As a practical man Taylor realized that if he were to continue
his growth in serious music, he must find the means of livelihood
in avenues which offered a more immediate return in the currency
of the realm. He turned to the theatre and probably not without a
feeling that here he would find also the fundamentals upon which
he might some day build a work in the music drama form. It was an
inviting undertaking, offering both income and working materials
for future development. In 1922 he wrote the incidental music for
Austin Strong’s pantomime _A Man About Town_, which graduated from
the Comedy Club to the Ritz Theatre. He had “broken into” the
theatrical game and now according to the custom of the Rialto, he was
to be pursued instead of being himself the pursuer in the quest for
commissions.
_Liliom_ required music; Deems Taylor was the logical man to
supply it. A score was needed for the farce-comedy, _Dulcy_; who
better than Taylor could do it? In quick succession he added to
the list incidental music for the Winthrop Ames production, _Will
Shakespeare_, music for the Theatre Guild’s _The Adding Machine_, a
musical setting for Alan Seager’s _I Have a Rendezvous with Death_,
in George Tyler’s production of _Humoresque_; the incidental music
for _Rita Coventry_; incidental music for Gilbert Miller’s production
of _Cazanova_; incidental music for _Beggar on Horseback_, produced
by Winthrop Ames in January, 1924, in which was introduced the
pantomime _A Kiss in Xanadu_; and the score for the motion picture
_Janice Meredith_.
The distinguished use to which Taylor later put the technic he had
acquired in these excursions into the theatre, saves them from
classification as “pot-boilers.” And, what is more to the point, the
music itself which he had written for these various productions, was
of a quality which calls for no apologetic comment. Again he had
shown his versatility and again he had added to the stature of his
name as a creative artist.
During the period of prolific productivity in the theatre Taylor’s
addresses to the audiences of the formal concert halls were less
frequent. Three outstanding works, however, found expression amid
the whirl of activity attendant upon daily reviews of musical
performances for his paper “The World,” with his work often
interrupted by conferences with producers, scenario writers,
playwrights, actors, managers and others, to say nothing of the
supervision of rehearsals. These contributions were the song for
baritone, _Captain Stratton’s Fancy_, a setting of the John Masefield
poem; the symphonic poem, _Jurgen_ (Op. 17); and the suite for Jazz
Orchestra, _Circus Day_ (Op. 18), for which the resourceful Ferdie
Grofé was called upon to supply the orchestral arrangement.
_Jurgen_ offers additional support to the contention made in the
opening paragraphs of this record. It is another example of the
service rendered by Deems Taylor to the cause of the American
composer, for it represents one of the pioneer instances in which
a conductor of an American symphony orchestra has sought out an
American composer and commissioned him to write music for specific
performance. Our composers had accustomed themselves to regard our
symphony orchestras and their conductors as stumbling blocks in the
road of progress. Taylor, in company with George Gershwin and Henry
K. Hadley, and with the far-seeing Walter Damrosch as the instigator,
was helping, then and there, to change a securely established custom.
The orchestra was to go after the composer; and this shattering of
precedent is of far greater consequence than may seem apparent to
casual observance of the facts.
For the same reason the attitude of the Metropolitan Opera Company
toward the American composer and toward homemade opera, is a subject
which offers unlimited opportunities for conjecture. Proof of an
open-minded policy, a sincere desire to bring forth the best that was
to be had, is afforded by the action (during the Winter of 1925) of
the Board of Directors in commissioning Deems Taylor, on the strength
of his achievements in other musical forms, to compose an opera which
would be promised a production. No restrictions were placed upon him:
The choice of a libretto was left entirely in his hands.
Note again the part which Deems Taylor was playing in the breaking
down of traditional methods to set the function of the native
composer in a new light.
When this call came to him, he determined to sacrifice every other of
his manifold activities to a successful prosecution of the mission.
Reluctantly he gave up the duties of music critic—a position in which
he was fast winning sympathetic and widespread approval, even as the
successor of the late James Gibbons Huneker.
He turned with enthusiasm and high hopes to the task of finding a
libretto, a search which promised no easy fulfillment, for little had
been done in this land to stimulate the production of operatic books
that would satisfy the complex requirements of the lyric stage.
Acting upon his own frequently expressed conviction that a genuinely
poetic and dramatic libretto is an indispensable adjunct to the
score of a grand opera, Mr. Taylor turned for assistance to Edna St.
Vincent Millay, whose volumes _Renascence_, _Second April_, _A Few
Figs From Thistles_, and _The Harp Weaver_ have established her as
one of the few great lyric poets of this generation. Miss Millay’s
response to the appeal was an idea based upon a mediaeval legend; it
was the story of _The King’s Henchman_, and it made a strong appeal
to Taylor’s inherent sense of public taste. He could discover in it
those elements which meant operatic success. He bade Miss Millay to
go on with its development and meantime he busied himself with the
laying out of his patterns.
Two years later, on the evening of February 17th, 1927, the world
première of _The King’s Henchman_ took place at the Metropolitan
Opera House. This was no ordinary première, even as brilliant
as such events usually are. For months in advance the sagacious
press department of the big theatre, aided enthusiastically by a
sympathetic press, had aroused public interest in the production.
The “Evening Post” declared that “Never in the history of the
Metropolitan Opera House had a native offering been attended by
such advance interest and such good omens of success as _The King’s
Henchman_.”
At the opera house, in the corridors, on the stage, back in the
executive offices, everywhere there existed a spirit of expectancy
and optimistic hope.
Tickets for the opening night were at a premium; on the final day
they were unpurchasable at any price. Again Deems Taylor was making
news.
The evening itself measured up fully to the anticipation it had
created. It went into the records as one of the most dazzling of
operatic premières; the audience actually liked the performance as
an opera; it seemed to enjoy itself hugely and there was accordingly
wild enthusiasm when the composer and librettist were called to the
front.
What was the effect of all this adulation, this frenzied praise upon
the man who was responsible for the success of the evening? Again we
turn to his intimates for the answer. We find him reading, deeply
solicitous, those words of criticism which measured with scientific
analysis, in a more discriminating vein, the points of weakness in
the score. He was neither professionally “high hat” nor “up-stage.”
It was his first grand opera and he knew that he had yet to learn. He
felt that he could learn most from those who were prepared to show
him how to step higher. He absorbed these comments with none of the
petulance of the prima donna who finds in unfavorable criticism only
the traces of jealousy and lack of appreciation.
V
But most convincing of all in the testimony relating to the outcome
of the eventful evening’s proceedings, was the decision of the
Metropolitan Board of Directors, announced a few days after the
première, to commission Taylor to write a second opera to be produced
within two years from the date of his operatic debut.
Some idea of the public interest aroused through this promise
of a second opera from Deems Taylor’s pen was reflected in the
large amount of space devoted to the project by the daily papers.
For several months after the announcement there was interested
speculation both in musical circles and in the newspapers over the
choice of his libretto. It was not until late in the Fall that Mr.
Taylor, in a column interview, gave out the news that had been
awaited with such lively anticipation; his manner of acquainting the
world with his selection was thoroughly characteristic.
The opera was to be based on an American novel, the identity of
which at that time, remained a mystery. But Mr. Taylor’s practical
collaborator—his librettist—was to be none other than himself!
“I have found,” the composer related to a reporter for the Associated
Press, “the most charming and compatible, the most accomplished
and erudite of collaborators. We get along splendidly together.
It is true that I fuss and say crude things to this collaborator,
sometimes, but it is all taken in good grace.”
This same interview revealed another phase of the Taylor character,
too significant to be overlooked in any discussion that pretends to
reveal the man.
He declared that his new opera would be a product of the great city;
that he had no tolerance for the widely exploited quiet of the
country generally believed to be indispensable to those engaged in
creative endeavor.
“I tried the country,” he confided to his interviewer, “and it is too
noisy. There are katydids, tree-toads, crickets, week-end guests and
mosquitoes; all terrible noise-makers. Besides, New York is the only
place I can be alone. In New York visitors stay ten minutes. In the
country they stay ten days.”
As to the nature of the new opera the composer described it as
tragic-comic; half phantasy and half realism. “It has overtones of
romance and nuances of practical life,” he said. “The emotions are
typically American.”
When the new owners of the weekly periodical, “Musical America,” in
search of an outstanding figure in the field of musical literature,
one who would merit a sympathetic response from the musical public,
selected Taylor for the post of editor-in-chief, they did no more
than to reflect the high esteem that he had won for himself. The
manner in which he took over the responsibility, as revealed in
his declaration of intentions, in the issue of August 27th, 1927,
was thoroughly characteristic of the man. Here he disclosed rare
editorial acumen in a frank statement, analyzing minutely the
qualities which the average American music-lover would seek in a
journal, and promising that his program as director of the enterprise
would adequately satisfy those needs.
And so it becomes apparent that Deems Taylor the man is quite as
important as Deems Taylor the composer. No record of his achievements
in the latter capacity is complete without mention of the sterling
qualities that he built within his own character. The chronicler
of his history finds no evidence on this point more startling nor
convincing than the happy, friendly relationship which exists
between him and his publisher. Here indeed is a miracle, as witness
the biographies of scores of the great composers of all times and
observe the bickerings and transactions of distrust which have marked
their dealings with the men who gave out their music to the world.