More About Von Bülow.
Von Bülow had a continual headache, and that was sufficient excuse for his irritability. After his death, in accordance with his wishes, an autopsy was made, and it was found that a displaced bone pressed against his brain, and this was the cause of his trouble. But Von Bülow as a conductor was supremely great. His stronghold was as a Beethoven conductor, and he considered Beethoven the greatest composer. He said that the Ninth Symphony could not be appreciated in one hearing, so he played it twice at a certain concert. Needless to say the hall was almost empty during the repetition.
He did a similar thing once at another time with a composition of Brahms. His great mentality made him an ardent admirer of Brahms; and on this occasion the people were not all enthusiastic, upon which Von Bülow turned to the audience and said, sharply, "What! you do not like it? I shall make you like it!" And he immediately had the whole piece repeated, to the dismay of the audience. After that lesson the people applauded loudly whenever a Brahms piece was played. I wonder if Dr. Holmes would not have classed Von Bülow among the men who have "squinting brains," as he calls them?
Von Bülow could not endure having any one present at his rehearsals, though it is said that people would be willing to risk a good deal for that enjoyment. A very good story is told on this subject about a few ladies who once gained access to the hall just before the rehearsal was to begin. Von Bülow saw them, of course—for he wanted to see everything that was to be seen, and also what was not to be seen—and he determined to get them away without speaking to them. So he said to the orchestra, "We will commence to-day by practising the bassoons." Thirty-two bars rest to begin with, during which Von Bülow beat time unflinchingly—then a snort here, and a snort there, for a little while—then sixty-four bars rest—then a repeat—but the would-be auditors of the rehearsal had made their exit!
At a certain concert the audience was very enthusiastic over a Meyerbeer March, I think it was, which his orchestra had just played, and which Von Halson, director for the opera, had also recently played. Seeing the immense excitement, he turned and said, "No wonder you like it after hearing it at the circus which Von Halson runs." Some time after came the memorial concert for Von Halson. The conductor, fearing that there might be some trouble, said he would not have Von Bülow in the house. So he gave all the ushers portraits of Von Bülow, and told them to turn him out of the hall. It was done; but Von Bülow knew well his own favoritism, and the next day took a clever revenge, which rather turned the tables. He was to play the piano at a concert, and for one of his selections he chose a popular air of Mozart, the words of which happened to fit the occasion, and played variations to it. The house of course saw the joke, and there was an immense round of laughter and applause.
Von Bülow was once playing an accompaniment for a certain singer. She had sung but a few phrases, when Von Bülow's admiration and emotion were excited to their fullest extent; and he was then prompted to do a strange thing. Rising from his seat, he pushed the stool aside, and kneeling down before the instrument, he finished the accompaniment in that position, saying that he could not accompany such a voice except on his knees.
Do we not love Von Bülow the better for this?
Marie Thèrése Berge.
New York City.