Read Online Grand Opera: The Story of the Met by Charles Affron, Mirella Jona Affron - Free Book Online Page B

into a field in bloom. It was not the first time Iris had been heard in New York or, for that matter, the first time it had been staged at the Met. Mascagni had brought his opera to the city and to the house with his own touring company in October 1902 during a three-month-long visit that Krehbiel called the “most sensational fiasco ever made by an artist of great distinction in the United States.” The composer had contracted to prepare and conduct “not more than eight operas or concerts a week,” including productions of Cavalleria rusticana, Zanetto, Iris, and Guglielmo Ratcliff . The last never saw American footlights. “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.” When Mascagni moved on to Boston, he was arrested for breach of contract. He countersued for damages. “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.” 23
    Giordano and Cilea fared more poorly still than Mascagni. Reviewers noted uncharitably that their music detracted from the plays on which Fedora and Adriana Lecouvreur were based, both previously staged in New York with Sarah Bernhardt. Cavalieri was unequal to the challenge of the eponymous roles. But Farrar herself could not have saved either title from its excruciating reception. Caruso, who had appeared in their world premieres, did his superlative best, as evinced in his recordings of Fedora ’s “Amor ti vieta” and in an excerpt from act 4 of Adriana .
German Operetta and Opera
     
    Conried produced five German novelties, two of which, Parsifal and Salome, set off the mayhem we recall above. Die Fledermaus and Der Zigeunerbaron came in for attack. Only Hänsel und Gretel emerged unscathed.
    The controversy over Johann Strauss’s operettas was two-pronged. Reviewers took up their old refrain: operettas, no matter how charming, even brilliant, had no place at the Met. Their dialogue was lost in its vast reaches; their scores befit only intimate theaters. And as he had been for Parsifal and would be again for Salome, Conried was chided for pocketing the first-night receipts of Die Fledermaus, designated, like the others, “director’s benefit,” an annual event at which the artists were called upon to make a gift of their services to the boss. The prospect of hearing the Met’s stars during the act 2 ball all but guaranteed a rich haul. The soloists joined the chorus in the “Brüderlein” finale and then, led by Caruso and Eames on one side of the stage, Fremstad and Plançon on the other, proceeded to dance a raucous cancan. But the critics, even as they acknowledged the Fledermaus precedent at some European opera houses, and the luster and merriment of the occasion, were prepared to forgive neither the musical trespass nor Conried’s greed. He repeated the stunt the next season with Der Zigeunerbaron . Humperdinck’s Hänsel und Gretel needed no star wattage to galvanize success. The critics were predisposed to the score’s Wagnerian sonorities. And they agreed that “it did not seem as if there could be anybody in the house to whom [it] did not appeal as something beautiful, something delightful and enjoyable” (Times). Hänsel und Gretel remained in the repertoire until German was banned in 1917; it has returned regularly since 1927–28.
    With the exception of Lucrezia Borgia, all of Conried’s novelties have had subsequent productions and more than half have become staples of the repertoire. However vexed Parsifal was in New York in 1903, it had been blessed at Bayreuth, and the two Puccini operas and Humperdinck’s had been applauded throughout Europe. In that sense, they were sure bets just as Salome would have been but for Mr. Morgan and his pew. Adriana