Maestro Toscanini “What Shall I Play For Them?”

Southland Times, Issue 23502, 7 May 1938, Page 13

Maestro Toscanini “What Shall I Play For Them?”

A SLENDER baton held in slim, white fingers ... a sculptured head with brushed-back unruly hair . . . deep-set eyes that pierce like little twin spotlights ... a heavy half-mou-stache ... a voluble tongue ... a snowy shirt hidden under black broadcloth. That is Arturo Toscanini, genius of the world of symphonic music.

An agile, flashing wit ... a mouth that can move men to smiles or tears ... a harsh voice that is sometimes heard singing above the string tones of his orchestra ... a brow that perspires in mid- w i n t e.r That, again, is Toscanini. A memory so wonderful that it never deigns to glance at a director’s score ... a brain reputed to be the storehouse of the greatest musical knowledge of our time ... a maestro who drills his musicians in the clipped maimer of a Prussian cavalryman.

This musician weaves symphonic magic without the rabbit-in-the-hat stage properties of other famous conductors He shudders at publicity. No newspaper man, it is believed, has ever seen him rehears-

ing his musicians. To him a rehearsal is a battle—with Toscanini the general. Every number is a skirmish. He explodes epithets when his men fail to give him their best. At 70 he lived retired in his Italian villa. Almost 71, he has gone to New York to direct one of the finest symphony organizations ever assembled. Why? He says it is to spread peace among men with music. Once a. week for 10 weeks he is giving an international interpretation to internationally famous works. And he is human enough to enjoy fame. A lifetime ago, at the Parma Conservatory, he was a struggling ’cellist. He was 19, and an unknown orchestra man with an operatic company playing in Rio de Janeiro when fate made him a conductor. The opera troupe’s regular conductor resigned. The company’s concert master took his place, but the audience hissed him down. The choral master was booed — and only Toscanini was left. He took the baton. The audience laughed at seeing a boy in a maestro’s, shoes. They greeted the last number With a tumult of handclaps. Toscanini had arrived. For 45 years he has guided world famous groups with a master’s hand. His efforts have been applauded by thousands. This season he is conducting for millions. From New York his symphony music is sent to the world.' Musicians have asked frequently about Toscanini’s ability to memorize every note, rhythm, pause and tone — actually every accent for each of the many instruments of his orchestra. The answer is that this frail but fiery leader has for years suffered from nearsightedness. His memory serves him where his eyes fail. It is on record that once Toscanini was called to take the place

of another conductor who became ill a day before a big concert The programme was Franchetti’s “Cristoforo Colombo.” In less than the 24 hours before the programme was to have its presentation, Toscanini had memorized the work. Toscanini’s faith in music is the faith of a soldier for his colours. Critics have called him the “high priest of the pure and integral.” They have railed him for his refusal to hurry, for his refusal to conduct the light classics of

the moment, for his stand against operatic claques—those paid applauding groups who until recently were a part of every big symphony performance. Breaking batons is a habit with him. A musician plays off key, and snap goes a baton. An audience seems cold . . . Toscanini gets warm . . . and another baton drops broken ai the base of the podium. Today a haircut is not such a trial to this music master. His. hair has thinned. But there was a time when barbers were his bane. He tried them by the dozen—and none was satisfactory. Always they cut his hair too short or left it too long. .He adjusted the matter by having his daughter wield the shears. Like Sir Thomas Beecham, Englands famous conductor, Maestro Toscanini expects near perfection from his men. Last year he threw down his baton in a studio the British Broadcasting Company because' 1 his orchestra fell down on the playing of the third movement of Beethoven’s Ninth symphony. In the studio at the time were the Austrian Minister, Baron George Franckenstein, former Queen Victoria Eugenie of Spain and many prominent musicians. Fifty radio stations of the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation network carry his music across the Dominion. One hundred-United States stations have the same programme. And.by shortwave transmission his message of musical goodwill spreads over Europe and beyond. Perhaps never before has a man so famous had an audience so vast Is it any wonder that Toscanini kept waking up at night, always trembling a little and asking his devoted wife the same question, “Carla, what shall I play for them?”