Disciple

Cloaked in mystery, Anton Seidl materialized in the New World as Wagner’s personal emissary. A sorcerer, he commanded musical New York and toured widely, everywhere received with awed deference. In Brooklyn, Laura Langford’s Seidl Society presented summertime Seidl concerts on Coney Island fourteen times weekly. Working women arrived in special railroad cars; Black orphans were regaled with roast chicken, ice cream, and the Tannhäuser March. A clairvoyant theosophist, Langford identified Seidl as a “chela” and traced the ceremonies of Parsifal to the Himalayas. Seidl’s appeal was uncanny; at the American premiere of Tristan und Isolde, women stood on their chairs and “screamed their delight.” At his funeral, women clasped elbows to force their way into the mobbed Metropolitan Opera House, a spectacle of chaos. His Manhattan friends—including Antonin Dvorák, whose New World Symphony he premiered—were legion. And yet Seidl remained a man apart, afflicted with secret sorrows.