Astors, Vanderbilts, and the Battle for New York’s Opera Scene

In ‘This Week in History,’ when Alva Vanderbilt takes on the Astors to break into New York’s elite, it lays the groundwork for a much larger societal battle.

Metropolitan Opera House in New York, between 1860 and 1900. Library of Congress. Public Domain

“Commodore” Cornelius Vanderbilt was crude. One of the wealthiest people of the 19th century by way of steamships and railroads, he had earned his fortune through hard work, undercutting the competition, and, at times, via unscrupulous business maneuvers. He was not one for putting on airs.

Vanderbilt’s disdain for social graces and his devil-may-care attitude toward New York City’s societal elites did not last too far down the family line. Among those elites was the family of William Backhouse Astor, whose family fortunes had begun with his father John Jacob Astor. The Astor patriarch died with the honor of being America’s first millionaire. Vanderbilt, though, died as America’s richest man.

When William Backhouse Astor died in November 1875, he left behind over $40 million. When Vanderbilt died less than two years later on Jan. 4, 1877, he was worth over $100 million.

On Jan. 8, the Vanderbilt family gathered to hear the reading of the Commodore’s will. The will divvied out approximately $4 million among his surviving wife, eight daughters, and his son, Cornelius. “All the rest, residue, and remainder of the property and estate, real and personal, of every description, and wheresoever situated, of which I may be seized or possessed, and to which I may be entitled at the time of my decease,” read the final section of the will, “I give, devise, and bequeath unto my son, William H. Vanderbilt, his heirs, executors, administrators and assigns, to his and their own use forever.”

William had just become America’s richest man. A businessman made in the image of his father, he went on to double that fortune before his death in 1885. Two years before this financial windfall, when William was already in control of much of his father’s empire, his son William Jr., married Alva Smith.

Enter Alva

Smith was as headstrong as the Commodore. She wished to be part of New York’s elite, a community of wealthy socialites who belonged to the “old money” families. These families were spearheaded by Caroline Astor, the daughter-in-law of William Backhouse Astor. Caroline had organized an exclusive societal list she dubbed “The Four Hundred.” The number was based upon how many guests could fit in the ballroom of her illustrious home. Alva, despite her marriage to William Vanderbilt, was not on the list.

A portrait of Mrs. Astor by Carolus-Duran, in Paris 1890. This painting was placed prominently in Astor's house; she would stand in front of it when receiving guests for receptions. Today, it is held by the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Public Domain

The Vanderbilts, according to the Astors and her influential community, were viewed as part of New York’s “new money” families, which included the Morgans, the Goulds, and the Rockefellers. These were families who had made their fortunes during and after the Civil War. Alva was undeterred. She had the determination, and, now that she was a Vanderbilt, she had the means to break into the seemingly impenetrable Four Hundred.

A year after the Commodore died, which left an already wealthy William Vanderbilt Jr. an additional $2 million, Alva contacted the architect, Richard Morris Hunt. She requested he design her a mansion of French-Renaissance and gothic style on Fifth Avenue—the same street of Astor’s home.

‘A Battering Ram’

In 1882, a year before Hunt’s creation was completed, the Vanderbilts made their presence known on Fifth Avenue when William Sr. purchased three large townhomes for his daughters, which were dubbed the “Triple Palaces.” These three homes took up a city block between 51st and 52nd Street. Alva’s single home, which she would ironically dub Petit Chateau, was a corner residence on 660 Fifth Avenue and 52nd Street, across from the Triple Palace. The purpose of the mansion was not simply to flaunt her wealth, or even to flaunt convention, as the design of the home was hardly traditional. She had something else in mind:

“She wanted a weapon: a house she could use as a battering ram to crash through the gates of society,” suggested Arthur T. Vanderbilt II in his book “Fortune’s Children.”

Alva planned a large housewarming party for March 26, 1883. The party was to be a costume ball, which would host 1,200 guests—three times that of the Astor house. While the ball was still being prepared, Alva invited local journalists to visit her home to build up anticipation for what would undoubtedly be New York’s grandest party.

As The New York Times reported, “Amid the rush and excitement of business, men have found their minds haunted by uncontrollable thoughts as to whether they should appear as Robert Le Diable, Cardinal Richelieu, Otho the Barbarian, or the Count of Monte Cristo, while the ladies have been driven to the verge of distraction in the effort to settle the comparative advantages of ancient, medieval, and modern costumes.”

Alva Vanderbilt, costumed for her 1883 ball. Public Domain

The invitations were hand-delivered via Vanderbilt servants. An invitation did not arrive at the Astor house. Astor’s daughter, Carrie, implored her mother to do something. Astor inquired about an invitation, but Alva informed her it would be impossible to invite the Astors as they had never called upon the Vanderbilts. Alva had played her hand perfectly, though quite expensively—the party cost about $250,000 (about $8 million today).

Astor delivered her visiting card to the Vanderbilts’ Petit Chateau. The Astors received an invitation the following day. The opulence of the costume ball was overwhelming. Astor conceded, “We have no right to exclude those whom this great country has brought forward. The time has come for the Vanderbilts.”

The Grand Battleground

This battle between the old-money and new-money families had been won by the Vanderbilts. But this was simply part of the groundwork the new-money families were laying to remove the stranglehold the old money families had on New York society.

In New York City, indeed, throughout Europe, there was no better locus classicus of high society than the grand opera houses. New York’s opera scene had centered around the Academy of Music since its construction in 1854. It was the largest opera venue in the world at the time of its opening. Though it could house more than 4,600, the box seats were limited to 18. Much like Astor’s Four Hundred, the traditional gentry had established the Knickerbocker circle, which protected box seats from the “Newcomers.”

The opera was an opportunity for members of the wealthy elite to be seen. Indeed, the arrival of these old-money families often upstaged the opera performance itself. Many showgoers purchased tickets to not only see the performance, but also to catch a glimpse of New York’s finest. As post-Civil War millionaires continued to spring up, the limited seating arrangement became a source of aggravation and humiliation for the latest members of New York’s high society.

The primary stockholders of the Academy of Music offered to expand the box seating to 44, though these seats would be less prominently placed than the original 18. The proposal of 26 additional seats and their placements was woefully inadequate. The newcomers decided to build their own opera house.

The Opera War

Metropolitan Opera House, New York. Library of Congress. Public Domain

In short order, George Henry Warren, a lawyer for the Vanderbilt family, who had been in negotiations regarding expanding the Academy seating, secured enough capital from 62 subscribers for the new opera project. The new-money families organized the Metropolitan Opera Company, and, on April 10, 1880, the committee held its first meeting.

Despite the enormous price tag of $1.7 million (approximately $54 million today), to purchase the site and build the house, a site at West 39th Street and Broadway was acquired for the new opera house in March 1881. The committee commissioned J. Cleveland Cady, one of New York’s best architects, to design and build the new opera house. Cady’s portfolio included work for churches and universities, and he had recently designed the American Museum of Natural History.

The construction of the Metropolitan Opera House began. The opera house, which would become known as The Met, had five balconies, a main floor, and standing room for 380 people. Compared to the Academy of Music, it could house only 3,389 attendees. Most importantly, though, at least for the new American aristocracy, there were two levels of box seating and a row of baignoires, which had seating for 210 people known as the Golden Horseshoe. The new-money families of the Vanderbilts, the Morgans, the Goulds, and the Roosevelts would now have their place in the grandest of spotlights.

When the opera season of 1883 approached, the Metropolitan Opera Company decided to launch their season on the same night as the Academy of Music. It was during this week in history, on Oct. 22, 1883, that the Metropolitan Opera House hosted its first performance and began what became known as the Opera War.

Interestingly, the Met’s season opened with French composer Charles Gounod’s most famous opera, “Faust.” Unlike the main character of the opera, the devil’s bargain for the Vanderbilts and the new-money elites paid off. By 1886, the Academy stopped its opera performances, giving way completely to the Metropolitan Opera House and the overwhelming sway of the new-money families.

Recital at the old Met by pianist Josef Hofmann, Nov. 28, 1937. Public Domain

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