r a
Beethoven symphony--not the noise of big drum, cymbals and so on; but
the continuous slight discords caused by some of the players being
various degrees in front and others various degrees behind; the
scratching produced by uncertain bowing, or by an unfortunate fiddler
finding himself a little behind the general body (as he does
sometimes) and making a savage rush to catch it up; the hissing of
panting flautists; and the barnyard noises produced by exhausted
oboe-players. Even with Richter, stolid and trustworthy though he is,
these unauthorised sounds count for a great deal; and with a conductor
like Mottl, who varies the tempo freely in obedience to his mood in
the most rapid pieces, they count for very much more. They result in a
continuous murmur which, so to speak, fills the interstices in the
network of the music, covering wrong notes, and giving the mass of
tone a richness and unity which otherwise it would lack. In such
movements as the Finale of the Fifth symphony this continuous murmur
does the work done for the piano by the upper strings without dampers
and the lower ones when the pedal is pressed down; it gives solidity
and colour to the music; and certainly half the effect in fine
renderings of "The Flying Dutchman" overture, the Walkuerenritt, and
the Fire-music, is due to it. But Lamoureux's men had practised so
long together under their conductor's beat that all the instruments
played like one instrument, no matter how the tempo was varied; the
bowing of each passage had been considered and finally settled, so
that there was no uncertainty there; and in the course of long
rehearsal every wind-player had learned precisely where he must
breathe, where he must reserve his breath, and where he could let
himself go, so that the tone of flutes, oboes, clarinets, and bassoons
never became in the smallest degree forced or hoarse. And the result
of this was the entire absence of that murmur which one has come to
regard as characteristic of the orchestra. If a wrong note was played,
there was nothing to hide its nakedness. It was as though a
penetrating flood of cold white light were poured upon the music and
made it transparent: one perceived every remotest and least
significant detail with a vivid distinctness that can only be compared
with a page of print seen through a strong magnifying glass, or,
perhaps better still, with a photograph seen through a stereoscope. As
in a stereoscope, the outlines were de