Toscanini is one of the greatest conductors living to-day. His range extends to the music of all countries, and I have heard him conduct Mozart’s “Don Giovanni,” Verdi’s “Falstaff,” and Wagner’s “Meistersinger” in one week with equal penetration into their beauties and, incidentally, without an orchestral score in front of him. He has made a virtue of necessity, as he is almost blind and has therefore developed his power of memory to a greater extent than I have ever seen in any other musician, not even excepting Hans von Bülow.
The result of Italy’s more serious attitude toward instrumental music shows itself not only in the quality of Italian orchestras, but in a group of highly talented young composers who devote their principal efforts to symphonic music, and who are creating works that rank with the best that other countries are now producing. Several years ago I produced an orchestral suite written by a boy of sixteen, Victor di Sabata, which showed remarkable talent and fine orchestral coloring. Such men as Resphighi, Sinigaglia, Tommasini, Casella, Pizzetti, and Malipiero have found frequent places on our programmes, and I expect still further contributions, constantly growing in importance, from this new development of the musical genius of Italy.
I was much touched by the interest which our ambassador, Mr. Johnson, constantly showed in our success and well-being. He had invited the Queen Mother and several of the young Princesses to our concerts, and at the many official and governmental functions which I had to attend he was a sympathetic companion and real brother artist. He always responded very felicitously when occasion demanded, and all my Italian musician friends loved him.
At a farewell supper which I gave on the last night John Powell, whose negro Fantasy had interested our Italian audiences greatly, and the composer, Malipiero, sat next to each other, but as John speaks English and Malipiero Italian and French, the silence between them for about ten minutes was deep and profound. Suddenly they broke into the most fluent conversation and the words burst forth in torrents. They had suddenly discovered to their mutual delight that the German language was a common meeting-ground.
I left Rome very reluctantly. Quite apart from the many personal friends that I had made there, its eternal beauty again enveloped me and bade me stay.
I cannot imagine any movement or institution better calculated to help young American artists to further develop and stimulate their creative abilities than the American Academy in Rome. It has quite recently added three music fellowships to those for painters, sculptors, architects, and archæologists, and, as it has done me the honor to elect me as one of the trustees and the still greater honor of giving my name to one of the music fellowships, I revisited Rome in the spring of 1922 especially to observe the workings of our academy. I was amazed and delighted beyond words. The academy is intended for young artists who have already acquired the technic of their profession. They are selected by competition and are given absolute freedom from bread worries for three years, the first two of which they spend at the home of the academy, the Villa Aurelia. During the third year they may travel or live anywhere in Europe where they think their artistic aims can be further advanced. Rome and its surroundings are so romantic and its art treasures so unique that the perception of beauty and its crystallization into works of art cannot fail to be further stimulated in those of our American boys who have the good fortune to achieve a fellowship.
It is, of course, impossible for any man-made institution to guarantee that every incumbent will develop into a great genius, but it is certain that as only the best are chosen, they will become still better through such happy three years, and if among every two hundred only one real genius is found and thus encouraged the academy will have justified its existence.
Two of our music fellows had already arrived at the academy, Leo Sowerby, of Chicago, and Howard Hanson, of San Jose, California, and had immediately, with characteristic American energy, made themselves part and parcel of Roman musical life. The Italian musicians had welcomed them with open arms, and our boys were constantly found at the concerts and rehearsals of the Santa Cecilia or having some of their Italian musician friends at the Villa Aurelia for chamber-music, and a cup of tea in the beautiful gardens surrounding the villa.
America owes a great debt of gratitude to Major Felix Lamond, through whose single-mindedness of purpose and energy the fund has been collected which has made the three music fellowships possible. He is now continuing the work by giving his life to the music department of the academy, and as its director acts as guide, counsellor, and friend to its young incumbents. I must confess that during my visit I had the constant yearning that I might be forty years younger and could spend three wonderful years in Rome under such ideal conditions.
The last night Major Lamond, his wife, and I dined on the roof of the Villa Aurelia with Director Stevens, who is in supreme charge of the entire academy. According to Roman custom dinner began after nine o’clock. Beneath us and stretching out toward the Campagna was the entire city of Rome with its electric lights appearing like magic in every direction. Beyond the Campagna rose the mountains, still visible in the faint twilight. Opposite to us rose the hill of the Pincio Gardens, and on the left, just visible over the tree tops, flamed the cross of Saint Peter’s. The silence was profound until suddenly the bells of Rome began to vibrate from all directions, and finally, faint but clear, came the sound of a bugle from the military barracks, blowing the retreat. By this time I was sunk in a silent ecstasy, but a further climax was yet in store for me, for as the last notes of the bugle trembled into silence a nightingale from the bushes directly below us began to pour forth her song.