Several weeks ago, in these pages, I had occasion to discuss a performance of Lohengrin that took place during the 1953 Bayreuth season; we now have the opportunity of comparing that performance with one that followed in 1954.

In many ways, the two performances are alike: in both, Windgassen sings the title role, and Uhde and Varnay portray the pair of villains. Though Windgassen lacks the grace and elegance of the greatest Lohengrin, Franz Völker, he sings the part with moving straightforwardness and conviction.

Here, as in the 1953 performance, Uhde is tempted to overact, but at his best, he offers a characterization rich in pain and urgency—and superior to his achievement of the previous year. As for Varnay, she had not yet developed the wobble that would later spoil so much of her singing. Her two Ortruds are splendid, filled with intensity and deviousness.

The remaining members of the 1954 cast are mostly excellent: Nilsson, who had not yet learned to encase her singing in steel, is in perfect control of her beautiful voice; the young Fischer-Dieskau affects a powerful, stentorian manner that is perfect for the Herald; only Theo Adam fails us: his rather gentle voice and weak lower range limit his effectiveness as King Heinrich.

When I wrote about the 1953 Lohengrin , I laid heavy—perhaps too heavy—stress on the special status of the work’s prelude, its difference from the conventional opera preludes or overtures of the time. Several times throughout Lohengrin , brief sections of the prelude are heard. But they are not merely signs of coming dramatic events, as in the old conventional preludes. For these reminders vary in register and texture, weaving a story of their own, parallel to the plot of the opera. By my count, there are six of them. The first, very brief, is in the high violins, just as in the prelude. It comes during the second stanza of Elsa’s “Einsam in trüben Tagen,” as she is telling of her vision of a divinely sent knight who will fight for her and prove her innocence (p. 30 of the Breitkopf and Härtel full score, as reprinted by Dover). The second one occurs (p. 61) just after Elsa has told the newly arrived Lohengrin that she gives herself wholly to him, and just before he tells her that if he is to fight for her, she must promise never to ask him his name or place of origin—to which, of course, she agrees. All the allusions to the prelude but this one are, like the prelude itself, mostly in the key of A. But this one, in addition to being pitched an octave lower than most of the prelude, begins with a bar of modulation from A (the key of the preceding bars) into A ♭ . The next reference to the prelude, which soon follows (p. 64), is back in A (“Welch’ holde Wunder!”) and is played by high violins with other strings below, tremolo. The effect is quite stunning. Only listeners with perfect pitch are likely to notice instantly the little modulation into A ♭ , but the big shift, back into A, of the strings with their soft ghostly tremolo, can’t be missed. Clearly, we are in another world, and what got us there was Elsa’s fatal accession to Lohengrin’s conditions.

In fact, the next time we hear the prelude music, it is in accompaniment to Lohengrin’s heartsick “In fernem Land” (p. 353), the result of Elsa’s lack of trust. This is the fourth appearance of the prelude music, and as the fifth, we may count the note-for-note repetition, a little later (p. 369), of the long, slow, downward sweep that ends the prelude. Finally, as the sixth and last allusion to the music of the prelude, we may also count the strings’ tremolo accompaniment to Lohengrin’s farewell to his swan (p. 380).

I began my discussion of the 1953 Lohengrin by remarking that I found Keilberth’s conducting—on this occasion, at least—to be rather slow and sluggish. I end this discussion of the 1954 Lohengrin with long overdue praise of Jochum’s mastery. His tempos are generally faster than Keilberth’s, but that’s only the beginning of the story. There is a constant sense of alertness, and every phrase seems to find its place effortlessly, in the tapestry of the whole. Anyone lucky enough to have been exposed to Jochum’s Haydn or Bruckner will know the extent of the man’s excellence. The dash and brilliance of his Prelude to act III reminded me of Toscanini’s. Enough said.

FANFARE: William Youngren