Victor Herbert: A Theatrical Life

Chapter 5. Coda Brilliante—the Victor Herbert Orchestra

CHAPTER 5 coda brilliante—the victor herbert orchestra (1901–1924) The story of the remarkable organization known as the Victor Herbert Orchestra began in the last three years of Herbert’s residency at Pittsburgh. Immediately after announcing his resignation, Herbert openly declared his intention to form his own orchestra in New York City. ‘‘Victor Herbert Coming Here,’’ headlined the New York Times.1 ‘‘Will organize an orchestra and he intends that it shall be the foremost musical organization in the country. ‘I expect to die in harness,’’’ is the way Herbert expressed his continuing commitment to the role of conductor. The article notes that Herbert will conduct a spring tour, with sit-down engagements at Willow Grove Park, near Philadelphia, and at Saratoga Springs, New York. On-the-road touring and his performances at Willow Grove and Saratoga encompass almost all the activities of the orchestra from the time of its establishment in 1901 until Herbert’s death in 1924. There were early engagements in Buffalo from 1901 to 1904 and in Baltimore from 1901 to 1905; but Willow Grove, between 1901 and 1923, was the venue with which the orchestra became associated in the mind of the public, and it was the place where Herbert was happiest in the role of conductor. Because Herbert’s activities with respect to each of these venues were somewhat different, it will be useful to discuss them separately.  saratoga: conductor and bon vivant Herbert’s association with Saratoga Springs began a decade before he arrived with his own ensemble in 1902. From 1892 through 1894 his Buffalo friend, John Lund, conducted a small ensemble, of which Herbert was a member. The group appeared at the Grand Union Hotel, the greatest of the many elaborate hostelries that lined Broadway in those halcyon days. At all hours of the day the piazza is a favorite resort of hotel guests, who here linger in dolce far niente to listen to the sweet strains of the hotel orchestra—not a mere band of music makers, but a gathering of 157 trained artists, playing selections of highest merit, and conducted by a director of national reputation.2 Now, years later, every day at 10 a.m. on the broad piazza facing Broadway and again in the evening under the elms of the hotel court, surrounded by fountains playing softly under colored lights, Herbert’s own orchestra continued a musical tradition that had been described by an observer of the Saratoga scene a half-century before: ‘‘Music flows toward us from the ballroom in languid, luxurious measures, like warm, voluptuous arms wreathing around us and drawing us to the dance.’’3 Writing in the Saratogian in 1952, the mayor of Saratoga mourned the passing of this last of the great ladies of hospitality, and especially one particular adornment of her finery: It would be remiss not to speak feelingly and fondly of the popular Grand Union Café and Bar as it was conducted in those days. Here of a summer evening might be seen prominent horsemen, top-liners from the theatrical profession, book-makers, politicians, musicians and bon vivants. At one table would be Eddie Foy and Lew Fields. . . . And of course promptly following the evening concert, Victor Herbert with some of his cronies would take possession of his reserved table, where a lengthy session would ensue over their pilsner.4 Music publisher Edward B. Marks, a friend of Herbert, picks up the story: Herbert’s throat was unquenchable. One night the bartender walked over to Herbert’s table and asked, ‘‘How are the pilsners tonight?’’ ‘‘Perfect,’’ replied Victor. ‘‘Couldn’t be better.’’ ‘‘Victor, my boy,’’ said the bartender, slapping the cellist on the back, ‘‘we two have studied our professions.’’ ‘‘By God, you’re right,’’ said Herbert, appreciative of the correct temperature and foamed collar of his beer.5 As fortunate as Herbert was with his music, the scales were balanced by his ill luck at the track. He loved to bet, but had no talent for it, and the rumor was that despite the astronomical fees he commanded for his music, he never took a cent home from Saratoga. One evening he entered the bar and proclaimed, ‘‘I will play Wagner no more!’’ Then, to the astonished musicians assembled, he revealed that ‘‘Wagner’’ was a horse 158 c o d a b r i l l i a n t e on which he had...