In New York again, one morning I faced the great orchestra and Mengelberg. Carnegie Hall, the conductor, and the New York Philharmonic, with the exception of my friends and colleagues Alfred Wallestein and Mischel Piastro, were new to me. The rehearsal commenced without the customary introduction to the orchestra. Mengelberg, a heavy-set man with an enormous head, boomed his instructions to the orchestra, which played too loudly to hear his voice. Taking the tempo much slower than was indicated in the score, he stopped, recommenced, stopped again, and the orchestra played louder and slower as it proceeded. I waited for an opportunity to communicate with the conductor. Finally, taking advantage of a short respite, I discreetly asked him to take a faster tempo. / He responded loudly, “I studied this concerto with the composer himself, and the tempo I am taking is the right one.” / His nagging voice, mingled with the orchestra, went endlessly on. I stood up at least to be seen by him and perhaps to induce him to listen, but he gave me a sign to sit down and asked the orchestra to play once more from the beginning. He tapped with his stick, sang, and spoke, and the tempo became still slower. In such a predicament, when my entrance came at last after a long tutti, in protest I played faster than I generally would. He stopped. “You play too fast.” / “No, you are too slow.” / “It must be played as I conduct.” / I walked out. The men in the orchestra applauded. I felt terrible. As if from nowhere, Judson appeared. “It doesn’t look as if we could come to an understanding,” I said. Judson, quite unimpressed, explained that it was Mengelberg’s last season with the Philharmonic and that his life had not been easy. He also said smilingly that Mengelberg’s musical information came semidirect, from a grand-grandson of Bach. “You see, he has made it clear that while all others seek guidance from printed scores alone, he, having known Schumann, Brahms, Wagner, Dvořák, and others in person, has weightier shoulders of authority to lean on.” / I don’t know what Judson said to Mengelberg, but we agreed to try once more. This time I met on the stage a new man, considerate and willing, and a fine conductor at the same time. The concert in the evening and the next day’s performance went very well. But a few minutes before the third concert Judson announced that Mengelberg was sick, and Hans Lange, the orchestra’s second concertmaster would substitute. / “Without a rehearsal?” / “Don’t worry,” said Judson with confidence. This concert was the best of the three. << less