece in my mind and take on board the director's ideas. Because the director is retelling the old story, and I am part of this new story. It was very difficult for me to master this way of thinking at the beginning, because I had a fairly thorough idea of these works. I felt there was only one way to perform a given piece well, according to Wagner's authentic intentions. Then I had to realise that the directors who said that these works had to be brought very close to the present day if the audience was to have the cathartic experience that the author intended, were right.
A.B.: So realising the work at any given time also means bringing out the human from all the characters in the drama, always with the means that speak to the people of the time?
É.M.: Perhaps that's one way of putting it. But it is not only the important and exciting question of compositional intention and instrumentation versus actualisation that the person on stage must deal with, but also the stripping away of dusty, hackneyed operatic clichés that sometimes even border on kitsch. This is a very dangerous thing to do, because often the original work is obscured on the basis of a supposed tradition or "heritage". No matter which Wagner role I sang, my characters were never characterized by some false pathos or kind, honeyed. Even at the beginning, I perceived Eve of the Mastersingers as more of a tannish, know-it-all, normal teenager. I sang in the play with Karl Ridderbusch, for example. He was an interesting eccentric in life, but on stage he was an emotional, human Hans Sachs. It was a great experience to play with Giorgio Tozzi or Thomas Stewart. They were great artists. I looked up at them. It was great to be on stage with them as a girl, a busybody, wishing to leave her parents' house. Later, I became more and more concerned with how to capture complex personalities in the simplest and most authentic way possible. I have always strived for simplicity. I never over-mystified the roles, not even Sieglinde or Brünnhilde.
A.B.: You mention Sieglinde. However, in Marseille you were seduced "prematurely" by a production.
É.M.: Yes, but it was a good thing to do, because it would have been harder for me to "step back" as Brünnhilde later on. The only other time I sang the role of this suffering woman to be loved and pitied on stage was in Marseille in 1976. I remember the Marseille Walküre fondly, perhaps also because it was so successful and the cast was excellent (Berit Lindholm as Brünnhilde, Peter Wimberger as Wotan, Richard Cassily as Siegmund, Margarita Lilova as Fricka, Gérard Serkoyan as Hunding, conducted by Diego Masson, directed by Jacques Karpo). They were magical evenings. Later I only played Sieglinde's part in concert, in Act I of Die Walküre. In September 1983 at the Lucerne Festival and in Frankfurt with the Vienna Philharmonic conducted by Lorin Maazel, and in 1985 at the A. Fisher Hall in New York with the New York Philharmonic conducted by Zubin Mehta, with Peter Hoffman and Martti Talvela as my partners. The concerts were recorded live by CBS. Then Sieglinde's half-sister, Brünnhilde, took me and kept me under her spell for many years.
A.B.: Just over forty, as a mature and experienced singer, you arrived on the rock on which Wotan had left his dearest daughter at the end of Die Walküre, and in Act III of Siegfried, Brünnhilde was finally reborn, and Éva Marton's legendary Brünnhilde was born.
É.M.: Indeed, it was a great experience for me when I was able to "enter the ring" as Brünnhilde in San Francisco in 1984. In Siegfried, Brünnhilde wakes from a deep sleep. Her eyes open, welcoming the sunlight. Not with a certain fear, an uncertain squint, but with a wondering acceptance of this wonderful world. I really felt like I was awakened, reborn. It was fantastic to experience it, I was almost beside myself from performance to performance - by the way, in 1985 I was already singing Siegfried alternating with Götterdämmerung. After my Brünnhilde debut, I received a T-shirt from the director, Terry McEwen, with the words: "Big Daddy love Baby Brünnhilde", because during the Siegfried performances I was so excited that I didn't even realize that the performance was over. And with Götterdämmerung, I learned to respect my predecessors in the role, because bringing this Brünnhilde to life is really a tough job (or knochenhart by using the original expression), but at the same time so wonderful!
A.B.: The most important role of your life?
É.M.: Besides Turandot and Kaiserin, yes. I've always had a thing for those special women who come down from the unreachable heights into the world of men and learn to love and feel. I don't know how anyone else experiences Wagner. When I went on stage, I was never nervous, I was never shaking with fear that, oh my God, I'm going to make a mistake. I didn't have to worry about singing clearly and accurately. It was like someone was guiding me along a road, I just had to follow a line. It was an incredible, great feeling, a spiritual experience.
A.B.: Your dramatic personality and exceptional acting qualities mean that you are attracted to complex characters, those who undergo great changes in the course of the drama and who create a cathartic experience. So it is understandable that in some earlier Wagner works you played both female leads. One of these works is Lohengrin, in which you played Elsa and Ortrud in the same period. Fire and water.
É.M.: I had already made my debut with Elsa in Frankfurt in 1976, in the "Sieglinde year", and then, I remember, at the huge and wonderful Teatro Col in Buenos Aires, where I won the "best debut of all time" award for this performance. Then came the Lyric Opera in Chicago, the Hamburg, Zurich and Avignon Operas, and the Metropolitan Opera in New York. I said goodbye to the role there in the 1985/86 season, after a beautiful film captured the performance directed by August Everding and conducted by James Levine, with Peter Hoffmann as my partner. I was still Elsa - in 1984 - when Maestro Levine came up with the idea of me trying out for the role of Ortrud. Moreover, it was the opening performance of the MET in 1984, with Lohengrin brought to life by Plácido Domingo and Elsa by Anna Tomowa-Sintow. At first it was very strange to play another lead role after so much Elsa, but the character of the pagan sorceress was a very exciting task, and to play the intrigue behind the scenes was a real acting challenge, not to mention the musical character. I remember Maestro Levine reassuring me that I had until the dress rehearsal to decide if I was in the mood for Ortrud. Of course, I was! Even as Elsa, I was very attentive to the way in which people brought this particular character to life. I don't think you should be intriguing as a wicked witch, but you should personify this pure evil woman with smiles, in a kind manner. It is a way to make the character really alive and believable, and to show how dangerous Ortrud is and how powerful she is. In the twenty years since I have been singing this role, I have added a lot of colour and nuance to my portrayal of the Enchantress, and I have always polished it a little and incorporated the directors’ ideas into the character.
A.B.: Wagner's mirror turned towards us is cruel: we cannot for a moment escape the idea that the primordial evil lurks in the depths of the world, waiting to drag purity and goodness down to itself.
É.M.: Yes, this is also the case with Lohengrin. Ortrud drives the plot: she shakes Elsa's faith and trust in Lohengrin. Wagner shows how weak we are. Sometimes all it takes is a glimpse of a "question mark" to make others hesitate. I remember a Lohengrin production in which Ortrud was completely, sexually dominating her partner Telramund. The most extreme form of the male-female relationship is presented here, where the man is completely subordinate, unable to decide and act without the woman. Telramund's appearance was also embryonic, like a puppet, as he almost sprouted from between Ortrud's legs...
A.B.: As Ortrud, you overturned the Wagnerian etiquette of the MET, based on how you fascinated the audience.
É.M.: On the evening of my debut as Ortrud at the MET, after my Act II aria, when I sang the part beginning “entweihte Götter" with one foot on the sound hole, raising a pagan symbol above my head, I rained Ortrud's "curse" on the audience with such energy that the performance stopped for minutes. James Levine waved the band off, unable to go on because of the frenzy. Four thousand people celebrated. That's when I understood what mass psychosis is. In Vienna, there was also open applause after the quintet Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg . People took the courage and gave Wagner a big hand! I said: well, this is theatre! When - by the composer - we can have such an "unexpected effect" on the audience. On 11 October 1984, the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung reported the event as follows:
„Die wahre Sensation des Abends aber war Eva Martons Ortrud. Der tosende Jubel, der nach ihrer Beschwörung der ’entweihten Götter’ im zweiten Akt ausbrach, dauerte gute fünf Minuten. Es war das erste Mali n der langen Geschichte der Met, dass die Vorstellung einer Wagner-Oper unterborchen werden musste. Eva Marton wollte ursprünglich die Partie, die sie noch nie vorher gesungen hatte, nicht annehmen. ’Ich bin eine reine Elsa’, sagte sie. Aber James Levine wollte eine Ortrud, die die gefährlich exponierten hohen Töne am Ende der Oper zwanglos projizieren konnte, und sok am es zu diesem erinnerungenswerten Debüt. Eva Marton wurde am Ende des Abends mit einem Enthusiasmus empfangen, der einem die grossen, begeisterungserfüllten Tage von Birgit Nilsson in Erinnerung brachte und der sie jetzt offenbar zu einer ernsthaften Bewerberin für die einzigartige Starposition macht, die seit dem Abgang der 65 jährigen Schwedin an der Met frei geworden ist. Sie hat denn auch mitgeteilt, dass sie später ihre erste Isolde und ihre erste Salome an der Met singen wird und ausserdem die Färberin in ’Frau ohne Schatten’ vorbereitet – alle berühmte Nilsson-Partien. Vorher aber wird sie auch als Elsa wieder auf der Bühne der Met erscheinen, wobei dann Leonie Rysaneki ’ihre’ Ortrud sein wird. ’That should be exciting’ kommentirte sie mit der stolzen Bescheidenheit eines neuen Metropolitan-Stars.” (Hans Heinsheimer, Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung 11.10.84.)
A.B.: While your portrayal of Ortrud initially seemed like a short trip as a result of an almost whimsical idea, it became the Wagner role you sang for the longest time: from the 1984 premiere at the MET to the 2004 premiere in Budapest.
É.M.: I had a lot of interesting performances. A special example is Lohengrin, staged in Los Angeles by Oscar-winning Austrian film director and actor Maximilian Schell. The work was first performed in Los Angeles then and was a huge success. It was Plácido Domingo's idea that I should sing Ortrud, and I was happy to say yes. The work was performed with a prestigious cast, with partners such as Adreine Pieczonka, Gösta Windbergh, Kurt Rydl and Tom Fox, and Kent Nagano as conductor. The audience was able to applaud a unique, traditional performance, which also included some new ideas.
A.B.: The Hamburg production of Lohengrin, which was staged in a classroom with schoolchildren as the set, stands out among modern productions, and you played Ortrud in a short skirt with two plaits.
É.M.: Peter Konwitschny's concept was preceded by sceptical expectations, and although I had some doubts at first about what kind of production would be created and what the audience would think, in the end the finished work convinced everyone. It was a daring, one might say groundbreaking performance, which deservedly won the title "Best Direction of 1998" in Germany. The rehearsals took place in a very interesting atmosphere, the soloists and choir members became children again, and we got so involved in the performance, which became more and more serious, that we even had extreme manifestations. For example, in the first act, Ortrud, i.e. myself and Telramund, are "sent to the corner" as punishment, and everyone expresses their contempt. One of the male choir members spat next to me. I, as if bitten by tarantella, jumped up, grabbed him with both hands and shouted at him that I would claw his eyes out if it happened again. During a break in the rehearsal, he came into my dressing room and apologized, saying that he had gotten so caught up in the situation that he had forgotten his true self. Almost imperceptibly, the lives of all of us were transformed into a drama. It was extremely inspiring. I've been in a number of unconventional productions because I like to try new things with an open mind and without prejudice. Because I believe that this is how our genre, opera, can stay alive. I said goodbye to the role in my hometown of Budapest, in the city's second opera house, the Erkel Theatre, built in 1911, with excellent acoustics, directed by Katherina Wagner - Richard Wagner's great-granddaughter. The director has made the work almost disappointingly contemporary (Lohengrin, for example, used to turn on the TV channels on his wedding night in his pyjamas). It was neither swan nor mythology - Lohengrin is involved in the cynical political games of the present and fails. Needless to say, the Budapest audience did not like this interpretation of the work, even though the basic idea was based on the peculiarities of the "Ostblock" politics of the post-change of regime, which suddenly became a multi-party system, under the pretext of Lohengrin. But in Budapest, the Wagner cult is strong, and opera fans know no joke, especially when it comes to Lohengrin. Few people know, but the Budapest Opera House opened in 1884 with Act I of Lohengrin.
A.B.: Of course, every Wagner singer longs to climb the "green hill" and sing one of the main roles of the Works on the stage of the Wagner Hall, in the unique historical atmosphere of the Festspielhaus, not to mention the fantastic acoustics. For you, was it a pilgrimage or a stormy landing?
É.M.: Definitely the latter. In the summer of 1976, I was invited to Bayreuth for a recital, and they seemed to be pleased with me, because I was subsequently cast as Venus and Elisabeth in Tannhäuser for the 1977 and 1978 Festivals. We signed the contract and I continued to prepare for the 1976/77 season, which was not easy: Tosca in Vienna, Munich, Frankfurt, Teatro di Verona, Budapest, Donna Anna in Munich and Frankfurt, Eve of the Mastersingers debut at the MET, Lohengrin's Elsa debut in Frankfurt, followed by Amelia's debut at the Un ballo in maschera in Frankfurt, Leonora in the La forza del destino in Frankfurt, Rosalinda of the Fledermouse on New Year's Eve in Vienna, followed by Aida's debut in Brussels and Madrid, Don Carlos' Elisabetta in Munich and Budapest, The Legend of St. Elizabeth in concert in Budapest, followed by Die Frau ohne Schatten in Frankfurt, and finally, on 18 June 1977, my 34th birthday, Otello's Desdemona in Frankfurt - this was Christoph von Dohnányi's farewell to Frankfurt. On 2 July we had our last performance, and they were waiting for me in Bayreuth. On Saturday, on 3 July we packed up and drove to Bayreuth. On the way, we were caught in a ferocious downpour that we didn't get there at the appointed time. Götz Friedrich, the director, was waiting for us, extremely unfriendly. He was angry that we were late, even though we told him we were in a storm and there was a performance yesterday, he didn't care. My husband said that it couldn't get much worse after that and blurted out what he had to say: "Herr Friedrich, there is one small problem: my wife doesn't know the part, but she will learn it by the end of the month, as her first performance is not until August 1." And then the storm broke out in Bayreuth, the volume is hard to describe: “Wagner soll kommen!!” And he came like the storm. He greeted us kindly and then gently asked: "Is there something wrong?" Friedrich explained the situation and my husband said his piece: "Two weeks is enough for Eva and she will blow her part from the front to the back, and she can rehearse in the meantime" - "You see Götz, there is no problem, she will blow her part in two weeks" and he left satisfied. The storm had passed, the director and I went to the meeting, my husband was busy making the accommodations, and the next afternoon we said goodbye, he went back to Frankfurt and I stayed in Bayreuth with Venus, Elisabeth - and Götz Friedrich.
A.B.: What's more, you played both roles in a single performance. It is fortunate that the two ladies meet only in Tannhäuser's imagination, never in reality - and never in the play.
É.M.: It is also a pair of roles, as in Lohengrin, but in Tannhäuser it is sensual femininity and virginal purity as the ideal of the male instinct and ideal that is presented on stage. I think it was a good idea for the director to cast a single singer for both roles - I think it was unprecedented in the history of Bayreuth. Actually, Tannhäuser had already been performed in this production in 1972 - it wasn't successful, to put it mildly - but I don't know that two roles have been sung by an artist other than us (Gwyneth Jones and myself). In any case, the 1977 and 1978 performances were already a huge success. In 1978, Wolfgang Wagner was already planning for the future and said convincingly that I could certainly sing Elsa in Lohengrin next year, then later became more reserved. As a farewell, he just said that the main director had decided otherwise, that I would not sing Elsa. I never returned to the "green hill" I loved so much. I found out later that the wife of the main director had been cast. (Unfortunately, my relationship with Bayreuth ended with this one production, and the move away was not driven by artistic considerations.) In 1988 I sang Venus and Elisabeth one more time at the same night in Houston at the Grand Theater. Later I did not sing Venus, but Elisabeth more often, in Vienna, Geneva, at the MET (1982, Artist of the Year; New York Times). I loved the role, especially Elisabeth's prayer, which I feel is the climax of the play, when she gets to the point where she prostrates herself before God, gathers her thoughts and feelings and says: "Listen to my plea!" Interestingly, I also brought to life another Elisabeth from the same period, the early 13th century, in a beautiful oratorio by Franz Liszt: Die Legende von der Heiligen Elisabeth, which was also recorded, conducted by Árpád Joó, for Hungaroton. It is well known that Liszt played a significant role in Wagner's life and inspired him musically. Without his generous support, the Bayreuth theatre would not have been built. I am glad that the mayor of Bayreuth said as much on the 200th anniversary of Liszt's birth, when the Liszt Academy in Budapest performed Liszt's other oratorio, Christ, with the orchestra and choir.
A.B.: Liszt - unlike Wagner - was a very good man, a helpful friend, a sensitive philanthropist, though his inimitable performing artistry and incredible popularity put him in a much more giving position than Wagner, who had long been in exile and had introduced bold theatrical reform. It was a deep friendship. The best thing is that there were even musical and intellectual themes that wandered between them. The "Communion" theme of Parsifal, for example, is taken from one of Liszt's oratorio choral works, Die Glocken des Strassburger Münster, while Liszt wrote it into the manuscript of his late passion of the Via Crucis: „Durch Mitleid wissend, der reine Tor…”: He equated Parsifal with the suffering Christ. In a curious twist in music history, at Liszt's funeral Anton Bruckner improvised on the organ to the theme of Parsifal; many wondered why he did not improvise to Liszt's music, but Liszt would have agreed with Bruckner's choice. He was very fond of Wagner's music.
É.M.: Parsifal is the "non plus ultra" for me. Many people don't understand it, but it's all there. It is a wonderful, absolute mystery. While the whole work is so pure, so clean, that I prefer to avoid using the term mystery play in connection with it. You have to experience this every year, at least at Easter. Wagner's characters are mostly quite static in their thinking, but Kundry, like Parsifal, is an evolving, developing character. The cross-bearing Saviour looks at Kundry, who can no longer forget it. It's a moment of pain, but also of forgiveness, that even now, when I talk about it, I feel like crying: It's not touching! It’s shocking! It had a very profound effect on me, and it shaped me as a person. What Wagner must have felt when he composed it, I don't know, but if I go by what I felt when I was studying and singing, he must have experienced it a hundred times over. You cannot write or fake such a thing by calculation. Meanwhile, I think he may have been at his crossroads.
A.B.: Your Wagner roles conclude with Isolde, rather late, and that only twice, in 2000, at the Hamburg Staatsoper.
É.M.: I have been asked to sing Isolde several times before - most seriously by the Washington Opera - but for various reasons it has not happened. Then, in May 2000, I joined Ruth Berghaus's already running production in Hamburg. I thought I would triumphantly end the line of Wagnerian heroines I had brought to life with Isolde. But that's not exactly what happened. I felt that it would be terribly difficult for me to sing Isolde, to play her, to embrace her feelings. There are few operatic characters who are so intricately simple. Because the basic situation is simple: Isolde and Tristan sip the drink of love instead of the drink of death in the first act, and the unconscious love that lies within them suddenly bursts to the surface. The complexity is that a lot has already happened before the drama begins, and the heroes have to react to it. I could also say that Tristan is about the past, it has to be made present in a stupefied, unnatural state. It is no accident that Tristan is one of the sources of modern psychology. It would be hard to describe more vividly the unconscious with which Siegmund Freud revolutionised psychology almost half a century after Tristan. Accordingly, the style of Tristan is also very delicate. Even the learning process was not easy because of the many repetitive, slightly different chromatics. The work is completely recomposed, there are practically no moments of closure, and the end of the work, like a quiet exclamation, fades away, the pain is released, yet I feel no relief. Unlike Brünnhilde at the end of Götterdämmerung, for example, I felt nothing but extreme physical fatigue at the end of Tristan. My soul remained sad and empty. Perhaps that is what Ruth Berghaus' direction was trying to do, to kill the emotion. I regret not having worked with Berghaus personally, I am sure I would have understood her direction better. But I was touched in Act III, the part when I went on stage and Tristan was already dead, and yet I had the feeling that his soul would be with me for a long time. I thought the director's solution of having Tristan leave the earthly world at the end of the play and enter space, with the curtains behind him, on which the starry milky way was projected, closed, was beautiful. I could imagine that later, as stars, Tristan and Isolde could finally shine side by side in infinity. And then came "Mild und leise...", Liebestod.
A.B.: Why was the Tristan series of performances in Hamburg interrupted?
É.M.: After the second performance, at the applause, as I was about to leave, my heel got caught in the metal edge of the stage platform, I fell forward and tore my right Achilles tendon, so of course I had to cancel the rest of the performances. Maybe it was fate. I would have loved to have been part of a real romantic Tristan and Isolde, but it remained a dream. Although I often sang Liebestod in concert, I had to realise that not all one's wishes can come true. Thank God that I have had so many other beautiful dreams in my life, but so many other beautiful dreams that have come true.