Three Famous Men Who Led Orchestras

Edited by Jo-Shipley Watson

I recall seeing Hans Richter, one of the great Wagnerian conductors, making his way to the platform all smiles and bows. He steps up to the conductor's stand and waves his baton here and there as easily as though it were some toy. I hardly need to say that his memory has for years and years been a thing of wonder - he never once looks at a score. His favorite text, and one he preached all the time and it is one we might all adopt, is what he calls "entoosum". Over and over he says that we do not need more music but more enthusiasm, and one catches the infection by watching Hans Richter conduct.

Another Wagnerian conductor who was very kind and also very severe was Anton Seidl, who died in New York City some sixteen years ago. The wife of a first violinist came to him one day and said "Mr. Seidl, my husband is always afraid of you". He smiled and answered "They all say that. But I do nothing. I only look."

But Anton Seidl's look conveyed more than words. If twenty violins were playing in unison he could tell at once the one who had drawn a false note. A player had need to be sure of himself who would perform with ease in the presence of this master.

Seidl preferred a light stick; a heavy baton made him nervous. If the music stand happened to be too high or too low it fretted him. He was a passionate love of Bach's music and Liszt he knew by heart.

What Von Bulow Did

Von Bulow's conducting was a revelation. No one could forget his personality. He played upon the orchestra as as though it were a single instrument. His epigram, "In the beginning there was rhythm", is notorious. The clearness and precision of his rhythm was unsurpassed. though von Bulow is supposed to have been very precise and definite in all that he did, he nevertheless could respond to impulse. The following is an account of a celebration given in commemoration of Emperor William. It was at a Philharmonic concert in Berlin and Wagner's kaisermarsch was selected to conclude the program. "Bulow", we are told, "was standing before his orchestra like a field marshal and conducted with passionate ardor. Suddenly at the point where the voices join in just when the orchestra sustains an organ point, he turned round to the audience and with a slight movement of his baton, but in reality far more with the irresistible power of his eye, he bade the audience rise. It was the work of a moment; the whole audience immediately rose and thousands of people, dressed in the national mourning, stood up motionless, listening to the might wave of sound that rushed over them."

Arthur Nikisch entered the ranks of the foremost conductors of Germany in a somewhat peculiar and discouraging way. It seems that the regular conductor had gone off for his vacation, and Nikisch was to take his place. Suddenly a telegram came to summon the old conductor from his rest, it was brief: "Orchestra refuses to play under Nikisch. Too young." The affair was arranged finally that the orchestra should resign after the rehearsal if they were still of the same mind.

Young Nikisch appeared at the rehearsal and proved his mettle. After the Tannhauser overture the musicians begged him with a storm of cheers and congratulations to continue the rehearsal at once, and the old conductor had not only the gratification of knowing that his orchestra was composed of men of his discernment but he had the still greater satisfaction of learning that his confidence had not been misplaced and that the young conductor had scored a triumph.