Toscanim-Beethoven

Toscanini-Beethoven

The short, thick figure of Arturo Toscanini stood on the conductor's dais at Carnegie Hall, Manhattan, last week. Italians, Germans, Americans beat their palms together, cheered. Soon he turned his back on them, raised his baton. He was no longer Toscanini, but Ludwig van Beethoven--the Beethoven of the surging First and the grandiose Ninth Symphonies. He needed no score to make soloists of the thousand musicians of the Philharmonic Orchestra. Beethoven was in his eyes, his fingertips, his baton. . . . The concert ended. There was a mighty ovation. The audience went home with its marrow tingling; critics groped for words. Toscanini, looking tired and coughing, prepared to sail for Milan. For a year, he says, he will retire. Said able Critic Samuel Chotzinoff of the New York World: "Where Toscanini goes is undoubtedly the centre of the musical world." If Toscanini retires, where then is the centre?