The Sad Time Has Come

As they gathered in Carnegie Hall's orchestra room before the Sunday evening broadcast, members of the NBC Symphony seemed to sense what was coming. When the door opened, one of the men hissed for quiet and another called "Silenzio!" The musicians watched tensely as their 87-year-old conductor passed through the silence, leaning heavily on the arm of his son. Out in the hall, many of the audience who had come to witness the season's last Toscanini concert also guessed that it might be Arturo Toscanini's last stand with the NBC--and perhaps with any orchestra.

The evening's concert proved to be unlike any Toscanini had ever conducted before. Until two weeks ago, the Maestro's performances held the fire, vigor and precision for which he is famous. But at the final rehearsal he was upset, and walked out on the orchestra. At the concert--excerpts from his beloved Wagner operas--Toscanini's mind seemed to be far away. There were passages when his beat was robust as of old. There were other times when he almost stopped conducting, seeming to stand aside, listening to the music. Then the incredible happened: during the Bacchanal from Tannhaeuser, the superb orchestra actually became confused. Alert NBC engineers cut the broadcast off the air with an announcement about "operational difficulties." Incongruously, a few bars of Brahms' First Symphony drifted over the air, as a fill-in recording was played in the studio.

Strict Secret. But on the stage, the Maestro seemed to take hold of himself. He stepped to the edge of the podium, and, with careful gestures, gradually pulled the music together again. At the end of hfs final selection--the Prelude to Die Meistersinger--he left the podium before the final notes had sounded, and let the baton fall from his hand.

The audience clapped for five minutes. But Toscanini barricaded himself in his dressing room, did not return for his bows.

That night the papers carried the news which for a week had been kept a strict secret even from his own musicians: Arturo Toscanini, the greatest performing musician alive today, had retired. For almost a fortnight, his letter of resignation to RCA Board Chairman David Sarnoff had rested, unsigned, on his desk. Abruptly, on his 87th birthday, Toscanini made his decision, ran upstairs and signed it. Excerpt: "And now the sad time has come when I must reluctantly lay aside my baton and say goodbye to my orchestra ... I shall carry with me rich memories of these years of music making . . ."

Flaming Spirit. The NBC Symphony, formed especially for Toscanini 17 years ago and built by him into one of the world's great orchestras, will continue under guest conductors for at least the next eight weeks. Its probable replacement over NBC: the Boston Symphony, under Charles Munch (TIME, April 5).

Arturo Toscanini himself is expected to go to Italy for the summer. Whether he will return to the U.S.--or whether he will ever conduct again--nobody knows. But his 68 years on the podium are already a legend. Wrote New York Times Critic Olin Downes: "Should this have been his permanent farewell... his name will remain supreme and his achievement immortally revered. There has never been a more gallant and intrepid champion of great music, or a spirit that flamed higher, or a nobler defender of the faith."

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.