Very Koussevitzky

With the final chord of the Prelude to Die Meister singer, the courtly figure on the podium put down his baton, bowed elegantly to his audience, and strode from the stage. The orchestra and audience remained in their seats, but Serge Koussevitzky did not return. In his place, amid a sudden hush, gold-spectacled Henry Cabot, president of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, slowly mounted the stage. The word had already gotten out that Harry Cabot had a very special announcement to make, and most of the audience had a good idea of what it was.

In 24 years, Bostonians had come to boast of their Russian-born conductor as their grandparents once boasted of Emerson or Dr. Holmes. He was a welcome autocrat at any Brahmin table, and when his concerts were over, Boston dowagers liked to flock backstage to kiss and be kissed on both cheeks.

Members of the orchestra were not so affectionate. They knew him in rehearsal as a sweatered tyrant ("Don't spik! If you spik, I go!") who would exhaust them by demanding repetitions until his long-awaited "Vonnderful! Ah, vonnderful!" finally came. But they shared with him a fierce pride in their orchestra, which Bostonians--critics, musicians and public--regard as America's best. (Less partisan critics believe that the Boston and the Philadelphia are hard to choose between, with the New York Philharmonic a strong third.)

No Ovation. Now Cabot, in his dry Yankee voice, read a letter from Koussevitzky, announcing his retirement. When Cabot had finished, he looked expectantly up at the balcony, but Koussevitzky was not sitting where Cabot had hoped he would be. His bride of a year, who was there, quietly slipped out. Koussevitzky had gone to his room to change his shirt; he wanted no demonstration.

The old conductor had carefully planned his retirement. "When I was young," he explained afterwards, "I told myself I would retire at the highest point in my career. I feel that it is the time." His 75th birthday comes in July 1949. Koussevitzky will go on conducting until he has celebrated his 25th anniversary in Boston next year--marking a longer period as conductor of the Boston Symphony than any man before him. He was pleased with his timing: "It is very Koussevitzky. It is my style."

No Shock. The choice of Koussevitzky's successor was something of a surprise, but not a shock. Koussevitzky's 29-year-old protege Leonard Bernstein had long had the inside track with his sponsor, but not with the symphony's trustees. The post went instead to 56-year-old Alsatian Charles Muench, who first came to the U.S. in December 1946, has since guest-conducted in Boston, New York, Chicago and Los Angeles.

Bostonians will find some things about Charles Muench very Koussevitzky. As the elegant conductor of the Paris Conservatoire Orchestra ("the oldest and best orchestra in France," says Muench), "le beau Charles" was the idol of lady concertgoers. Like Koussevitzky himself (whose second wife was rich), Charles Muench is independently wealthy. His wife, the daughter of a Swiss condensed-milk millionaire, inherited a fortune said to be close to $1,000,000.

He is apt to be flashy in his conducting ("Was that the Beethoven Eighth? demanded one Proper Bostonian when Muench guest-conducted in Boston last year, "or the Battle of Waterloo?"). But when he is at his best, Bostonians will find the same electric brilliance and showy skill to which Koussevitzky has accustomed them.

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