A number of years before the great war, a party of us were spending a
few weeks in Berlin. It was midsummer; the city, filled as it was for
one of us at least, with dear memories of student days, was in most
alluring mood. Flowers bloomed along every balcony, vines festooned
themselves from windows and doorways, as well as from many unexpected
corners. The parks, large and small, which are the delight of a great
city, were at their best and greenest--gay with color. Many profitable
hours were spent wandering through the galleries and museums, hearing
concerts and opera, and visiting the old quarters of the city, so
picturesque and full of memories.
Two of us, who were musicians, were anxious to meet the famous dramatic
soprano, Lilli Lehmann, who was living quietly in one of the suburbs of
the city. Notes were exchanged, and on a certain day we were bidden to
come, out of the regular hours for visitors, by "special exception."
How well I remember the drive through the newer residential section of
Berlin. The path before long led us through country estates, past
beautifully kept gardens and orchards. Our destination was the little
suburb of Gruenewald, itself like a big garden, with villas nestling
close to each other, usually set back from the quiet, shaded streets.
Some of the villas had iron gratings along the pathway, through which
one saw gay flowers and garden walks, often statuary and fountains.
Other homes were secluded from the street by high brick walls,
frequently decorated on top by urns holding flowers and drooping vines.
Behind such a picturesque barrier, we found the gateway which led to
Mme. Lehmann's cottage. We rang and soon a trim maid came to undo the
iron gate. The few steps leading to the house door did not face us as we
entered the inclosure, but led up from the side. We wanted to linger and
admire the shrubs and flowering plants, but the maid hastened before us
so we had to follow.
From the wide entrance hall doors led into rooms on either hand. We were
shown into a salon on the left, and bidden to await Madame's coming.
In the few moments of restful quiet before she entered, we had time to
glance over this sanctum of a great artist. To say it was filled with
mementos and _objets d'art_ hardly expresses the sense of repleteness.
Every square foot was occupied by some treasure. Let the eye travel
around the room. At the left, as one entered the doorway, stood a fine
bust of the artist, chiseled in pure white marble, supported on a
pedestal of black marble. Then came three long, French windows, opening
into a green garden. Across the farther window stood a grand piano,
loaded with music. At the further end of the room, if memory serves,
hung a large, full length portrait of the artist herself. A writing
desk, laden with souvenirs, stood near. On the opposite side a divan
covered with rich brocade; more paintings on the walls, one very large
landscape by a celebrated German painter.
Before we could note further details, Mme. Lehmann stood in the doorway,
then came forward and greeted us cordially.
How often I had seen her impersonate her great rôles, both in Germany
and America. They were always of some queenly character. Could it be
possible this was the famous Lehmann, this simple housewife, in black
skirt and white blouse, with a little apron as badge of home keeping.
But there was the stately tread, the grand manner, the graceful
movement. What mattered if the silver hair were drawn back severely from
the face; there was the dignity of expression, classic features,
penetrating glance and mobile mouth I remembered.
After chatting a short time and asking many questions about America,
where her experiences had been so pleasant, our talk was interrupted,
for a little, by a voice trial, which Madame had agreed to give. Many
young singers, from everywhere, were anxious to have expert judgment on
their progress or attainments, so Lehmann was often appealed to and gave
frequent auditions of this kind. The fee was considerable, but she never
kept a penny of it for herself; it all went to one of her favorite
charities. The young girl who on this day presented herself for the
ordeal was an American, who, it seemed, had not carried her studies very
far.