Nineteenth century America was the land of dreams, full of opportunity and hope. A poor European could go out there, with no money to his name other than that which he used to pay for his boat fare, land in New York after an arduous few weeks' traveling and within a generation or so, be a millionaire. He could have gone out to California, or the Black Hills during one of the gold rushes and struck lucky (very, very lucky - it was rare for anyone to make any money from gold panning, but those who did often became very, very rich), or gone out to the mid west and made a fortune farming, or inventing a new farming tool (and giving it a fabulous name - the sod-buster, anyone?!) that everyone needed, or maybe started a new business in one of the industrial east coast cities.
Sadly, most immigrants weren't this lucky. Most arrived poor and stayed poor, but there were just enough who did manage to turn themselves into millionaires that the dream was kept alive. Not everyone was happy about this, though. High society was full of snobs - the old New York families were appalled by the uncouth nouveau riche who had money, but none of the 'proper' airs and graces and took every opportunity they could to snub the upstarts. Of course, one had to be obvious about one's snubbing, if it was to have the desired effect. It was no use merely tittering about those new families, with diamonds on their fingers but dirt under their fingernails, amongst one's group of friends - one had to make a point.
An easy, but dreadfully cutting, way to do so would be to refuse the new families - the Vanderbilts, or the Goulds, for example - a box at the opera. This did more than deny them a chance to watch the latest performances of a Mozart or Verdi extravaganza. In certain circles during the late nineteenth century, the opera was the place to be of an evening. Where else but at the Academy of Music could formidable matriarchs find out the latest scandalous gossip; elderly gentlemen have a gentle snooze after one to many glasses of scotch in the interval or the new debutantes coyly flutter their lashes and drop their fans at the feet of the handsome young gentleman who had come over from Europe for the season?
By the early 1880s, the new families had had enough, and, led by Alva Vanderbilt, the millionaires of the city built themselves their own opera house, christening it the Metropolitan Opera House. It took nearly three years to build, but on the night of 22 October 1883, the first ever production - Gounod's Faust - was performed.
The original MET, 1411 Broadway, New York City (pictured 1905)
The original company at the MET - the orchestra, chorus and principle singers - were all Italian and therefore decided to sing everything in their native language, even Faust (which had been written in French) and Carmen (where the lyrics were also in French). However, as most people were attending for the glitz and the glamour and the gossip, only a few opera fanatics were likely to be disappointed by this. The first season made a loss of over half a million dollars, but this was quickly turned around. By 1885 - after only three seasons - the Academy of Music had been eclipsed, and showed its last opera at the end of the '85 season. The MET was now the place to be.
The outside of the original building was not particularly ornate, interesting or different from most other New York City buildings of the time, but the interior was another story all together. Decorated in red and gold, there were three tiers of 36 boxes (so many seats in fact, that after a year the top tier was removed because there was no use for it). The bottom tier became known as the diamond horseshoe, and you could be sure that if your family had a box there, you had indeed made it.
Despite all this grandness, at the heart of it all there was the music. For the 1884-5 season, the radical decision was made that, instead of Italian, all operas should be sung in German, regardless of their original language, mainly because of the large German population of the city - from the richest to the poorest. Ticket prices were slashed to a mere $3 - though this fairness wasn't universal: 23 members of the men's chorus went on strike for more money, but were quickly dismissed. By the 1890s, the board of directors had tired of the German music and demanded that all operas be sung in the language they were written in. This lead to the 'war of the operas' as the people of German origin insisted that they all be sung in German.
Cartoon from Puck Magazine, depicting the 'war of the operas' - 1891
The house was destroyed by fire early in 1892, and the year's season was canceled. Upon its reopening the following year, however, operas were performed there in their native language for the first time. This led to the MET premiering many famous operas - most notably, those by Wagner - for the first time on American soil. The halls themselves were truly magnificent, having excellent acoustics even when filled with 3,625 people sitting, and another 244 standing at the front, but even from the earliest days, the stage facilities were known to be sorely inadequate. It took nearly 80 years before something was done about this, though, but in 1966 it was. The MET company moved into a new premises at the Lincoln Center, which not only has excellent acoustics and plenty of room for opera goers but also excellent staging.
Today, the MET welcomes more than 800,000 people each season, not to mention those who see productions through their HD broadcasts around the world, starring today's best singers, such as the sublime production of Bizet's Carmen which myself and my good friend Charlotte went to see at a cinema in England last year, starring the immensely gifted mezzo soprano Elina Garanca.
It makes me wonder what Alva Vanderbilt and the other 'new money' families would make of it all. No doubt they would be very proud of their legacy, as well they should be...
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