CHAPTER XXI
HEINRICH CONRIED AND "PARSIFAL"
A prologue dealing with other things may with propriety accompany this chapter, which is concerned with the history of the Metropolitan Opera House under the administration of Mr. Heinrich Conried. It is called for by the visit which Pietro Mascagni made to the United States in the fall of 1902. Signor Mascagni came to America under a contract with Mittenthal Brothers, theatrical managers, whose activities had never appreciably touched the American metropolis nor the kind of entertainment which they sought to purvey. These things are mentioned thus early in the story so that light may be had from the beginning on the artistic side of the most sensational fiasco ever made by an artist of great distinction in the United States. The contract, which was negotiated by an agent of the Mittenthals in Italy, was for fifteen weeks, during which time Signor Mascagni obligated himself to produce and himself conduct not more than eight performances of opera or concerts a week. For his personal services he was to receive $60,000, in weekly payments of $4,000, with advances before leaving Italy and on arriving in New York. The contract called for performances of "Iris," "Cavalleria Rusticana," "Zanetto," and "Ratcliff" by a company of singers and instrumentalists to be approved by Signor Mascagni. The composer was hailed with gladness on his arrival by his countrymen, and his appearance and the three operas which were unknown to the American public were awaited with most amiable and eager curiosity. The first performance took place in the Metropolitan Opera House on October 8, 1902, and was devoted to "Zanetto" and "Cavalleria Rusticana," both conducted by the composer. There was a large audience and much noisy demonstration on the part of the Italian contingent, but the unfamiliar work proved disappointing and the performance of "Cavalleria" so rough that all the advantages which it derived from Mascagni's admirable conducting failed to atone for its crudities. There were three representations at the Metropolitan Opera House the first week, all devoted to the same works, and one at the Academy of Music in Brooklyn. Meanwhile promises of "Iris" and "Ratcliff" were held out, and work was done most energetically to prepare the former for performance. Rehearsals were held day and night and the Saturday evening performance abandoned to that end. "Ratcliff" was never reached, but "Iris" was given on October 16th with the following cast, which deserves to go on record since it was the first representation of the opera in the United States.
Iris …………………………………… Marie Farneti
Osaka ………………………………. Pietro Schiavazzi
Kyoto ………………………………. Virgilio Bellatti
Il Cieco ………………………….. Francesco Navarrini
Una Guecha …………………………… Dora de Fillippe
Un Mercianola …………………………. Pasquali Blasio
Un Cencianola ………………………. Bernardino Landino
I shall not tell the story of "Iris," which five years after was adopted into the repertory of the Metropolitan Opera House, it seemed for the purpose of giving Mme. Eames an opportunity to contend with Miss Geraldine Farrar in the field of Japanese opera; but the opera calls for some comment. Why "Iris"? It might be easier to answer the question if it were put in the negative: Why not "Iris"? The name is pretty. It suggests roseate skies, bows of promise, flowery fields, messages swiftly borne and full of portent. The name invites to music and to radiant raiment, and it serves its purpose. Mascagni and his librettist do not seem to have been able to find a term with which to define their creation. They call it simply "Iris"; not a "dramma per musica," as the Florentine inventors of the opera did their art-form; nor a "melodramma" nor a "tragedia per musica"; nor an "opera in musica," of which the conventional and generic "opera" is the abbreviation; nor even a "dramma lirico," which is the term chosen by Verdi for his "Falstaff" and Puccini for his "Manon Lescaut." In truth, "Iris" is none of these. It begins as an allegory, grows into a play, and ends again in allegory, beginning and end, indeed, being the same, poetically and musically. Signor Illica went to Sâr Peladan and d'Annunzio for his sources, but placed the scene of "Iris" in Japan, the land of flowers, and so achieved the privilege of making it a dalliance with pseudo-philosophic symbols and gorgeous garments. Now, symbolism is poor dramatic matter, but it can furnish forth moody food for music, and "Sky robes spun of Iris woof" appear still more radiant to the eye when the ear, too, is enlisted. Grossness and purulence stain the dramatic element in the piece, but when all is over pictures and music have done their work of mitigation, and out of the feculent mire there arises a picture of poetic beauty, a vision of suffering and triumphant innocency which pleads movingly for a pardoning embrace.
There are many effective bits of expressive writing in the score of "Iris," but most of them are fugitive and aim at coloring a word, a phrase, or at best a temporary situation. There is little flow of natural, fervent melody. What the composer accomplished with tune, characteristic but fluent, eloquent yet sustained, in "Cavalleria Rusticana," he tries to achieve in "Iris" with violent, disjointed shifting of keys and splashes of instrumental color. In this he is seldom successful, for he is not a master of orchestral writing, that technical facility which nearly all the young musicians have in the same degree that all pianists have finger technic. His orchestral stream is muddy; his effects generally crass and empty of euphony. He throws the din of outlandish instruments of percussion, a battery of gongs, big and little, drums and cymbals, into his score without achieving local color. Once only does he utilize it so as to catch the ears and stir the fancy of the listeners—in the beginning of the second act, where there is a murmur of real Japanese melody. As a rule, however, Signor Mascagni seems to have been careless in the matter of local color, properly so, perhaps, for, strictly speaking, local color in the lyric drama is for comedy with its petty limitations, not for tragedy with its appeal to large and universal passions. Yet it was in the lighter scenes, the scenes of comedy, like the marionette show; the scenes of mild pathos, like the monologues of Iris, in which the music helped Signorina Farneti, with her gentle face, mobile, expressive and more than comely, and her graceful, intelligent action, to present a really captivating figure of sweet innocence walking unscathed through searing fires of wickedness and vice, and the scenes of mere accessory decoration, like that of the laundresses, the mousmé in the first act, with its purling figure borrowed from "Les Huguenots" and its unnecessarily uncanny col legno effect conveyed from "L'Africaine," that the music seemed most effective. "Zanetto" is nothing more than an operatic sketch in one act. In its original shape, as it came from the pen of François Coppée, under the title "Le Passant," the story is a gracious and graceful idyl. A woman of the world, sated and weary with a life of amours, meets a young singer, feels the sensations of a pure love pulsing in her veins and sends him out of her presence uncontaminated. Here are poetry and beauty; but not matter for three-quarters of an hour of a rambling musical dialogue, such as the librettists and composer of "Cavalleria Rusticana" have strained and tortured it into. A drawing-room sketch of fifteen minutes' duration might have been tolerable. To add to the dulness of the piece, Mascagni, actuated by a conceit which would have been dainty and effective in the brief sketch hinted at, wrote the instrumental parts for strings, harp, and an extremely sparing use of the wood-wind choir and horn. Harmonies there are of the strenuous kind, but they are desiccated; not one juicy chord is heard from beginning to end, and the vitality of the listening ear is exhausted long before the long-drawn thing has come to an end.
Signor Mascagni entered upon his second week with disaster staring him in the face, and before it was over it was plain to everyone that the enterprise was doomed to monumental failure. The public after the first night became curiously apathetic. This apathy would have been justified had any considerable number of the city's habitual opera-patrons attended any of the performances. The welcome came from the Italians dwelling within the city's boundaries; the performances themselves could arouse no enthusiasm. The singers were on a level with the usual summer itinerants; the orchestra, made up partly of inexperienced men from Italy and non-union players from other cities, was unpardonably wretched. It was foolishly reckless in the composer to think that with such material as he had raked together in his native land and recruited here he could produce four of his operas within a week of his arrival in America. He must have known how incapable, inexperienced, and unripe the foreign contingent of his orchestra was. The energy with which he threw himself into the task of trying to repair his blunders won the sympathy of the members of the critical guild, though it did not wholly atone for his conscious or unconscious misconception of American conditions. It was not pleasant to think that he had so poor an opinion of American knowledge and taste in music that before coming he thought that anything would be good enough for this country. His experience in Italy ought to have made him something of a student of musical affairs in other countries than his own, and he was unquestionably sincere in his hope that the American tour would win for him and his music the sympathetic appreciation which his countrymen had begun to withhold from him. Granting the sincerity of his desire to present himself fairly as a candidate for the good-will of the American people, it was inconceivable that he should have connived at or suffered such an inadequate preparation for the production of his works. Had he come to New York a month earlier than he did it would not have been a day too early.
After his New York fiasco Signor Mascagni went to Boston, where troubles continued to pile upon him till he was overwhelmed. He fell out with his managers, or they with him, and in a fortnight he was under arrest for breach of contract in failing to produce the four operas agreed upon. He retorted with a countersuit for damages and attached theatrical properties in Worcester which the Mittenthals said did not belong to them, but to their brother. The scandal grew until it threatened to become a subject of international diplomacy, but in the end compromises were made and the composer departed to his own country in bodily if not spiritual peace. One achievement remained: the Musical Protective Union of New York had asked the federal authorities to deport the Italian instrumentalists under the Alien Labor Contract Law, and the Treasury Department at Washington decided in its wisdom that no matter how poor a musician a musician might be, he was not a laboring man, but an artist, and not subject to the law. Exit Mascagni.
On February 14, 1903, the directors of the Metropolitan Opera and Real Estate Company by a vote of seven to six adopted a resolution directing the executive committee "to negotiate with Mr. Heinrich Conried regarding the Metropolitan Opera House, with power to conclude a lease in case satisfactory terms can be arranged." This was the outcome of a long struggle between Mr. Conried and Mr. Walter Damrosch, a few other candidates for the position of director of the institution making feeble and hopeless efforts to gain a position which all the world knew had, after many vicissitudes, brought fortune to Mr. Grau. The public seemed opera-mad and the element of uncertainty eliminated from the enterprise. Mr. Conried had been an actor in Austria, had come as such to New York, and worked himself up to the position of manager of a small German theater in Irving Place. He had also managed comic operetta companies, English and German, in the Casino and elsewhere, and acted as stage manager for other entrepreneurs. For a year or two his theater had enjoyed something of a vogue among native Americans with a knowledge of the German tongue, and Mr. Conried had fostered a belief in his high artistic purposes by presenting German plays at some of the universities. He became known outside the German circle by these means, and won a valuable championship in a considerable portion of the press. In the management of grand opera he had no experience, and no more knowledge than the ordinary theatrical man. But there was no doubt about his energy and business skill, though this latter quality was questioned in the end by such an administration as left his stockholders without returns, though the receipts of the institution were greater than they had ever been in history. He had no difficulty in organizing a company, which was called the Heinrich Conried Opera Company, on the lines laid down by Mr. Grau, and acquiring the property of the Maurice Grau Opera Company, which, having made large dividends for five years, sold to its successor at an extremely handsome figure. Mr. Conried began his administration with many protestations of artistic virtue and made a beginning which aroused high expectations. To these promises and their fulfillment I shall recur in a résumé of the lustrum during which Mr. Conried was operatic consul. Also I shall relate the story of the principal incidents of his consulship, but for much of the historical detail shall refer the reader to the table of performances covering the five years. The new operas produced within the period were but few. Some of them are scarcely worth noting even in a bald record of events; others have been so extensively discussed within so recent a period that they may be passed over without much ado here.
Mr. Conried succeeded to a machine in perfect working order, the good-will of the public, agreements with nearly all the artists who were popular favorites, an obligation with the directors of the opera-house company to remodel the stage, and a contract with Enrico Caruso. Mr. Grau had also negotiated with Felix Mottl, had "signed" Miss Fremstad, and was holding Miss Farrar, in a sense his protégée, in reserve till she should "ripen" for America. The acquisition of Caruso was perhaps Mr. Conried's greatest asset financially, though it led to a reactionary policy touching the opera itself which, however pleasing to the boxholders, nevertheless cost the institution a loss of artistic prestige. I emphasize the fact that Mr. Conried acquired the contract with Signor Caruso from Mr. Grau because from that day to this careless newspaper writers, taking their cues from artful interviews put forth by Mr. Conried, have glorified the astuteness of the new manager in starting his enterprise with a discovery of the greatest tenor of his day. Many were the stories which were told, the most picturesque being that Mr. Conried, burdened with the responsibility of recruiting a company, had shrewdly gone among the humble Italians of New York and by questioning them had learned that the name of the greatest singer alive was Caruso. Confirmed in his decision by his bootblack, he had then gone to Europe and engaged the wonder. Caruso's reputation was made some years before he came to America, and Mr. Grau had negotiated with him at least a year before he got his signature on a contract for New York. Let the story stand as characteristic of many that enlivened the newspapers during the Conried period. A dozen of the singers who were continuously employed throughout the Conried period had already established themselves in public favor when his régime opened. They were Mme. Sembrich, Mme. Eames (who was absent during his first year), Mme. Homer, and Messrs. Burgstaller, Dippel, Reiss, Mühlmann, Scotti, Van Rooy, Blass, Journet, Plançon, and Rossi. To these Mr. Conried associated Caruso, Marion Weed, Olive Fremstad, Edyth Walker, Ernst Kraus (the tenor who had been a member of one of Mr. Damrosch's companies), Fran Naval, Giuseppe Campanari, Goritz, and a few people of minor importance. Miss Weed and Miss Fremstad and Messrs. Caruso and Goritz became fixtures in the institution; Miss Walker remained three years; Herr Kraus and Herr Naval only one season. The second season witnessed the accession of Bella Alten, Mme. Senger-Bettaque (who dated back to the German régime), Mme. Eames (returned), Signora De Macchi (an Italian singer whose failure was so emphatic that her activity ended almost as soon as it began), Mme. Melba (for one season), Mme. Nordica (for two seasons), Josephine Jacoby (for the rest of the term), and a couple more inconsequential fillers-in. The third year brought Signorina Boninsegna (who I believe had a single appearance), Lina Cavalieri (who endured to the end), Geraldine Farrar (still with the company and bearer of high hopes on the part of opera lovers for the future), Bessie Abott (a winsome singer of extremely light caliber), Marie Mattfeld (an acquaintance of the Damrosch days), Mme. Schumann-Heink (returned for a single season), Marie Rappold, Mme. Kirkby-Lunn, Carl Burrian, Soubeyran and Rousselière, tenors; Stracciari, barytone, and Chalmin and Navarini, basses. The list of German dramatic sopranos was augmented in the last year by Mme. Morena and Mme. Leffler-Burkhardt, the tenors by Bonci (who had been brought to America the year before as opposition to Caruso by Mr. Hammerstein), Riccardo Martin (an American), George Lucas; the basses by Theodore Chaliapine, a Russian, and a buffo, Barocchi. Among the engagements of the first season which gave rise to high hopes in serious and informed circles was that of Felix Mottl, as conductor of the German operas and Sunday night concerts (which it was announced were to be given a symphonic character and dignity), Anton Fuchs, of Munich, as stage manager, and Carl Lautenschläger, of the Prinz Regententheater, Munich, as stage mechanician, or technical director. These two men did notable work in "Parsifal," but in everything else found themselves so hampered by the prevailing conditions that after a year they retired to Germany, oppressed with a feeling something akin to humiliation. Likewise Herr Mottl, who made an effort in the line of symphony concerts on the first Sunday night of the season and then withdrew, to leave the field open to the old-fashioned popular operatic concert, which Mr. Conried commanded and the public unquestionably desired. His experiences in putting half-prepared operas on the stage also discouraged Herr Mottl, and he went through the season in a perfunctory manner and departed shaking the Metropolitan dust from his feet, and promptly installed his polished boots in the directorship of the Royal Court Theater at Munich.
The season opened on November 23, 1903, with "Rigoletto"; Mme. Sembrich reappeared as Gilda and Caruso effected his American début as the Duke. His success was instantaneous, though there was less enthusiasm expressed by far on that occasion than on his last appearance, five years later. In the interval admiration for a beautiful voice had grown into adoration of a singer—an adoration which even sustained him through a scandal which would have sent a man of equal eminence in any other profession into disgraceful retirement. The season compassed fifteen weeks, from November 23d to March 5th, within which period there were ninety-seven performances of twenty-seven works, counting in a ballet and a single scene from "Mefistofele," in which Mme. Calvé, who joined Mr. Conried's forces after the season was two-thirds over, and yet managed to give four performances of "Carmen," helped to improve a trifle the pitiful showing made by the French contingent in the list. The French element, which had become a brilliant factor in the Grau period, began to wane, and subsequently the German was eliminated as far as seemed practicable from the subscription seasons. The boxholders were exerting a reactionary influence, and Mr. Conried willingly yielded to them, since he could thus reserve certain sensational features for the extra nights at special prices and put money in his purse. This policy had a speedy and striking illustration in the production of Wagner's "Parsifal," which made Mr. Conried's first year memorable, or, as some thought, notorious. Certainly no theatrical incident before or since so set the world ringing as did the act which had been long in the mind of the new manager, and which was one of the first things which he announced his intention to do after he had secured the lease from the owners of the opera house. The announcement was first made unofficially in newspaper interviews, and confirmed in the official prospectus, which set down Christmas as the date of production. A protest—many protests, indeed—followed. Mme. Wagner's was accompanied with a threat of legal proceedings. The ground of her appeal to Mr. Conried was that to perform the drama which had been specifically reserved for performance in Bayreuth by the composer would be irreverent and illegal. To this Mr. Conried made answer that inasmuch as "Parsifal" was not protected by law in the United States his performance would not be illegal, and that it was more irreverent to Wagner to prevent the many Americans who could not go to Bayreuth from hearing the work than to make it possible for them to hear it in America. Proceedings for an injunction were begun in the federal courts, but after hearing the arguments of counsel Judge Lacombe decided, on November 24, 1903, that the writ of injunction prayed for should not issue. The decision naturally caused a great commotion, especially in Germany, where the newspapers and the composers, conductors, and others who were strongly affiliated with Bayreuth manifested a disposition to hold the American people as a whole responsible, not only for a desecration of something more than sacrosanct, but of robbery also. The mildest term applied to Mr. Conried's act, which I am far from defending, was that it was "legalized theft." It was not that, because in civilized lands thievery cannot be made lawful. It was simply an appropriation of property for which the law, owing to the absence of a convention touching copyright and performing rights between Germany and the United States at the time, provided neither hindrance nor punishment. Under circumstances not at all favorable to success, had success been attainable (there was always something more than a suspicion that the proceedings were fomented by enemies of Mr. Conried in New York), Mme. Wagner tried by legal process to prevent the rape of the work, but the courts were powerless to interfere. Having passed triumphantly through this ordeal, Mr. Conried found himself in the midst of another. A number of clergymen, some eminent in their calling and of unquestioned sincerity, others mere seekers after notoriety, attacked the work as sacrilegious. A petition was addressed to the Mayor of the city asking that the license of the Metropolitan Opera House be revoked so far as the production of "Parsifal" was concerned. The petition was not granted, but all the commotion, which lasted up to the day of the first performance, was, as the Germans say, but water for Conried's mill. He encouraged the controversy with all the art of an astute showman and secured for "Parsifal" such an advertisement as never opera or drama had in this world before.
Mr. Conried had concluded at the outset of his enterprise that "Parsifal" was too great a money-maker to be included in the regular subscription list of the season. He followed his general prospectus with a special one, in which he announced five performances of Wagner's festival drama on special dates, under special conditions, and at special prices. The first was set down for December 24; the prices for the stalls on the main floor, the first balcony, and the boxes which were at his disposal were doubled (orchestra stalls, $10), but seats in the upper balcony and the topmost gallery were sold at the regular price. The first performance took place on December 24th, the cast being as follows:
Kundry ……………………………… Milka Ternina
Parsifal ………………………… Alois Burgstaller
Amfortas …………………………… Anton Van Rooy
Gurnemanz ……………………………. Robert Blass
Klingsor …………………………….. Otto Görlitz
Titurel ……………………………. Marcel Journet
First Esquire ………………………….. Miss Moran
Second Esquire ………………………. Miss Braendle
Third Esquire ………………………… Albert Reiss
Fourth Esquire …………………………. Mr. Harden
First Knight ……………………………. Mr. Bayer
Second Knight ………………………… Mr. Mühlmann
A Voice ……………………………… Louise Homer
Anton Fuchs and Carl Lautenschläger were in charge of the stage; Mr. Hertz conducted. The first half of the season had been sacrificed to the production. As such things are done at Bayreuth and in the best theaters of Germany the preparations were inadequate, but the results achieved set many old visitors to the Wagnerian Mecca in amaze. So far as the mere spectacle was concerned Mr. Conried's production was an improvement on that of Bayreuth in most things except the light effects. All of Wagner's dramas show that the poet frequently dreamed of things which were beyond the capacity of the stage in his day—even the splendidly equipped stage of the Festspielhaus in Bayreuth. Later improvements in theatrical mechanics made their realization in more or less degree possible. The greatest advance disclosed by New York over Bayreuth was in the design and manipulation of the magical scenes of the second act. Such scenes as that between Parsifal and the Flower Maidens were doubtless in the imagination of Wagner, but he never saw their realization. Up to the time of which I am writing the Bayreuth pictures were exaggerated and garish. In New York every feature of the scene was beautiful in conception, harmonious in color, graceful in action, seductive as the composer intended it to be—as alluring to the eye as the music was fascinating to the ear. At a later performance Weingartner, conductor and composer, now director of the Royal Imperial Court Opera of Vienna, sat beside me. After the first act he spoke in terms generally complimentary about the performance, but criticized its spirit and execution in parts. When the scene of the magical garden was discovered and the floral maidens came rushing in he leaned forward in his chair, and when the pretty bustle reached its height he could wait no longer to give voice to his admiration. "Ah!" he exclaimed in a whisper, "there's atmosphere! There's fragrance and grace!" The music of the drama was familiar to New Yorkers from many concert performances. Once, indeed, there was a "Parsifal" festival in Brooklyn, under the direction of Mr. Seidl, in which all the music was sung by the best singers of the Metropolitan Opera House on a stage set to suggest the Temple of the Grail. Only the action and the pictures were new to the city's music lovers. Nevertheless the interest on the part of the public was stupendous. The first five representations were over on January 21st, but before then Mr. Conried had already announced five more, besides a special day performance on Washington's Birthday, February 22d. After the eleventh performance, on February 25th, Mr. Conried gave out the statement to the public press that the receipts had been $186,308; that is, an average of $16,937.17. But this was not the end. Under Mr. Grau the custom had grown up in the Metropolitan Opera House of a special performance, the proceeds of which were the personal perquisites of the director. In all the contracts between the director and his artists there was a clause which bound the latter to sing for nothing at one performance. Before his retirement Mr. Grau grew ashamed of appearing in the light of an eleemosynary beneficiary under such circumstances, and explained to the newspapers that the arrangement between himself and the singers was purely a business one. Nevertheless he continued to avail himself of the rich advantage which the arrangement brought him, and in the spring closed the supplementary season with a performance of an olla podrida character, in which all of the artists took part. Mr. Conried continued the custom throughout his administration, but varied the programme in his first year by giving a representation of "Parsifal" instead of the customary mixed pickles. The act was wholly commercial. That was made plain, even if anyone had been inclined to think otherwise, when subsequently he substituted an operetta, Strauss's "Fledermaus," for the religious play, and called on all of his artists who did not sing in it to sit at tables in the ball scene, give a concert, and participate in the dancing. A year later he gratified an equally lofty ambition by arranging a sumptuous performance of another operetta by the same composer, "Der Zigeunerbaron," and following it with a miscellaneous concert. That operetta was never repeated.
In the seasons 1904-05 and 1905-06 "Parsifal" was again reserved for special performance at double the ordinary prices of admission, and it was not until a year later that the patrons of the Metropolitan were permitted to hear it at the ordinary subscription rates. By that time it had taken its place with the Nibelung tragedy, having, in fact, a little less drawing power than the more popular dramas in the tetralogy. The reason was not far to seek. The craze created by the first year had led to all manner of shows, dramas, lectures with stereopticon pictures which were a degradation of the subject. Only one of the results possessed artistic dignity or virtue, and this justified the apprehension of the poet-composer touching what would happen if his unique work ever became a repertory piece. Mr. Savage in 1904-05 carried "Parsifal" throughout the length and breadth of the land in an English version, starting in Boston and giving representations night after night just before the Metropolitan season opened in the New York Theater. Nevertheless there were eight performances at the Metropolitan in that season and four in the season that followed. At regular rates in 1906-07 only two performances were possible. All of Mr. Conried's artistic energies in his second season were expended on the production of "Die Fledermaus," which he gave for his own benefit under the circumstances already referred to, on February 16th. The season lasted fifteen weeks, and consisted of ninety-five performances of thirty operas and two ballets, outside of the supplementary season, which, let me repeat, are not included in the statistics which I am giving. An incident of the second season was the collapse of the bridge which is part of the first scene of "Carmen," and the consequent injury of ten choristers. The accident happened on the night of January 7, 1905, while the performance was in progress. Fortunately nobody was killed.