At the next rehearsal, which went badly, Toscanini tore into the orchestra, using his armament of Italian invectives. ย A delegation of the orchestra marched to [Met director] Gatti's office. ย He listened to their complaints--"never have we been called such dreadful names"--shrugged his shoulders, and said, "You should hear what he calls me."
--George Marek, Toscanini, 1976
I shall always remember a rehearsal on the morning Germany marched into the Sudetenland. ย In the streets, people crowded around radios and newspaper stands, waiting for the latest word. ย The musicians of the NBC Symphony were gathered in the dressing room downstairs, arguing and debating while the air was electric with impending catastrophe. ย As the time for rehearsal drew near, we sluggishly, almost resentfully, began to make our way upstairs. ย How unimportant the rehearsal seemed that morning. ย Armies were poised for combat. ย What was a mere rehearsal at a time like this? ย How impatient and indifferent the men were, anxious to get back into the reality of the world. ย And then the small figure appeared. ย With beetled brows, downcast face, Toscanini stepped up to the podium. ย He looked around at us for a moment, waved his arms briefly; then: ย "Good morning. Beethoven!"
No sooner had the orchestra begun to play than it seemed mesmerized, the outside world, with its tragedy, forgotten. "Play! Don't sleep! ย Is a crescendo! ย Is a sforzando! ย Put something! ย You do nothing! ย You want to sleep! ย Go home! ย Move the bow! ย Arco! Arco!" he screamed. ย We were all caught up in the passion of the moment. ย Beethoven became the battlefield, as important as any in the world. ย Each accent, each crackling crescendo came to life, to full triumphant meaning! ย This was no moth-eaten masterpiece; this was searing human truth and reality. ย Beethoven was God, Toscanini was His prophet, and we were the anointed, reveling in creation and proud of our talent. ย This was our reason for being.
--Samuel Antek, This Was Toscanini, 1963
