In 1892 I gave the first performance in America of Saint-Saëns’s opera of “Samson and Delilah.” This work is admirably adapted for concert performance, and many portions of it are far more effective in this form than on the stage. The music is lovely and of great melodic simplicity, and many of the choruses are written in oratorio form. At stage performances the dramatic climax of the second act, in which Delilah appears jubilantly at the door of her palace, shaking Samson’s red wig triumphantly at the admiring high priest and soldiers, is really an anticlimax, and excites our risibilities much more than our sorrow that the God-given strength of the mighty soldier has left him.
From my father I have inherited a deep admiration for Hector Berlioz and have conducted many performances of his greater works—the “Damnation of Faust,” the “Requiem Mass,” “Romeo and Juliet,” and the first rendition in America of his “Te Deum.”
Another novelty which I produced with the Oratorio Society in 1889 was the “Missa Solemnis” of Edward Grell. This work created a sensation. Its composer was virtually unknown except locally in Berlin, where he had been a teacher of counterpoint and composition in the first half of the nineteenth century. He had lived himself so completely into the style of the Italian masters of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries that modern harmonies simply did not exist for him, and his “Missa Solemnis” is conceived absolutely in the manner of the early masters of ecclesiastical music. It is written for four choruses of four parts each and four solo quartets. There is absolutely no accompaniment, and the purity of these sixteen-part harmonies without any admixture of instruments produces truly celestial effects. The four choruses which are generally used antiphonally with the solo quartets, produce thrilling climaxes, and the Benedictus especially gives an impression of ecstatic beauty.
I have written elsewhere, of my first performance of the “Christus,” by Liszt. I also produced “St. Christopher,” by Horatio Parker, distinguished American musician and composer. This work, however, did not prove as effective as his “Hora Novissima.” It seemed to fall between two stools, as it was neither an opera nor an oratorio.
I gave, of course, many renditions of the oratorios of Handel, Haydn, and Mendelssohn, and inaugurated the custom of an annual performance of Bach’s “St. Matthew’s Passion” during Holy Week. I am happy to say that I succeeded in “popularizing” this mighty work, so that now it draws a huge and devout audience whenever it is given. But, generally speaking, the interest in the older oratorios is waning, not only in New York but all over the country. The ears of our audiences have lost pleasure in the simpler harmonies of Handel and Haydn, and, accustomed to the richer orchestration of to-day, find the accompaniments of the Handelian orchestra thin and archaic. Something of the simple and naïve religious faith that inspired the old oratorios has also gone, and the composer has not yet been found who can voice the faith and aspirations of to-day. It is a pity that the old oratorio form should therefore be neglected. I think, however, that it is not dead but only sleeps, and will awaken again.
In 1898 I retired as conductor of the Oratorio Society, owing to the pressure of my operatic and orchestral work, and my brother Frank was elected as my successor. He is two years older than I and has always shared my love and enthusiasm for music in an equal degree. He studied the piano as a boy, but had always insisted that his talent was not great enough to warrant making music his profession; and therefore, at the age of seventeen, he with great courage determined to go out West and begin a business career. Arrived in Denver, Colorado, with one hundred dollars in his pocket, he proceeded, in the manner of our American young men who have no intention of becoming a burden on their parents, to earn his own living.
He began at the very bottom and slowly worked his way upward, but suffered intensely during his first years in Denver from the almost total lack of music there. He had drunk of it in such generous quantities in New York that it had become a larger part of his very life than he had realized; and in order to satisfy his need he founded a choral society with which he gave some of the old oratorios, and with characteristic audacity he supplemented this with an orchestra composed of a handful of professionals then playing at the Denver theatres and a few amateurs. The citizens of Denver, realizing that he was a real musician in spite of his modest estimate of himself, urged him to give up business and turn altogether to music.
At the time of my father’s death Frank had become virtually the moving force in all the higher musical enterprises of Denver. It seemed to me that the time had come to urge him to return to New York and together with me continue the work my father had begun. He was promptly engaged as chorus master at the Metropolitan Opera House, and also became more and more active in pedagogic work, for which he had a special enthusiasm which has never waned.
His activities extended in many directions. He founded the Young People’s Concerts at Carnegie Hall, and became supervisor of music in the public schools of New York, completely reforming the teaching of music. The good effects of this are felt to this day. He also founded the People’s Choral Union, in which working men and women were taught singing and the rudiments of music and then promoted into a chorus of twelve hundred voices which studied and performed the old oratorios of Handel and Haydn.
He officiated as conductor of the Oratorio Society from 1898 until 1912, and during this period conducted first performances in New York of Edward Elgar’s “The Dream of Gerontius” and “The Apostles,” Anton Dvořák’s “Stabat Mater,” Gabriel Pierné’s “Children’s Crusade,” Johannes Brahms’s “Song of Fate,” and Wolf-Ferrari’s “La Vita Nuova.”