Most of our servants were dismissed because we could no longer pay them. Mother asked us if we could handle the household chores, and, of course, we said yes. We all went to work and enjoyed doing our own cooking and housekeeping. Our butler, Hans, remained with us as well as the laundresses.
Papá owned a parcel of land near Munich, which he sold. Occasionally Papá would give lectures about his life in the navy and his experiences as a submarine commander. So there was some money to help with the living expenses. When our relatives on Mamá’s side heard that our money was gone, they sent us a large crate of secondhand clothes! It was well meant, but we had not lost our clothes or our house, only the money in the bank.
Mother had the idea of supplementing our income by renting our rooms; thus, we children were moved to the third floor into the rooms where the maids and the cook had lived. During the summer following the bank failure, two young ladies—one English, the other French—who were cycling through Austria in order to learn German, appeared at our house. They became paying guests and also became our friends.
Another one of our first paying guests was Professor Dillersberger, a priest who taught at the Catholic University of Salzburg. He brought an acquaintance to live with us as well, plus a student of folklore and folk art.
Mother had belonged to the Neuland youth movement during her student days. Some of her happiest experiences were with this group as they wandered from village to village through mountainous regions of Austria. They collected ancient folk songs, wrote them down, and set them to two and three parts for their choir. During summer vacations, Neuland performed on village squares, and once Mother invited the group to sing for us. We were enchanted! They let us have some of their song booklets, and we quickly learned these songs. With all of this new, wonderful music, our family could not stop singing. Anytime a song was appropriate, we sang. No songbooks or music sheets were needed; we sang by heart. Every evening after dinner, we assembled for an hour or two of singing.
It was Professor Dillersberger’s responsibility as a priest to say daily Mass before he cycled into town to give his lectures at the university. Mother suggested that we convert our dining room into a chapel and make the music room next door into our dining room. The bishop of Salzburg gave us permission to have a chapel. On Sundays we sang Gregorian chant and other sacred music at Mass. Chorales by Bach were favorites. It so happened that our family had just the right voices to sing four-and five-part music. We had two first sopranos (Johanna and me), two second sopranos (Maria and Martina), two altos (Mother and Hedwig), one tenor (Werner), and one bass (Rupert). Imagine our delight at this discovery!
When Professor Dillersberger had to be away for a little while, he sent in his place a young priest, Dr. Franz Wasner, to say Mass in our chapel. Father Wasner was the assistant director of the seminary in Salzburg. During the Mass, we sang Gregorian chant. Later, at breakfast, Father Wasner made a comment on an error in our rendition and taught us the right way to sing the passage. When Mother discovered that Father Wasner knew about music, she asked him if he could help us with some of the choral singing that we didn’t know how to handle.
Father Wasner agreed. He was familiar with the music we wanted to sing, and it was arranged that he come to Aigen on Saturdays to help us. This became a routine. When Father Wasner saw how fast we learned, he introduced us to fifteenth-, sixteenth-, and seventeenth-century music, and researched new music for us in the libraries of Salzburg. From the Neuland group, we had learned some beautiful yodels, folk music, and Christmas carols. All of this made a rich repertoire, which we sang simply for the joy of singing.
The great singer Lotte Lehmann happened to visit us to inquire about renting our house during the Salzburg Festival. Mother asked if we might sing for her, and after she heard us, Lotte Lehmann encouraged us to participate in a yodel competition scheduled for groups of folksingers in Salzburg. We were surprised because our singing was just our personal family hobby, but we entered the competition and won the first prize. I still have this document.
As a result, we were asked to sing a half hour on a radio program. Austria’s chancellor, Kurt von Schuschnigg, usually listened to this program. After he heard us, he inquired about the choir from Salzburg and learned that it was the Trapp Family. The chancellor extended an invitation to us to sing at a formal reception he gave for high-ranking officials and their wives in Vienna. Even though Papá did not like the idea of his family singing in public, he agreed, saying that when the chancellor requested us to sing, we could not refuse.
Our family choir—the seven oldest children and Mother, with Father Wasner conducting us—sang our program at the elaborate governmental affair in Vienna in the Belvedere Palace. There were programs by other performers at the same function. After our renditions, the director of the Vienna Choir Boys spoke enthusiastically to Papá, Mother, and Father Wasner. “You must give concerts,” he said. There was more discussion about our concert choir, and Mother asked the director what they did in the off-season. He replied that when the Choir Boys were not giving performances, they operated a hotel in the Tyrol. That idea must have impressed Mother and would remain in her memory.
So many people encouraged us to continue singing that a series of concerts was arranged for the 1936–37 season. We sang again twice in Vienna, and while we performed in the small concert hall, the famous American contralto Marian Anderson sang in the large hall in the same building. During the intermission, reviewers wandered over to see what was going on at our concert and what this dirndl-clad singing family was all about. They all seemed delighted with us, and the wonderful reviews in the Vienna newspapers proved it. We were called “das holde Wunder der Familie Trapp” (the lovely miracle of the Trapp Family).
We bought a scrapbook and pasted all the clippings inside. For our second Vienna concert held in the Urania, where I had seen my first movie, Gromi and many of our relatives attended. Gromi was quite surprised and delighted to hear us sing so well as a choir. When we returned to Aigen, we still did not fully understand that we had started a musical career. We simply continued singing because we enjoyed it, and most of our singing was a cappella.
Every summer the Salzburg Festival was a buzzing mecca for performers, agents, and audiences. Concert managers descended upon the city in search of new talent waiting to be discovered. During the 1937 festival, we hired the chamber music hall (Wiener Saal) of the Academy of Music, the Mozarteum. After that concert, impresarios from many countries in Western Europe came swarming backstage to congratulate Papá, Mother, and Father Wasner. Again the message was, “You must give concerts. You have gold in your throats.” Our three authority figures realized that they should seriously consider these remarks.
The next day, a lady wearing an alpine hat with a long red feather appeared at our house in Aigen. She introduced herself as a concert manager from France, Madame Octave Homberg, and she engaged us for performances in Paris. Later that day, another manager booked us for concerts in Belgium. Then someone appeared with offers for Holland, Denmark, Sweden, and Norway!
There it was—a whole season of concerts for the Trapp Family Choir for 1937! Among ourselves, we wondered whether we should accept these offers, but it became quite evident that it was meant to be.
Before our concert in the Mozarteum, the director, Professor Bernhard Paumgartner, came to see us. He advised us that we needed an official name for our choir. Until that time, we were giving concerts under any title that the local Austrian managers thought of, such as the Trapp Family Sings, the Trapp Family Choir, and Choir Concert by the Family von Trapp-Salzburg. Now that we were anticipating a concert tour in Europe, Professor Paumgartner suggested we call our group the Salzburg Chamber Choir Trapp. This name was eventually shortened to Chamber Choir Trapp. Later, in America, we were briefly launched as the Salzburg Trapp Choir, soon to be changed to the Trapp Family Choir and finally the Trapp Family Singers.
Professor Paumgartner also suggested that we add instruments to our pr
ogram. Three of my sisters already played the recorder, having attended a music camp in the Austrian mountains where woodwind instruments were taught. The recorder, an ancient flutelike instrument that is played vertically, experienced a revival in England. Its popularity quickly spread into the German-speaking countries on the Continent.
The professor thought the viola da gamba would be a good addition to the songs of the same period. Papá ordered these instruments from Germany in a set of five. We had planned to add a viola da gamba quintet to our programs, but only Werner, who already played the cello, was able to master its ancient forerunner. The recorders, however, became a charming part of our concerts.
Our tour of Europe was very well received with many standing ovations. In London, December 1937, we were invited to sing at a party held at the Austrian Legation, and Queen Mary was in attendance. It was an honor for us to sing for her, but we did not really get to speak with her. She listened to us, said a few friendly words, and then left.
A freelance agent named Nelly Walter, who had heard us sing in Vienna, urged her friend Charlie Wagner from America to listen to us during the festival. Mr. Wagner, a prominent concert manager in New York City, arrived at our door, asking to hear us sing.
We gave Mr. Wagner a little recital, and when we finished, he asked us if we could sing the Brahms “Lullaby” for him. Of course, we could, and by the time we sang the last note, there were tears in this distinguished man’s eyes. He explained that it was a song he remembered from his childhood, and it was one of his favorites. With that, he offered us a contract for fourteen concerts in America, beginning in the fall of 1938 and lasting until early March 1939. We thought of Lotte Lehmann, who had advised us to give concerts in America and how wonderful the audiences were there. “They will love you!” she had predicted.
At first Papá was skeptical about his wife and children singing in public. After all, such conduct was not usual for the family of a high-ranking naval officer. Yet from that time on he faithfully went with us on tour, thus supporting our new life on the stages of the world.
Another series of concerts was added for Italy early in 1938. When we first inquired whether there was a possibility for us to give concerts in that country, we were advised by the Italian consul: “Yes, it is possible, but no one can be sure to get engagements unless the group is a success in Milan and Turin. If they like you in those two cities, all of Italy will be open to you.”
Mother liked the idea of touring in Italy because we would have the opportunity to see the great architecture and the artworks of the past in museums and churches. Also the great city of Rome was an attraction because of the ancient ruins and catacombs about which we had learned in our history, Latin, and religion classes.
The audiences of Turin and Milan loved our concerts; as predicted, Italy was open to us. Between concerts, we saw every church, every museum, and every ancient monument. After several concerts, we ended in Rome for a radio program. Father Wasner, who had studied in Rome, took us on a whirlwind sightseeing tour through the ancient part of the city.
After three days of appreciating churches, monuments, and ancient sites in Rome, Mother suggested we should each return to the one place that impressed us the most. In those days, the public buses were the best way to get around the city. Even though we did not speak Italian, the name of the place we wanted to go was enough to tell the driver where to let us off the bus. We decided to go two by two. That way if we got lost, at least we had each other. However, this arrangement was hardly necessary. The people on the streets of Rome watched out for us! Seeing that a few of us stepped into one bus, they would call our attention to the fact that another part of our group had gotten into a different bus. They did this with excited gesticulations and with loud exclamations in Italian.
How could they tell that we belonged together? Why were they so concerned? We wore our native costumes! All of us girls, plus Mother, were dressed alike in long black skirts with different colored aprons, black jackets, and black hats. The Romans were so used to seeing the different attires of religious congregations, they assumed we were one too. It was as if they thought, Here comes the Reverend Mother with the sisters. Someone must have spied the buttons on our jackets, which were embossed with a picture of St. George spearing a dragon, taken from an ancient legend. For that apparent reason, we were named “Sorores di San Georgeo” (Sisters of St. George).
In spite of their efforts to keep us together, each pair found its destination: not the Colosseum, not one of the big churches or the frescoes of the ancient Roman baths, not the Roman Forum, but the great zoo of Rome! As we walked from one animal habitat to another, we met other members of our family. “You are here too? And you too?” All of us had seen enough of the ancient churches and ruins. We were in search of living things. The highlight of the zoo was the aviary with a multitude of birds in different sizes, shapes, and colors, chirping away, oblivious to their loss of freedom.
On the way back from Rome, we were booked for a concert in Assisi, the town where St. Francis lived and founded his order of friars. Our concert was a success. One seventeenth-century madrigal, which imitated the cackling of a hen after she had laid an egg, delighted the young people in the audience. They happily cackled along with us to our great amusement.
After the concert, some family members walked toward the Basilica of Assisi, which was downhill from the house where we stayed. While they were walking, a red spot appeared in the sky above the city of Perugia in the distance. First it seemed as if the city was on fire, but when the brilliant red light spread over half of the vast expanse of the evening sky and moved in the direction of Assisi, it became clear that it was the full-blown aurora borealis (northern lights). I was not along on the walk, but when they told me about what they had just seen, I went outside and stood in awe, taking in the last glimpse of the faint red glow that remained in the darkening sky.
People in the village told us that this was not a regular sunset. It was a sign. In June of 1914, just before World War I started, they had seen the same phenomenon, which they said meant war. It was rare to see such a sight so far south in Europe. When we finished our concert tour of Italy and returned to Salzburg, people there told us that they had seen the same aurora. Little did we know that the beautiful glow we had seen in Assisi was, in fact, a harbinger of what was to come.
* * *
“This is Radio Vienna:
Chancellor Dr. Kurt von Schuschnigg” (is speaking):
“The German army is at our borders! I gave orders not to resist because Austria does not have enough capabilities to do so. Resisting would only create a terrible bloodbath!….”
Schubert’s Unfinished Symphony was interrupted by marches played with fifes and drums……………….
World War II has begun!
* * *
The Invasion
Two months after our concert tour in Italy ended, on the evening of March 11, 1938, the whole family sat listening to music on the radio in Papá’s library. At eleven o’clock, the music was interrupted by the announcement that Chancellor Kurt von Schuschnigg was going to speak. We could hardly believe what we heard:
“The German army is at our border with tanks and troops ready to invade Austria.” He sounded perfectly calm. “Austria does not have enough capability to avert the German invasion. Resistance would accomplish nothing. It would only cause a terrible bloodbath.”
We sat stunned as strains of Schubert’s “Unfinished Symphony” followed. For a moment no one said a word. Then the sound of Nazi marches with fifes and drums came through the radio.
The invasion had begun and with it World War II. It was the eve of my twenty-fifth birthday.
Then we heard church bells ringing. The sound was so loud that Papá called the police to find out what was going on. In his mind, there seemed to be no connection between what he had previously heard on the radio and the ringing of church bells. The police gave the answer: “Hitler just marched into Austria.”
Before lunch on the next day Hans, our butler and handyman, came to talk to Papá. He said that he was a member of the Nazi Party and that we should be careful about what we discussed during meals because he had to report to his superiors everything he heard. Even at that early stage of the war, we could see and feel the changes.
That afternoon several of us bicycled to Salzburg to find out what was going on there. Two bridges for vehicles and two for pedestrians led across the Salzach, the river flowing through the city. We saw German tanks and troops parading from one part of Salzburg across the main bridge to the other side. As we approached the main bridge, we saw that it was festooned with long red Nazi flags with the black crooked cross on a white circle as background. “How did they ever get there overnight?” we wondered.
In those days, when a family member died, the surviving members of that family wore black clothing for a year. After that, they wore black armbands for another year as a sign of mourning. To express our grief over the invasion, I made aprons of black brocade and we wore them over our black native dresses instead of our usual bright colored ones.
Memories Before and After the Sound of Music Page 13
