Part 21
From the very first chords of the “Eroica” Symphony, I noticed that the slight improvements in our scenic surroundings, and above all the fact that the house was filled with people, had acted like magic on the acoustics. The tone of the orchestra had become full, clear, and incisive. My spirits rose and I forgot everything except the orchestra before me and Beethoven’s score. After each movement the applause was deafening, and at the end of the symphony there was joyous shouting from the galleries. We seemed to have played our way into their hearts, and after the first part there was a steady stream of French musicians to my dressing-room to congratulate me on our marvellous orchestra and its ensemble, and to express their delight that we had come over on such a friendly mission. Among them were: Vincent d’Indy, Gabriel Fauré, André Messager, Gabriel Pierné, Theodore Dubois, Paul Vidal, Nadia Boulanger, and many others.
As we turned into the French part of our programme the enthusiasm became still greater, and at the conclusion of “Istar” some of my first violins discovered the composer, d’Indy, in the audience and, pointing toward him, stood up to applaud. In a minute not only the whole orchestra but the audience were on their feet and with loud cries of “Auteur!” “d’Indy!” the house was in an uproar until d’Indy, his face as red as a beet, was compelled to rise and acknowledge this tribute.
The programme finished with the marvellous “Daphnis et Chloe,” by Ravel, in which the luscious tone of the orchestra and its virtuosity demonstrated themselves so successfully that not only did the concert come to a tumultuous climax, but several of the French papers announced afterward that this work had never had such a vivid and perfect rendering before.
My interpretation of the Beethoven “Eroica” Symphony puzzled some of the newspaper critics, as it did not conform to their French traditions. These do not permit such slight occasional modifications of tempo as modern conductors brought up in the German traditions of Beethoven believe essential to a proper interpretation of this master. But I was much pleased and honored to receive a complete approval of my interpretation, not only verbally from several of my French colleagues, but also from M. d’Indy in an article which he wrote on our concert and in which he said:
Leaving aside everything that Walter Damrosch has done for our country and the French musicians, generous acts for which our gratitude has often been expressed, I wish mainly to pay my tribute to the extremely expressive interpretation at the concerts he has given lately at the Opera. Whether it is classical, romantic, or modern music, Damrosch first of all endeavors to set off and illustrate what we call the “melos,” the element of expression, the voice that must rise above all the other voices of the orchestra. He knows how to distribute the agogic action, the dynamic power, and he is not afraid—even in Beethoven’s works and in spite of the surprise this caused to our public—to accelerate or slacken the movement when the necessities of expression demand it.
The French are a courteous people, and at the end of the concert there was an even greater crowd of musicians and friends behind the scenes to express their pleasure at our success.
The programmes of the other two concerts were as follows:
MAY 8 1. Overture, “Le Roi d’Ys”................................... Lalo 2. Symphony, “From the New World”............................ Dvořák 3. Concerto for Violin and Orchestra in B Minor.............. Saint-Saëns MR. SPALDING 4. _a._ “Pélléas et Mélisande” (Fileuse)..................... Fauré _b._ Ma Mère L’Oye (Les Pagodes).......................... Ravel 5. Prelude to “Die Meistersinger”............................ Wagner
MAY 9 1. Symphony in C (Jupiter)................................... Mozart 2. Poems (d’après Verlaine).................................. Loeffler 3. Symphony in D Minor....................................... Franck 4. Negro Rhapsody for Piano and Orchestra.................... Powell JOHN POWELL
The two young American artists, Albert Spalding and John Powell, made a splendid impression, and of the orchestral works the Prelude to the “Meistersingers” of Wagner and the Mozart and Franck Symphonies received special acclaim.
It was delightful to hear the half-suppressed “Ah’s” and “Bravos!” so characteristic of the French audience after the Andante of the Mozart Symphony. I confess that the more spontaneous approval which European audiences give in drama, opera, or concert is exceedingly gratifying and stimulates the artist to the very best that is in him. Every artist who is worth his salt will always approach an audience with the feeling that they are as strangers whom through his art he must win over as friends. This feeling exists whether he makes his first bow as a beginner or appears for the three thousandth time after twenty years of public work. It is a wonderful moment for him when, after having done his best and given all there is in him, his audience show by the intensity of their approval that the “song which he breathed into the air” has found its home “in the heart of a friend.”
On Sunday morning, May 9, at eleven, the orchestra of the Conservatoire gave a great party in our honor as a return courtesy for one that we had given to the French Orchestra on their arrival in America in 1918. We all met at the _Salle du Conservatoire_ where M. Leon, representing the Ministry of Fine Arts, was waiting to receive me. With the Conservatoire Orchestra were various French masters, including the venerable Gabriel Fauré, and Messager, the conductor.
After various speeches of welcome, I was presented with a beautiful engraving of Beethoven and made an honorary member of the Conservatoire Orchestra. We then marched to the _Taverne du Nègre_, where luncheon was served. There were so many different kinds of wine-glasses before each plate that I asked permission to make a short speech in English to my orchestra. It consisted of the following:
“Gentlemen, remember we have a concert this afternoon, so please mix your wine with much water.”
Needless to say, in all the speeches the theme of the war was constantly played upon by the French orators—how much France owed to our intervention and to the bravery of our soldiers.
It would have been very pleasant to stay on in Paris, where our orchestra were beginning to feel very much at home, and rest upon our young laurels, but our tour had only begun and we had to carry on!
In the meantime Mr. Engles and our treasurer, Roger Townsend, had to smooth out all kinds of new difficulties and complications, among which the passport nuisance was the greatest. War conditions still prevailed and passports had to be carefully viséd by the ambassadors of every country we visited. All our orchestra were practically Americans, but technically they belonged to America, France, Belgium, Italy, England, Russia, Germany, Austria, and Czecho-Slovakia. Many of them had had only their first American papers when the war broke out, and according to war regulations could not yet obtain their American citizens’ papers. They were therefore compelled to travel on foreign passports and some of their visés were exceedingly difficult to obtain, as new countries like Czecho-Slovakia, for instance, had not yet a properly organized diplomatic service. Others, like Russia, were not recognized at all and our Russians had to travel on Kerensky passports issued for them by the Kerensky ambassador who was still “holding the fort” in Washington. Through the kindly help of Mr. Grew, councillor at our embassy in Paris, and other friends in high places, we finally obtained our hundred visés and left Paris for Bordeaux on May 11, and—in spite of the railroad strike—with the passage of our train assured as far as Bordeaux.
The only fly in the ointment was a little revolution before we left the station. Some of the members of the orchestra had brought their wives and even a few small children to Europe with them. They very naturally desired to give their families a good time and wanted to have them with them and in the orchestra cars on the entire trip. As railroad space was exceedingly limited and the bachelor and straw-widower members of the orchestra strenuously objected to this addition, I had to veto the plan, and painted the difficulties of travel, hotels, passports, etc., in such lurid fashion that I succeeded in preventing their departure from Paris with us. The husbands promised to leave their families in Paris until our return, about three weeks later, but as all the wives and children came to the station to see their respective husbands and fathers off, I was nervous until the last doors of the car were slammed to and the whistle of the French locomotive, which always sounds like the shrill wail of the damned, announced that we were really off.
The orchestra were in a very gay mood and insisted on getting out every time the train stopped even a second, and then having to be pulled back as the train started again without any warning. A passport picture of one unfortunate little second violinist was sent through all the cars, pasted on a piece of paper with the inscription: “Wanted for bigamy. Member of the New York Symphony Orchestra. Reward of three francs if returned dead or alive to George Engles, Manager.” This had been perpetrated by Willem Willeke, who was not only a master violoncellist but the master mind behind almost every practical joke indulged in during the tour.
We arrived in Bordeaux that evening and were welcomed at our hotel by a typical little hotel manager, with his head entirely bald on top but beautifully covered with the long hair combed forward from the back of his head. He also had a full beard neatly parted in the middle, and of course a long double-breasted frock coat. He rubbed his hands with the pleasure of welcoming us and assured us that all our rooms were properly reserved. Actually it took us three-quarters of an hour to get ourselves and our baggage straightened out in the proper rooms. Our party consisted of Albert and Mrs. Spalding, John Powell, Mary Flagler, my daughter Gretchen, and myself, and the highly efficient manager had sent each one of us at first to the wrong rooms while our bags had still further gone astray. But a good bath and a delicious dinner at the famous _Chapon Fin_ put us all in good humor.
The theatre at which we were to play the following evening was directly opposite to our hotel and its frontal façade is without doubt the most beautiful I have ever seen. Such examples of the finest architecture of the eighteenth century stand out in remarkable contrast to their more modern surroundings and it is difficult to understand how French architects, with such noble examples to follow and with a school in Paris which is still considered the best in the world, should have allowed their art to degenerate to such an extent within the last thirty years. One has but to compare the noble façade of the Place de la Concorde with such modern monstrosities as, for instance, the Hotel Mercedes or the Palais de Justice at Tours, to realize that in their endeavor to break away completely from their own noblest traditions they have deliberately courted anarchy, for their architecture rests upon no laws of beauty or symmetry. Many of our best American architects are graduates from the École des Beaux Arts in Paris, but they have not become revolutionaries and have understood how to adapt their appreciation of the best French traditions to American needs. The results demonstrate an art of which every American can be proud.
Our concert, which was given under the auspices of the local symphony society, was received with great favor. The interior of the theatre is delightfully intimate, and the audience gave the impression of belonging to an old musical civilization. We were presented with huge bouquets of flowers tied with the American colors. Albert Spalding’s performance made a splendid impression, and the “Meistersinger” Overture came in for special enthusiasm.
But what was my astonishment at suddenly beholding three of the “orchestra wives,” who were supposed to have remained in Paris, seated in one of the boxes. I do not know to this day whether they rode on the bumpers or in one of the baggage-cars. However, they were charming ladies; and, as a married man, I could not be too angry with them or their indulgent husbands. We compromised in the matter by permitting them to continue with us for the rest of the tour, provided that they and their husbands occupied space elsewhere than that reserved for the orchestra, and that they looked out for their own passports whenever we approached the border.
As we returned to our hotel after the concert the smiling hotel manager stood in the lobby to receive us and to express his congratulations at the success of a _concert merveilleux_. As we entered the electric lift to go to our respective rooms, he himself shut the grating on us and pressed the button to send us slowly upward. (All French lifts move slowly.) Its almost celestial calmness irresistibly brought the Finale of Gounod’s “Faust” to my mind, when _Marguerite_ ascends heavenward. I began to sing the melody of the “_Anges radieux_,” and just as we got up to the first floor we suddenly heard the voice of the hotel manager, a vibrant tenor, enthusiastically continuing the trio from below. I gazed downward and there he was, his face raised ecstatically toward us and his hand pressed to his double-breasted frock coat—perhaps a poor hotel manager but certainly an enthusiastic lover of music.
The newspapers of Bordeaux were full of praise about our concert, but one of them said: “The orchestra played with that dryness characteristic of all North Americans.” Alack and alas! Had the Eighteenth Amendment, which went into effect the previous January, already made its dreadful influence felt?
Lyons was to be the next city on our itinerary, but unfortunately the railroad strike had completely isolated it and there was no way of reaching it from Bordeaux. We were therefore very reluctantly compelled to cancel the concert. Every seat had been sold long before, and as Lyons ranked next to Paris in musical importance the cancellation was a great disappointment to us.
The next morning Engles brought me a telegram which he had just received from our general manager in Paris, to the effect that at Marseilles the hall in which we were to play had been condemned by the fire department as unsafe, and that therefore the concert would have to be given at another theatre and under different management. Engles did not like the look of things and begged me, as he could not speak French, to go with him to Marseilles and look over the ground with him. We were to have played in Marseilles under the auspices and management of the local symphonic organization, which, however, turned out to be but a small and not very influential body of musicians, most of whom were amateurs. Their secretary, who was to attend to the details of management, was a newspaper man and an amateur double-bass player, of which instrument he was very proud. When we arrived, only two days before the concert, we found that absolutely nothing had been done to advertise it. There were no posters, no advertisements, and the manager of the theatre to which we had been transferred did not even know before our arrival whether we were a jazz band of colored people from America or perhaps a troupe of wandering minstrels.
We were to give two concerts, and at first it seemed as if, under such disheartening circumstances, it were better to cancel them and proceed to Monte Carlo and Italy, where already sold-out houses awaited us. The newspaper man, who was the real delinquent, was nowhere to be found. He had gone to the country “_pour se reposer_” and was not expected until the following day. Luckily the theatre manager proved to be of the right sort. When he saw what our organization really stood for he would not hear of cancellation, and immediately went around to all the newspaper offices with Engles. Posters, the principal method of advertising in Europe, appeared on the street corners as if by magic; and while it was too late to attract a large audience for the first concert, he assured us that if this concert were the success which he expected, the theatre, which held about twenty-four hundred people, would be entirely sold out for the second concert on Sunday afternoon. His prophecy proved correct. There were not more than eight hundred people at the first concert, but as they were real sons of the _Midi_ and as they had never heard a symphonic organization of such size and importance in their lives, they went mad. They applauded with their hands, with both feet, with their canes and umbrellas. They shouted in eight-part harmonies and the rafters of the theatre trembled in sympathy. After the concert they lined up at the box-office in a great crowd while the theatre manager, grinning from ear to ear, said: “Did I not tell you?”
In the meantime the delinquent local secretary-manager turned up and I was fully prepared to annihilate him for his lack of proper preliminary advertising for our concert, but as he immediately called me “Cher maître” and expressed his delight in such eloquent French at the coming of so notable an organization as ours, he completely spiked my guns and I found myself unable to get in a word edgewise, much less tell him what I really thought of him.
I have told before that he was an amateur double-bass player in the local orchestra, and this was evidently the ruling passion of his life, although I never could understand why an amateur should choose this particular instrument for his delectation. After the second concert and while the hall was still ringing with the shouts of the fiery citizens of Marseilles, he came into my dressing-room as I thought to add his tribute of praise, but, alas, all he said was: “Cher maître, I could hardly hear your double-bass players during the entire concert.” I presume that at the concerts of his orchestra he was so taken up with his own double-bass part that as he played he heard nothing of the other instruments around and about him. He became, so to speak, intoxicated with the resonance of his own instrument. At our concert, seated in the audience, he suddenly found, poor man, that the double-bass was not the only pebble on the orchestral beach, and that occasionally the violins, the wood winds, or the brasses had also something of importance to enunciate. It must have been a sad revelation to him, and I do not wonder that he refused to accept it.
In the meantime the strike fever was spreading in every direction, and there was not a trolley running through the town of Marseilles nor a boat leaving the harbor. The effect was a very curious one, as the streets were filled with great crowds restlessly moving up and down, and seemingly without work or affairs of any kind to keep them busy. In several of the streets small bands were playing in roped-off circles while thirty couples or so were dancing madly around with hundreds of others outside the ropes watching them. The huge audience who arrived for our Sunday afternoon concert must have come on foot, as there was not a wheel turning anywhere.
After we got back to the hotel the great iron doors were suddenly closed and bolted, for quite a riot started in front of it. The trolley company was trying to run a car through the city, manned by young mechanics from the School of Technology, and every once in a while a mob of strikers would rush at them, break the windows of the car, and pull off the young strike-breakers. But it was all done in rather an amiable fashion, while a crowd of men in light straw hats applauded with their hands and shouted “Bravo,” all as if it were a performance gotten up for their pleasure. Then a couple of amiable gendarmes would come along and in the same placid fashion place the young men on the car again, which would then proceed for another few yards or so. Suddenly, however, this seeming comedy took a tragic turn. The mob made a vicious lunge; they were stopped by the police who suddenly acted with great energy, and soon there were several men seriously hurt. In the meantime the strike-breakers had again connected their car with the electric wire, and although the car with its broken windows looked a perfect wreck, it moved triumphantly along the tracks and the strike was broken. Next morning every car was running again.
Later that afternoon I received a visit from Morris Tivin, the first double-bass player of our orchestra. He brought with him a boy of fifteen, a little Russian Jew, who had a most remarkable history. He had escaped from a prison in Russia and worked his way to Constantinople. As he was a violinist of exceptional ability, he had made a meagre living there playing in the cafés. Having read in some old Paris paper that we were to give a concert in Marseilles he had quickly made up his mind to get there and perhaps through our help reach the promised land of America. He arrived in Marseilles as a stowaway after incredible hardships, and when he introduced himself to some of his Russian compatriots in my orchestra, he was literally starving and without a cent in his pockets. Within a few hours our orchestra had subscribed enough money to send him to New York with several letters to their colleagues at the Musical Union, and within a week after his arrival he was engaged as second concert master at a large salary in one of our Western orchestras.
The generous spirit displayed by our men, which demonstrated itself in so quick and practical a fashion, is characteristic of the rank and file of our profession. I have never known a case of an orchestra musician or chorus singer in need that his colleagues were not immediately ready to help, and as their own earnings are comparatively small their generosity is much greater in proportion than that of many a rich man whose name figures largely among the subscribers to our charitable organizations.
Our next concert was to be in Monte Carlo, and I motored with my wife from Marseilles along the Riviera, reaching Monte Carlo on the evening of May 17. The orchestra had already arrived by train and were to be found all over the town photographing points of interest, especially the beautiful statue erected to Hector Berlioz, which we were all glad to honor. Every orchestra musician adores this great master, who in his scores has done more than any other to develop new tone combinations in the symphonic orchestra since Beethoven and before Wagner.
A great many of our men naturally went to the Casino to behold the world-famous gambling tables, but if I ever had any worries about their squandering their earnings they quite disappeared. Many only watched at the outer edge, or else bet one chip very timidly. An aged harpy, who looked as though she had played at Monte Carlo since the time of Napoleon III and who kept a note-book of her losses and winnings and never bet less than a hundred francs at a time, took it upon herself to teach one of our talented young flute players how to play with one white chip. She kept him in a state of the most panting thrills, while she placed his bets for him.