Still frustrated in my efforts to reconcile with Arabella, I decided to go beyond my skimpy prep and explore a few of the early complete “live” recordings, figuring that they would at least take me closer to the work in terms of easy cultural contact. First up was the 1942 Salzburg Festival performance, to which my attention was directed by my Viennese colleague and friend, Thomas Prochazka. It is automatically of interest inasmuch as the formidable husband/wife team of conductor Clemens Krauss and soprano Viorica Ursuleac, friends and artistic favorites of Strauss, had assumed their same responsibilities at the world premiere. That was nine years earlier, and for most sopranos the span from age 34 to age 43 does see some weighting or loosening (or both) in the voice. That it was a good voice, of dramatic soprano calibre, is clear, as a quick check of an exciting Leonora/Di Luna scene with Alexander Sved (auf Deutsch), “In questa Reggia” (ditto), and a couple of Lieder with Michael Rauchheisen confirm. I am familiar with her 1935 Ariadne, also under Krauss, from which I retain fond recollections of Helge Rosvaenge’s incomparable Bacchus and the inimitable Zerbinetta of Erna Berger, but a cloudy, reserved one of Ursuleac in the title role. Her 1944 Senta, opposite Hotter, shows the voice in ragged shape. In view of this last, she sounds better than I anticipated on the ’42 Arabella. Early on, her voice is for the most part steady and solid, with occasional nice pianissimi and a couple of descents into a chest voice that is rough, but at least there. In Act 2, though, the sustained line is becoming more approximate, and the shadings to piano are attempted by simply vacating support. Her part of the wonderful scene of mutual dedication with Mandryka is not very persuasive, lacking in the feel of giving herself over to him. She recovers somewhat in Act 3, and the final scene is good, with an impressively sustained upper range. Overall, the feel of her interpretation is of a mature grand opera soprano trying to squeeze down into the dress of a young woman with a lyrical, inward bent.

Hans Reinmar was a fine baritone in the light-heavyweight class, whose ample, warm-timbered voice was well suited to many Verdi roles and to, e. g., Wagner’s Wolfram and Amfortas. He sings through Mandryka with strength and without any any necessity to compromise with the top. He puts no individual stamp on the role, and as is so often the case, his rendering of the Act 2 finale devolves into shouting. But with that exception, his singing is always pleasurable and unstrained. The Zdenka is Trude Eipperle, who in Act 1 infuses the light articulations with enjoyable nuance and sings her high line in the duet with attractive tone, though she transposes the second, longer-held, of her two high Cs. Her voice, at least as it comes through on the wartime recording, seems to grow wispier as the evening moves along. Theo (not Josef) Hermann is a personable Waldner, and Luise Willer a practiced Adelaide, with the caveat that she is neither a deep mezzo nor a contralto. Horst Taubmann is a fresh, ardent Matteo, and we are vouchsafed a bit of lagniappe in the Elemer of Franz Völker, who brings to it the voice of a leading Jugendlich Heldentenor, and a good sense of character as well. The sonics of this performance are fair for the time, about equivalent to all but the best of Met broadcasts from the late ’30s or early ’40s, but on my source the sound seems to throttle back about halfway through, though not enough to disguise the swing and sweep of Krauss’s reading, which fully support his reputation as a great Strauss conductor. The detail and transparency of the lighter passages we have to take largely on faith, but at moments they come through. Several brief cuts are made.