In the summer
of 1908, Heinrich Conried made one last effort at that impossible
task, managing the Metropolitan Opera. His four seasons had been
filled with controversy and disagreement, all compounded by his
own lack of operatic knowledge. He had inherited Enrico Caruso's
contract from his predecessor but out of ignorance reduced his first
season's performances by half. His success in breaking the Bayreuth
Festival's hold on Wagner's Parsifal had been balanced by
his presentation of Richard Strauss's Salome, which scandalized
the Real Estate Company that owned the Opera House; Salome
was banned after one performance and a scheduled series conducted
by Strauss himself canceled. And luck, that necessary ingredient
in any theatrical endeavor, had avoided him altogether. On tour
in San Francisco, his company was caught in the 1906 earthquake,
escaping without loss of life but with sets and costumes, music
and musical instruments all destroyed. The company returned to New
York with operatic warfare on the horizon. Oscar Hammerstein had
built his Manhattan Opera House on West 34th Street and would in
1906-7 provide serious competition, not just with singers that the
Met seemed to know nothing about, but with a chief conductor, Cleofonte
Campanini, better than anyone on the Met's roster. In May 1907 Conried
wrote about conductors to James H. Hyde, one of his board members,
"You speak of negotiations with Mottl and you suggest Nikisch. I
have been in negotiations with Nikisch for the last four years,
and I will name the rest of the existing leading conductors to whom
I made offers since the day I became manager of the Conried Opera
Company - Richter, Schuch, Weingartner, Muck, Strauss, Mahler, Mader;
Nikisch for instance, has a binding contract with the Philharmonic
societies of Berlin and Hamburg, and the Gewandhaus Conzerte in
Leipzig. Those three cities two and four hours apart, give Mr. Nikisch
a clear income of about 130,000.00 Marks in not quite seven months.
What could I offer him?... P. S. Toscanini to whom I sent special
agent to Milan, replied that no financial consideration would persuade
him to an engagement in America, and the reports concerning Mugnoni
[Mugnone] were such as to give me the conviction that he would be
impossible with our orchestra, after two days."
Finally, on June 6, 1907, Conried cabled
from Bad Nauheim, a spa near Frankfurt where he had gone for his
failing health:
I AM HAPPY TO ANNOUNCE THE ENGAGEMENT
OF THE VERY BEST OF ALL MUSICAL DIRECTORS GUSTAV MAHLER FOR THREE
MONTHS EACH SEASON AT VERY FAVORABLE TERMS LILI LEHMANN WENT PERSONALLY
TO MAHLER FOR HAMMERSTEIN OFFERING HIM EXORBITANT TERMS TO DIRECT
LOHENGRIN TANNHAEUSER AND TRISTAN MAHLER NEGOTIATED WITH MY KNOWLEDGE
AND CONSENT I RECEIVED THE SANCTION TO ENGAGE MAHLER FIVE WEEKS
AGO THROUGH OBERHOFMEISTER PRINCE MONTENUOVO BUT EMPERORS CONSENT
HAS TO BE GRANTED.... CONRIED.
News of Mahler's engagement reached
the New York papers two days later. Through the dozen or so newspapers
and magazines that avidly covered operatic events, one can trace
mounting anticipation of Mahler's arrival coupled with the disintegration
of Conried's health. By June 24, the Mail headlined: "Conried Still
Ill; May Not Return" and followed with the information "Herr Mahler
will be Mr. Conried's successor as director of the Metropolitan
Opera House." The Telegraph found him better on July 23 and
observed, "He walks with difficulty, and two sticks. But legs are
no more an essential to an impresario than intellect to a tenor."
In August, some of Conried's bad luck extended to a deaf Swiss peasant
who was run down and killed by Conried's automobile as he toured
outside Zurich.
Accounts of Mahler concentrated on
his discipline in Vienna: "MAHLER, MARTINET IN OPERA DIRECTION,"
said The New York Times in August. By December the same paper
was specific: "Mahler reformed everything: the orchestra, the company.
the scenic decorations: nothing escaped his attention, the least
chorus singer no more than the prima donna. He was orchestral conductor,
singer, actor, stage manager, scene painter, costumer. He even reformed
the ballet. The day he began this reform it was thought his fall
was near at hand.... But they were mistaken about the solidity of
the director's position, as well as about the faithfulness of the
ballet's friends - especially when the director began to put young
and pretty dancers in the front rows."
Mahler and his wife Alma sailed for
America on December 11: "When the Kaiserin Auguste Victoria
steamed up to Cherbourg ... there were the Mahlers, hand in hand,
waiting at the dock. Alois Burgstaller [one of the Met's heldentenors]
was on board, and he and others cheered Mahler up so that the voyage,
though long, wasn't half bad after all, and Mahler played for Burgstaller
at the ship's concert off Nantucket on Friday. As the huge steamer
neared the Battery he showed keen interest in the Statue of Liberty
and the other large, if not necessarily impressive, monuments which
greeted him. Gustav Mahler is a tall, dark, unusual looking be-spectacled
man, with a worn and haggard face, marked with deep lines that seem
to tell of a nervous and artistic temperament." (American,
December 22, 1907)
Mahler was met by assistants to Conried
and Alfred Hertz, the conductor. It was Saturday, and after a stop
at the Hotel Majestic, Mahler had his first sight of the Metropolitan
Opera House when he sat in Conried's box for the matinee of Tosca
with Caruso, Emma Eames, and Antonio Scotti. On Sunday afternoon,
he was at Carnegie Hall for Walter Damrosch and the New York Symphony
Orchestra in a program that included Berlioz's Symphonie Fantastique
and a Tchaikovsky Piano Concerto played by Teresa Carreno.
Mahler's wife, Alma, has described
their first social occasion in New York: "Andreas Dippel, who was
then business-manager of the Metropolitan, took us to lunch with
the super-god Conried, who was already a cripple from tabes and
showed unmistakable signs of megalomania. This first, fantastic
luncheon-party, the flat itself and our hosts' utter innocence of
culture, kept us in concealed mirth until we were in the street
again and could burst out laughing. In Conried's smoking-room, for
example, there was a suit of armor which could be illuminated from
within by red lights. There was a divan in the middle of the room
with a baldachino and convoluted pillars, and on it the godlike
Conried reclined when he gave audience to the members of the company.
All was enveloped in somber, flounced stuffs, illuminated by the
glare of colored electric lights. And then, Conried himself, who
had 'made' Sonnenthal and was now going to 'make' Mahler." [Page
128, Gustave Mahler, Memories and Letters, by Alma Mahler,
edited by Donald Mitchell, The Viking Press, NY, 1969]
The following Monday, "Mr. Conried
introduced [Mahler] to the [Metropolitan] orchestra, and after a
few words of greeting he took up the baton for a rehearsal of the
Tristan score. He had not proceeded far when he characteristically
proclaimed: 'All other rehearsals in the theater must cease.' A
chorus rehearsal going on in another room was thereupon stopped"
(Musical America, December 28, 1907). Mahler surprised everyone
with his manners. "The man who was expected to rule by stern commands,
by angry glances, by sharp, unsympathetic criticisms, was as mild
and as gentle as the proverbial lamb. His suggestions were made
in the kindliest tone of voice and in the most considerate manner
possible. 'Wouldn't it be better if such and
such a phrase were sung this way' would come the query, and 'how
much more effective to subdue the brasses here, don't you think?'
"Artists, members of the orchestra,
the chorus and those who are responsible for the stage effects,
alike were disarmed by the courtesy with which criticisms were offered
and with the trust of every one submitted. Instead of a bear here
was a man who meant truly to be director and a comrade. The result
was amazing and the first rehearsal concluded with those taking
part enthusiastic to the last degree.
"'A very good orchestra here,' remarked
Mr. Mahler after the men had filed out of the pit. 'There is good
material and I believe I can do great things with it.'" (The
World, January 5, 1908)
Singing her first Isolde anywhere was
Olive Fremstad, who had coached the role with Mahler in Vienna the
previous summer. Burgstaller had been requested by Mahler but injured
his shoulder when thrown from a dog cart in Hoboken and was replaced
by Heinrich Knote as Tristan.
Mahler's debut on January 1, 1908,
was the last great coup of Conried's management. The gala audience
included two New York Isoldes, Lillian Nordica, in blue satin, and
Johanna Gadski, in black. "When the Metropolitan's new musical director
first appeared in the orchestra pit half the persons in the parquet
rose to get a good view of him, and there was thunderous applause
from every part of the auditorium. He bowed dignifiedly took his
seat in his chair" (Press). There was enthusiastic applause
after every act and a magnificent laurel wreath at one of the curtain
calls.
All the newspapers were struck by Mahler's
consideration for the singers, his mastery of orchestral balance.
W. J. Henderson's review of Tristan und Isolde in the Sun
summarizes the response of all New York critics. "From the beginning
of the vorspiel not a full forte of trumpets and trombones was heard
till Isolde raised the cup to her lips and then it came with the
crash of a catastrophe.... He held to the firmest and most finely
spun texture the iridescent web of tone in which Wagner enmeshed
his ideas.... [B]est of all, the eloquent variety of Wagner's instrumentation
was displayed by the simple process of bringing out clearly every
solo phrase, while the harmonic and contrapuntal background was
never slighted." However, Henderson and many others pointed out
that none of this was new, that Anton Seidl "did all these things
in the brave days of old, when there were also mighty singers in
the land."
Richard Aldrich elaborated in The
New York Times: "In the old days of Seidl there used to be a
complaint from the boxes, so it is said, that the music of Tristan
was too soft, that it was not possible to converse comfortably without
arousing anger in the pit. It was this kind of reading that Mr.
Mahler achieved.... His methods in the conductor's chair are straightforward
and direct. His beat is uncommonly sharp, decided, and angular,
and his attention is alertly directed at all points, seemingly,
at once. It is significant that his left hand was almost constantly
used in the Tristan performance to check and subdue. He gives
the unmistakable impression of a man of commanding authority and
of keen insight. It was noted in this journal that Mr. Mahler's
tempi in Tristan are in some passages somewhat more rapid
than we have been accustomed to -- whereby he is differentiated
at once from the prevailing Bayreuth school of conductors upon whom
the influence is always toward deliberation and even dragging of
the movement. Mr. Mahler's tempi in Tristan are made for
the enhancement of the dramatic effect, to keep the blood of life
pulsing in the score; yet there was nothing subversive in them or
destructive of the musical values. The skillful and elastic modification
of tempo is one of the touchstones of fine dramatic conducting,
and in this respect Mr. Mahler showed himself a master. There were
innumerable instances of it through the score; take, for instance,
the approach to the climax of the prelude. How often is this driven
on with an obvious hurrying of the beat! Mr. Mahler made an acceleration
that was wellnigh imperceptible as it advance, yet when he arrived
at the climax the beat was materially increased. It followed from
the poetic subtlety and refinement of Mr. Mahler's reading that
the voices were tiven rights of which it is certain Wagner never
intended them to be deprived. Chief of these is to be heard, and
(if the singers' diction is of the true kind) understood. The orchestral
part had all its beauty, all its dramatic power and effectiveness;
it had all the contrast and variation of power, of accent, of crescendo
and climax. Yet it did not drown the voices, and here, too, was
an added beauty brought into prominence that has not always been
heard in Wagnerian performances, that of the blending of voices
with the orchestral tone." [January 5, 1908] Aldrich complained
after the second performance that "it is unfortunate that so many
found it necessary to enter during the Prelude and leave before
the Liebestod." [January 10, 1908]
Although a master of balance between
voices and instruments, Mahler appears to have made one serious
miscalculation. The Press was only one of several papers
that criticized his cuts. Under a headline reading "MAHLER MUTILATES
WAGNER SCORE" was this:
"Many persons who heard the last act
of Tristan und Isolde as performed last night in the Metropolitan
Opera House wondered whether Mahler would have dared to present
Wagner's score in such abbreviated form abroad, or whether he had
reserved this slashing for the "musical barbarians" of New York.
Mahler is a great conductor, a great musician, But if he wishes
to retain the respect of American opera-goers, he will have to treat
them as intelligent lovers of music, whose experience of Wagner
opera is not of today. Unless the important portions of Tristan
und Isolde which Mahler sees fit to omit, are restored speedily,
operagoers will feel they are being defrauded of that which they
have a right to expect" (The Press, January 10, 1908). An
account in the Evening Sun shows less outrage: "The opera,
being German, began at the impossible hour of 7:45 o'clock. But
Mahler is the first man since Seidl to champion Wagner 'with the
cuts,' and he rushed the only tedious act, the last one, to a quick
curtain at 11:30 o'clock, to the delight of thousands and the discomfort
only of a few hundred lone women whom we last saw at the Broadway
doors, still waiting for their tardy escorts. When since Seidl's
day has an Isolde sung her 'Love's Death' song before midnight?
Mme. [Louise] Homer's last appeal to her mistress was omitted. Mr.
[Robert] Blass found the King's speech there abolished by his new
Prime Minister." (The heavily cut performances led by Artur Bodanzky
in the 1930s were of the same length.)
In addition to Mahler, there was curiosity
about Olive Fremstad. "Mme. Fremstad's appearance as Isolde had
been awaited with some misgivings. Vocally the part is longer and
more fatiguing than almost any other in the soprano repertory. Moreover,
it is ominously high for one who began her career as a contralto.
Mme. Fremstad has shown remarkable skill in lifting her voice to
a higher vocal range, and she is discretion itself in her use of
it. Her singing in the first act last night was generally admirable.
Only one or two high notes in her second scene with Brangane and
the ensemble passage with Tristan near the close of the act seemed
out of her range. In the second act the text was harder. The first
and last parts of the great duet call for pure soprano tones of
a Lehmann. They were frankly too high for Mme. Fremstad. But in
the 'Sink hernieder' passage her singing was of great beauty. In
the 'Love Death' her voice sounded tired, but then nine times out
of ten Isolde has no voice left for this final scene." As for the
others: "Tristan does not find an altogether congenial interpreter
in Mr. Knote. He is hardly heroic in presence or in voice, nor has
his acting romantic illusion... Vocally it was uneven. The famous
passage near the close of the second act he sang very beautifully
indeed... He sang well, too, in the earlier part of the last act,
though the terrific climaxes later on were beyond him physically,
as they are beyond almost any tenor... Mme. Homer is an authentic
Brangane. The part has been played here as a second Isolde or as
a sorceress and brewer of potions. Mme. Homer makes her the simple,
affectionate waiting woman. She sang smoothly and tunefully last
night, and in the song of warning with superb effect. Seldom does
the orchestra allow the voice of Brangane to be heard distinctly
in this scene. Mme. Homer was clearly audible, and most agreeably
so, for she sang the long, sustained phrases with remarkable ease
and vocal richness. The Kurvenal of Mr. Van Rooy is one of the classics
of the stage. If his singing is not what it was a few years ago,
his impersonation is as winning as ever in its rugged sympathy.
Equally fine in a small way is the Shepherd of Mr. [Albert] Reiss.
The sermonizing King Marke is seldom an edifying figure. Mr. Blass's
delivery of his long homily was a fine piece of musical declamation.
In the staging there were some innovations. Of these the mastless
mainsail cannot be commended. But the new setting of the last act
is most picturesque and a great improvement over the old one." [The
Globe, January 2, 1908]
Robert Tuggle
A shorter version of this essay appears in Mahler
in New York, The Mahler Broadcasts 1948-1982 of The New York Philharmonic,
issued in 1998. Reprinted by permission.
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An early portrait of
Gustav Mahler
Photo: Mertens Mai & Co., Vienna


Program for Mahler's
Metropolitan Opera debut

Enrico Caruso's caricature
of Gustav Mahler
for The Musical Courier

Olive Fremstad as Isolde
Photos: H. Mishkin

Heinrich Knote as Tristan
Photo: Burr McIntosh
Louise Homer as Brangaene
Photo: Aimé Dupont

Anton Van Rooy,
who sang Kurwenal for Mahler
Photo: Aimé Dupont

Robert Blass
who sang King Marke
Photo: Aimé Dupont

Albert Reiss,
who sang the Shepherd
Photo: Aimé Dupont
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