By the early 1900s, both Broadway and London’s West End had stopped paying much attention to Vienna’s theatrical output, but the capital of the Austria-Hungarian Empire was still home to a small but thriving musical theatre industry. A circuit of theatres presented a steady stream of native operettas, romantic works fl avored with splashes of broad comedy. Except for a few hits by the late Johann Strauss II, these works were rarely performed outside of the empire and neighboring Germany. Catchy melodies and colorful settings could not make up for libretti that offered little wit and sentimental, cliché-ridden plots. The Viennese seemed so content with the sheer sameness of these operettas that producers distrusted any project that did not adhere to the standard “boy gets girl, boy loses girl, boy regains girl” formula.
That contentment is why the managers of the Theatre an der Wein were skeptical about Die Lustige Witwe/The Merry Widow (1905, 400+ performances), a new work involving a couple refusing to admit that they love each other. But there was a gap in the theatre’s sched- ule, and no other new work was available. Composer Franz Lehar (1870–1948) had a few minor successes to his credit, and the libretto
130 MUSICAL THEATRE: A HISTORY
by Victor Léon (1858–1940) and Leo Stein (1861–1921) was based on
L’Attaché d’Ambassade , an 1861 French comedy by Henri Mielhac,
one of Offenbach’s favorite librettists. But the score was ambitious. Lehar used the sort of cutting-edge orchestral coloring one expected from serious composers like Debussy, Mahler, or Richard Strauss. Could such sophisticated sounds work in a lighthearted theatre piece? The composer believed in the show, and so did his two leading play- ers, soprano Mizzi Günther and her frequent costar Louis Treumann. When the producers decided to use leftover sets and costumes, Günther volunteered to pay for lavish new gowns, and Treumann per- sonally covered the cost for a custom made royal dress uniform. As rehearsals progressed, the producers became increasingly pessimistic about Lehar’s innovative music. At one point, they even offered Lehar fi ve thousand crowns to shut down the production. The composer refused, but such maneuvers must have added to everyone’s preopen- ing jitters.
The action of Die Lustige Witwe begins during a ball at the Paris embassy of Pontevedro, a fi ctional Eastern European kingdom that faces bankruptcy if its wealthiest citizen, lovely young widow Han- nah Glawari (Günther), should marry a foreigner. Ambassador Zeta orders the playboy diplomat Count Danilo (Treumann) to woo the widow, knowing full well that Hannah and Danilo were once lovers— and that their romance ended when the king would not permit his royal nephew to marry a then-poor commoner. Hannah realized that Danilo is unwilling to be classed with the fortune hunters that swarm about her, so she taunts him. From the original English translation:
Sonia: Well now, in view of my estates, my houses, my horses, my cows, my pigs . . .
Danilo: Quite a menagerie!
Sonia: . . . and my millions—I believe the noble old uncle would no longer object to the noble young nephew bestowing his affections on me if it had rested with him.
Danilo: (Going to her) And do you think that I? Sonia: (Cross LEFT) All men are alike.
A NEW CENTURY (1900 –1913) 131 Sonia: When a man says to me, “I love you,” I know he means my money.
Danilo: You class me with all other men? Sonia: You are all alike!
Danilo: (Angrily) I, at any rate … Sonia: Yes, they all say that.
Danilo: Do they? I, at any rate, shall never say to you, “I love you.” Sonia: (Going right up to him with upturned face) Never?
Danilo: (Rushing away from her) Never, never, never.
It is obvious that both characters are still crazy for each other, so the battle lines are drawn. To complicate matters, Ambassador Zeta’s much younger wife Valencienne is carrying on a secret affair with handsome Parisian roué Camille de Rosillon. The following day, dur- ing a garden party at Hannah’s mansion, Valencienne and Camille are almost caught kissing in a garden pavilion. Hannah takes the mar- ried woman’s place and impetuously announces that she will marry Camille, sending Danilo off in a jealous rage. That evening, Hannah turns her home into a replica of the famous nightspot Maxim’s for yet another party, at which she explains to Danilo that her engagement was a farce, and that under the terms of her husband’s will, she loses her fortune if she remarries. Danilo then publicly proclaims his love for her, only to learn that Hannah’s fortune automatically transfers to her new husband!
When Die Lustige Witwe opened on December 30, 1905, Vienna’s critics were modest in their praise, and it seemed as if the producers were right. Then Lehar’s infectious waltzes, mazurkas, and polkas made their way into Vienna’s cafes and ballrooms, where their sensuous sound spoke more eloquently than any newspaper revue. Ticket sales built to sellout, and the production kept extending its run. The produc- ers celebrated the 300th performance by fi nally investing in lavish new sets and costumes, and Lehar marked the 400th by adding a new over- ture. By that time, Die Lustige Witwe had also triumphed in Hamburg, Berlin, and Budapest. The fi rst English-language version of The Merry
132 MUSICAL THEATRE: A HISTORY
presented by George Edwardes in an English adaptation that made sev- eral major changes to the text: Pontevedro became Marsovia, Hannah Glawari became Sonia Sadoya, Count Danilo became a prince, and the fi nal scene was moved into the actual Maxim’s. This version was used when the show premiered at Broadway’s New Amsterdam Theatre later that same year (1907, 416 performances). Lehar’s masterpiece inspired a surprising selection of unauthorized Merry Widow merchandise, including cigars, hats, parasols, and a popular style of corset.
Frequently retranslated, recorded, and revived, it has been esti- mated that The Merry Widow was performed a half million times dur- ing its fi rst sixty years. It has made its way into the repertory of the New York’s illustrious Metropolitan Opera Company and is the only musical of the early 1900s that is regularly performed today—and not as a museum piece. In any language, The Merry Widow still provides wonderful entertainment. What has kept it so fresh, so vital? First credit must go to Lehar’s music, which still rates as one of the most seductive, beguiling scores in any genre. Léon and Stein’s libretto is just as seductive and beguiling, and has kept audiences laughing with char- acters that are three-dimensional and believable. Artistically speak- ing, Lehar’s music and the Léon-Stein libretto are the most important match in The Merry Widow , because they are thoroughly integrated, and this coherence keeps the show engaging and enjoyable.
At fi rst glance, The Merry Widow is a witty story about true love ultimately leading to marriage, but on closer inspection, this show offered audiences an enticing glimpse of how the upper half lived in fi n de siècle Paris, with diplomatic intrigue, forbidden encounters, and the decadence of an infamous eatery where the cream of French soci- ety mixed with dancing girls of the demimonde. Lehar’s sensual waltz became a respectable expression of sexual passion. When Danilo and Hannah swirl about to the strains of the main love theme, it is lust in three-quarter time, adding a new degree of sensuality to a form that reached back to Offenbach, Gilbert and Sullivan, and Johann Strauss. This alluring and somewhat daring mix was presented in such a styl- ish and melodic package that even the prudes approved.
Léon and Stein changed the way musical librettos would be shaped in the decades to come. Up until The Merry Widow , all the characters in musicals took part in one central storyline. A secondary couple was often on hand to provide comic relief, but could invariably be edited
A NEW CENTURY (1900 –1913) 133
out of the libretto without affecting the main story’s outcome. The
Merry Widow was the fi rst major musical to make its main storyline
and subplot completely interdependent. The clandestine romance between Camille and Valencienne—and the jealous reaction of Valen- cienne’s bumbling husband—plays a key role in resolving Hannah and Danilo’s story. When properly used, such interwoven plots make librettos far more interesting, so it is not surprising that they became a standard feature in operettas and musical comedies.
Hannah and Danilo were the fi rst in a long line of musical stage lovers who would captivate audiences by refusing to say “I love you.” Such couples had long been a literary staple (for example, Beatrice and Benedick in Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing ), but the come- dic tension generated by such relationships has proven particularly sympathetic to musicalization. Simply put, it is fun to watch lovers playing “hard to get,” and that fun seems to increase when the game is set to music. Oklahoma!, Kiss Me Kate, My Fair Lady, Hello, Dolly!,
Grease, and many other musicals would echo The Merry Widow ’s
core theme of love denied in the name of pride.
The Merry Widow set off a demand for more Viennese waltz-fests
in Britain and America. Dozens of such works were exported to Lon- don and New York in the years that followed. One of the most success- ful was Oscar Straus’s The Chocolate Soldier (1909, 296 performances in New York; 1910, 500 performances in London) with its story of a young woman falling in love with a peace-loving enemy soldier. “My Hero” (“Come, come, I love you only, my heart is true”) became one of the most popular songs of the era. It seemed that the only person who did not like the show was playwright George Bernard Shaw, who so despised this romanticized version of his anti-romantic comedy
Arms and the Man that he would not allow any more musical adapta-
tions of his plays during his lifetime. This is why Shaw’s Pygmalion only became available for musicalization halfway into the new cen- tury, when it was adapted into My Fair Lady .
Vienna-born operettas continued to fl ood Broadway and London’s West End, giving American and British producers a steady crop of pre- tested material. It would take two things to stem this musical tide: an American composer capable of synthesizing a new and sophisticated American sound, and a nightmarish war that was both unnecessary and unavoidable.