CHAPTER VIII

THE LISTENERS

The largest portion of this story has been devoted to the orchestra itself, and the people who founded it, supported it and endowed it. Now comes the turn of the party of the third part, the audience. An orchestra may be wonderfully trained, superbly led, comfortably supported, and yet miss the main point of existing. For without listeners, even in the days of radio, an orchestra is incomplete.

In 1900 it was difficult to lure listeners into a concert hall, where symphonic or severely classical music was to be played. Philadelphians began by listening to symphonies in bits and in the late nineties it was the custom for the Germania Orchestra to play one movement of a symphony each week for four weeks, and play the entire work in the fifth week. Theodore Thomas did not do this, but he could not get an audience in 1876 or even in 1881.

It is an inspiring sight of a Friday afternoon or Saturday evening to see the crowds bound for the Academy of Music. Equally inspiring, is it to see the audience standing on the steps of the Academy and on the street for two and three hours before admission can be had to the Amphitheatre for fifty cents. True lovers of music these.

One of the methods employed to persuade people to take season seats was the membership in the Auxiliary of the Women’s Committees. Another was the lure of big soloists. Year by year, this musical organization was obliged to attract by advertising the appearances of great artists. But once the audience was procured, it stayed; and today soloists are on the verge of becoming unpopular. Such is the influence of symphonic music.

The right to interrupt the progress of a concert by demands for repeated encores was one which the audience gave up with little grace. In 1913 a paragraph appeared on the programme, stating that:

“The management has decided in no case to permit more than one encore.”

And again:

“As encores tend to disturb the unity of an orchestral programme the patrons of the Philadelphia Orchestra Concerts are respectfully informed that encore demands cannot be granted.”

The conductor had one or two bad experiences, which occupied some minutes, but finally patience won the day and the audiences realized that this pleasure, if it was a pleasure, was over forever at a symphony concert.

Next came the hat question. It is not a new one, for in 1841 the Musical Fund Society placed this notice in one of its programmes:

“Ladies are particularly requested not to wear their bonnets in the concert room.”

This makes one realize that Philadelphia women were always devoted to their hats. The war on hats was a merry one and began as early as 1906, at a time when hats were large. It is rumored that the fashion at the moment required pinned on hair, so hats could not be removed. This matter was taken up in the Women’s Committee, thought by some to be like the complaint desk of a department store; a situation of which they are proud, as it shows how the public turns to the women. Much discussion arose and notices began to appear in the programmes:

“For the greater convenience of all concerned, it is earnestly hoped that the women patrons of the Orchestra WILL REMOVE THEIR HATS during the performance. In many cities local ordinances compel, by legal means, the removal of head coverings that obstruct the view in places of amusement.”

“MADAME HOMER AS A HEROINE “Louise Homer, the popular contralto of the Metropolitan Opera Company, who was the soloist at the Symphony Society’s concert in the New Theatre,” writes a New York critic, “proved herself a heroine. SHE TOOK OFF HER HAT! To herself and to every woman in the house, probably, the big creation, or confection, or whatever it is called, which she wore as she came upon the stage was a triumph in the art of millinery. Mere men knew only that it hid her lovely face. If the audience hadn’t been as well bred as it was musical, there would have been a demonstration when she pulled out the pins, removed the hat and placed it at the foot of the conductor’s stand. Instead there was only an audible sigh of delight. Is it too much to hope that Mme. Homer’s sister artists will hasten to follow her example, and that the hosts of her sex who attend concerts and recitals may be moved to accede to the request of the managers: ‘Ladies will please remove their hats’?”

The “hat question” would not down, but in Philadelphia the situation was nothing to what it was in Boston, for the management was obliged to put the following alarming announcement in the Programme Book:

“His Honor, the Mayor, has notified the Management of Symphony Hall that, unless the law relating to the wearing of hats by ladies at public entertainments is obeyed at the Symphony rehearsals and concerts, he may be forced to revoke the license of Symphony Hall!”

“THE HAT AT THE CONCERTS “AN EARNEST REQUEST OF OUR WOMEN PATRONS

“A number of complaints have reached the Orchestra Association regarding the practice of women wearing their hats at the Orchestra Concerts, particularly at the Friday afternoon concerts, despite the notice printed each week in this program asking that for the comfort of others the hats shall be removed. This complaint has become so general that it now bids fair to result in a city ordinance, the same as in Boston and in Chicago, enforcing the removal of hats at all occasions of public amusements. This legal enforcement of what should be a matter of polite request ought not to be made necessary and the Orchestra Association earnestly asks of all its woman patrons that they will not permit this very simple matter to reach this acute stage. The Association would exceedingly regret to be compelled to carry out such an ordinance and it is within the power of each of our woman patrons to keep what after all is a matter of simple thoughtfulness within the bounds of politeness and consideration for others.”

Hats today are small, but all the listeners are not yet converted.

The next most disturbing element was, and is, the restlessness of the audience.

There is a mistaken idea that coming late and leaving early is peculiar to the modern era, and this day of haste. Far back in 1882 we know that people left concerts early from this notice in a programme of that year:

“NOTICE “The patrons of the Germania Orchestra Concerts are respectfully requested to be in their seats, on the evenings of the concerts, by eight o’clock punctually.

“Those persons who are unable to comply with this request, will kindly wait in the lobby until the close of the First Movement of the Symphony, when a pause will be made to enable them to reach their seats.”

Coming late is the habit of the American world at least, even when taking trains. Being locked out does not remedy this habit, it only evokes a few growls.

Again the management took up the subject through the programme:

“NOTES OF INTEREST

“The hat question is not the only question that arises from time to time to prevent that serene enjoyment of concerts, which is the ideal estate of things hoped for by Management and concert-goers. Perhaps in the Elysian fields, choirs armed with angelic harps, are listened to without distractions furnished by late-comers and early-goers, or by people whose views on the numbers interpreted are as obstreperous as their hats, or the numberless physical annoyances that make for confusion and noise, that seem to be inevitable in concert auditoriums the country over. And this is apropos of the fact that a subscriber has written in to say that ‘The general confusion during the last number of the concerts on Friday afternoons is most annoying,’ and she continues, ‘I am wondering whether a request cannot be put in the programme to stop this nuisance, as has been done with regard to the wearing of hats. This is what one meets with; almost as soon as the last number begins, hats and coats are put on, veils are arranged, and during the playing of the finale people keep leaving, causing a general feeling of unquiet and unrestfulness. This seems to me very discourteous, and is most annoying to those who really want to enjoy the concert from start to finish. I know that sometimes it is necessary for a subscriber to leave early, but may I suggest that the persons who have to leave before the last number, vacate their seats before the Orchestra starts to play.’

“All this seems reasonable enough, but it is a matter entirely in the hands of the concert-goers, who form their own ‘court of honor’ in these particulars.”

However, Philadelphia audiences have improved in concert manners since the olden time. Then the audiences, although considered ill-behaved, were much like European ones; they did throw things at the singers and did not hesitate to express their opinions of the performance. But the city has advanced, as can be seen by the following notice:

“Pistole Reward—To whoever can discover the person who was so very rude as to throw Eggs from the Gallery upon the Stage, last Monday, by which the Cloathes of some Ladies and Gentlemen were spoiled and the performance in some measure interrupted!”[39]

[39] Sonneck: “Early Concert Life.”

Now we do not throw things, the performance is only “in some measure interrupted” when we cough and sneeze during concerts and operas and occasionally come in late. Frequent interruptions of a performance by the screams and calls of displeased listeners, to say nothing of constant conversation were the order of the early days of public music. Not worse here than elsewhere, but annoying just the same. Now a whisper is hardly ever audible at concerts, and a hiss is called forth only by a modern composition too terrible to allow to pass unnoticed. A hiss every now and again is not an unhealthy sign. It shows that someone is listening; and there are a few coughs but always behind the conductor’s back.

Early in the life of the orchestra the public began to write letters of complaint to the management and to the newspapers. The management feels that this is a sign of healthy interest and welcomes these comments. It shows how strong the sense of possession of the orchestra is with its patrons.

Encores have vanished like the missiles of the past. Hats and restlessness are going out of fashion. The audiences of the Philadelphia Orchestra are wonderful groups of people, some of whom have held seats continuously since 1900. Their regular attendance has encouraged the Board of Directors and inspired the conductor and the musicians to artistic achievements. The party of the third part is doing its share toward making the concerts a success.

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