I’ve never acted like a prima donna

The National Opera plans several premieres this season, including Shostakovich’s Katerina Izmailova and Verdi’s Don Carlos. Both are very important in Svitlana Dobronravova’s career; her parts as Katerina and Elizabeth made her famous in Ukraine and abroad.

IZMAILOVA а LA KYIV

“Elsewhere in the world they stage Shostakovich’s original version Lady Macbeth. Here they often resort to cunning, staging one part of the original work and the second one of the revised version [Katerina Izmailova],” says the singer. “Perhaps the situation will change now. We have Shostakovich’s score at the Opera, which is hard to get; it’s his son’s exclusive property and the reprinting rights were sold abroad.

“Iryna Molostova staged the second version in Kyiv in the mid-1960s. I was included in the cast later, when a revived rendition was made. Iryna Molostova was a unique stage director, but a tough taskmaster. She put her heart in every production and made us do the same. She said that if you don’t understand what you’re doing, what you’re singing about, the performance won’t come out right.”

IZMAILOVA а LA MADRID

“I met Mstislav Rostropovich thanks to our celebrated bass Anatoly Kocherha. Both were working on [Tchaikovsky’s] Mazeppa. Anatoly learned that the maestro planned to stage Lady Macbeth and recommended me [for the lead]. Later I discovered that they had been looking for Katerina for two years. I flew to London for an audition. It was a desperate period in my life, I went to auditions and failed every time. On that particular occasion I didn’t take a concert dress, shoes, not even the score with me. I was so nervous I addressed him as Sviatoslav Leopoldovich, instead of Mstislav Leopoldovich. Remarkably, he didn’t seem to mind as I kept using Sviatoslav. He was surprised to learn that I did not have the score and said, ‘I have it, but it’s in Paris.’ What was to be done? I suggested singing the most difficult aria a cappella. He said, ‘Give her F sharp.’ I began to sing the aria as though it were a Russian [folk] song. When I had finished, Mstislav Rostropovich turned to the impresario and said, ‘Make out the contract.’ At that moment I didn’t even realize that I had just hit the jackpot. It was late 1999 and in 2000 we premiered in Spain.

“It was an international project. My partner, acting as Sergei, was a British singer by the name of Christopher Wentris. Boris Timofeyevich was played by a Czech singer. The choir was from Bulgaria and the orchestra from Spain. Rostropovich was the conductor and Galina Vishnevskaya the coach. She spent a lot of time teaching the foreign performers Russian, practicing every phrase, helping them better understand their characters.

“Galina Vishnevskaya had an altogether different concept of Katerina Izmailova than I did. In her opinion the woman was rather narrow-minded. ‘Love? What are you talking about? She keeps husking sunflower seeds from morn till night, and she is so bo-o-red.’ However, if you read the libretto carefully, Katerina emerges as a very unhappy woman. Although she has been married for five years, she and her husband have never consummated their marriage. He is a real moron, and just looking at him makes her sick. After their first night Sergei laughs and says she was a virgin. The composer edited out this scene in the second version, yet it is an eye-opener on a certain aspect of Katerina’s character. So when my partner and I discussed the love scene, I asked the interpreter to help me explain to Christopher all the nuances of the relationships among the characters. I must say that Wentris turned out to be an excellent actor and singer. He didn’t know a word in Russian, but he learned his lines so well he instantly responded to me and he sang without an accent (he mastered the pronunciation after spending a very long time practicing).

“The Oscar-winning Argentinean stage director Sajio Renan was a co-producer of Lady Macbeth. He used computer graphics and scenes from movies as visual effects. This did impress the audience, but he and I saw Katerina differently. He wanted her to wear a nightgown, a red dressing gown, and a pair of heavy army shoes. I tried to convince him that she would then look like a Russian woman living in a communal apartment in the 1930s, not a Russian merchant’s wife, but he wouldn’t listen. Worst of all, he couldn’t understand her tragedy, just as he couldn’t grasp her impassioned Slavic nature. So I’d wear that accursed red dressing gown, but I wouldn’t let him turn my Izmailova into a walking caricature. By letting him have his way in small details, I did something far more important. I succeeded in convincing him that Katerina was a woman falling in love for the first time, that she had a blind passion for Sergei and then punished herself when awakening to the reality. The opera’s finale is especially emotionally captivating, when Katerina learns about her sweetheart’s betrayal, seizes her triumphant rival, exclaiming, what torment, and both fall into the deep water.

“A press conference was held after the premiere at the Real Theater of Madrid. Numerous critics, journalists, and members of the Opera Lovers Club argued about the characters, especially Katerina. I was asked how I could compare Lady Macbeth to Katerina Izmailova. I said I could justify Katerina as a woman; she was madly in love and made sacrifices for its sake, but that I couldn’t understand Lady Macbeth, considering that she killed for the sake of money and power. I was greeted with an ovation and I realized that they had accepted my Izmailova.

SHOSTAKOVICH’S INHERITORS

“It’s no secret that Galina Vishnevskaya is quite a tough woman. I knew that she had played the title role in the movie Katerina. Shostakovich wrote romances specially for her. Once after a rehearsal, she felt like opening her heart to me. She said that Katerina Izmailova was first staged by the Stanislavsky and Nemirovich-Danchenko Theater of Moscow, not by the Bolshoi, although it was generally believed that Shostakovich wrote the opera for Vishnevskaya.

“Rostropovich told me a lot of interesting things about the composer. Shostakovich wrote concertos and many instrumental pieces for Rostropovich. Their families were friends and their dachas were close. This is probably why Rostropovich and Vishnevskaya believe they have a kind of copyright for his compositions and don’t allow musicians and singers to digress from the score in any way. For example, I shouted rather than sang some of lines and intoned others. Galina Vishnevskaya listened to me during a rehearsal, then signed to join her in the audience. She sat like a sphinx and asked me coldly, ‘Who gave you the right to digress from the score?’ All I could say in response was, ‘Didn’t you like it? All right, suppose I just sing, so what kind of Izmailova will it be?’ Vishnevskaya must have realized that I was a mature performer and switched her attention to the younger cast. By the way, she went backstage after the premiere in Madrid, embraced and kissed me. Then said, pursing her lips, ‘According to the press followings, this is the best performance of the epoch.’ And marched off, her head proudly up. I stood and looked after her, thinking maybe she was hurt. After all, she was considered the best Katerina, even after retiring from the operatic world.

“After Spain we toured a number of countries with Katerina and there were additions to the cast. I still love to remember our work with Rostropovich. Too bad his new projects have no parts for me. He is going to stage [Mussorgsky’s] Khovanshchina and I’d be glad to play even the smallest of parts, just so I could work with the Maestro again. I am perfectly immune to distinguishing between big and small operatic parts.

“Vishnevskaya opened her own operatic school in Moscow. The teaching staff abides by her methods. I also teach at the Classical Vocal Chair in the University of Culture and the Arts. The chair has existed for three years, so I am training a new singing generation.”

THE QUEEN

Svitlana Dobronravova sang as Elizabeth in Verdi’s Don Carlos. The National Opera’s management is negotiating a contract with an Italian stage director. It will be an international project involving experts from France, Germany, and Italy.

“I am considered to have made my name in Nabucco on the Kyiv stage, yet I treasure the part of Queen Elizabeth in Don Carlos. I’m happy that the audiences remember me in that role, although Elizabeth is not as striking as, say, Eboli. My heroine is a historical figure, the third wife of Philip II of Spain. She is kind-hearted, very feminine. Court life makes her suffer so much. Our performance was a great success. Valery Riabov was the conductor. He was a remarkable but a tragically short-lived personality, dying at the conductor’s stand. I always remember him with utmost gratitude. I learned my part in Don Carlos in ten days, sitting in my hotel room. And then I sang at the premiere. Gizella Tsypola, the then prima donna, became ill, and I was her understudy. Riabov was also a tough taskmaster, but once he let an actor join his team, he’d handle him or her like an uncut diamond, polishing it and making it shine. He’d help prepare the part, acting as a stage director, making one repeat the same line several times. I’d grit my teeth and pray for holding my temperament in check. And I trusted Riabov, I could see that he wanted to make the performance better. I sang in practically every opera he conducted. His every rendition was top rate. Singers are lucky to have such conductors.”

THE GALICIAN MOTIF

Svitlana Dobronravova was born in Taganrog (Russia after 1923), homeland of Anton Chekhov, but embarked on an operatic career in Lviv. How did this Russian girl find herself in Ukraine?

“The Soviet Union practiced music fairs when conservatory graduates would gather at a certain place, along with conductors, stage directors, managers of theaters and philharmonic societies, looking for the specialists they needed. I was a graduate of the Rostov Conservatory. The year I received my diploma a music fair (we called it a bride-and-groom fair) was held in Saratov. There I was noticed by the manager of the Lviv Opera. He asked me to join the cast. When I returned home and told the family I would be working in Western Ukraine they tried to talk me out of it, saying Russians weren’t popular there. I paid no attention and bought a Russian-Ukrainian dictionary. That’s how I started studying the language. At first I spoke with an accent and made mistakes, they would correct me, and before long I began to speak and even think Ukrainian. Although I can’t say that they met me at the theater with cheers and a brass band, I tried to remain friendly and never let the situation turn into a conflict, even if provoked.

“I joined the Lviv company in September and on October 20 I sang in Tosca . They asked my “godfather” the manager why did you let the girl sing in such a difficult opera. He said it was sink or swim. If she swims she’ll make a real singer. I swam. I worked in Lviv for eight years. Their repertoire was great! They staged operas never put on anywhere else in the Soviet Union — for example, Gioconda, Tannhauser and [other of] Wagner’s works. What they had on their repertoire few other companies could afford.

“Once I sang in Prince Igor. It took a lot of rehearsing and a day before the premiere I got sick: my vocal chords wouldn’t close. Imagine, the opera had to be okayed by a government commission the next day and I’d lost my voice! I sang anyway, except an octave lower. After the performance a reputed music critic ran back of the stage and said enthusiastically, ‘I just can’t imagine why Borodin didn’t write it that way.’ This was compensation for all my worries and the highest praise of my work. Although the situation was almost disastrous. I don’t know about other singers, but my voice seems to live a life of its own. Sometimes it just urges me to sing. I have noticed that my vital status is directly dependent on my voice. If my voice disappears my family suffers for it and everybody tries to keep out of my way. If my voice is in good shape I am lovey-dovey.”

SINGING IS HARD WORK

“I first performed in Kyiv as a guest soloist, when local soloists were ill. Gizella Tsypola was a capricious prima donna and called in sick whenever she felt like it with no regard for the company’s interests. Often the National Opera management asked me to come from Lviv and sing so as not to cancel a performance. My debut on the Kyiv stage was in Cavalleria Rusticana and then I was invited to join the Opera. At that time Gizella Tsypola appeared on stage less often, and they had a vacancy. They needed a workhorse and found me. As I joined the troupe I saw strange things. Tsypola had left a blank space and wouldn’t let singers fill it. If she didn’t like her partner she arranged for him to quit. In the end I found myself the only representative of the middle generation, with the other female singers either my senior or junior.

“I’ve never acted like a prima donna. Every singer has his or her audience and a place under the sun. You must prove your worth onstage, not in backstage intrigues. The National Opera has a number of soloists. Strangely, however, the same number appears onstage. Why shouldn’t the younger ones sing in Aїda or Nabucco? Yet they seem in no hurry to do so. Some want to keep their voice and decline Slavic parts. I don’t understand them. If you fear damaging your voice, then sing in the kitchen.

I studied at the conservatory’s classic department and it was hard. I’d sung folk songs since childhood. This means an open white sound. My professors had to train me all over. I started at a music college and it was good training. Your voice is shaped with time until it becomes a reflex. Voices are set naturally very seldom. Those who think that one can learn to sing in two years are very wrong. At the music college I studied under Anna Lohvynenko. Now, after all those years being a teacher, I understand that she laid my vocal foundations, although colleagues told her she was wasting her time with me. She told me later she’d heard a note I sang and realized I was promising material. That fall we students were sent to dig potatoes. I’d walk out in the field and start shouting. I wouldn’t know why, I just felt I had to. So I shouted out my voice. When it was time to enter the conservatory, Anna Lohvynenko literally passed me to Oleksandr Danovych and Lilia Khynchyn. Both had a Ph.D. in music, except that she was a musicologist and he a vocal professor. Their classes were interesting and they never allowed you to utter wrong sounds, making you repeat until it was perfectly right.

The human voice is a fragile instrument, some singers treat themselves like mothers do their babies. I tell my students that it’s all in your head. Everything will be all right if you’re in the right frame of mind. Sometimes they complain that their voices aren’t right because the weather is bad, it’s cold, and so on. I say the weather’s fine. So it’s freezing? That’s just great. Oh, it’s raining and snowing, isn’t it? But it’s beautiful! The sun is shining? How gorgeous! You must learn to find joys in your life, small as they are.”

CINDERELLA’S PASSION

My first home was a large 11- meter room in a huge communal apartment. I invited a friend for the housewarming. He examined the walls I had painted, the curtains I’d hung to make the room look cozier, and said, ‘Look, Callas, are you going to warm up in here?’ He had a strong ringing voice, and I begged him to keep quiet or the people next door would get mad. Instead, he raised his voice, ‘That’s what I mean. You have to warm up and practice your voice several hours every day’ then whispered, ‘so they’ll hurry to let you have an apartment of your own, for you’ll be a pain in your neighbors’ neck.’ However, the communal apartment was the wrong place to warm up and practice. That’s probably why since then I’ve never practiced at home. I even suspect that people living next door have no idea that I’m an opera singer. They can only hear my voice when I’m lecturing my son or my husband. Over the years I’ve grown accustomed to coming to the theater an hour or an hour and a half early. Time enough to warm up and do the makeup. I’ve learned to do everything quickly. The makeup and wardrobe people are fond of me, because I never make problems for them. And I never complain or let the steam off at someone else’s expense. As a rule I fill and turn on the washing machine before the next performance. This has become a ritual. Even if there is no dirty linen I’ll find something and put it in the machine. Or I can start cleaning the apartment. At times I get so tired that when I sit in the dressing room I tell myself. ‘That’s it; I’m at the theater and I can finally relax.’ My colleagues call this Cinderella’s passion. Some just laugh, others shrug, completely at a loss. I know one thing. I can feel very low or sick, but the stage is the best remedy. After the performance I feel so elated that I think I can move mountains. True, some performances are extremely difficult. In such cases I don’t feel like talking to anyone the next day. Once I had to sing in four Aidas in four days. On learning this, Galina Vishnevskaya asked me why. Indeed, this opera is one of the hardest for a soprano. I did it because I had to help the troupe while on tour. The management asked and I couldn’t say no, I even talked my partner into performing the feat.

“Perhaps I’m made from strong stuff. I live different lives onstage. I start being in one condition and end in a different one. That’s easier said than done, but I do it because I love my profession. And I always put my heart in it.”