THE Fortieth Season, 1939-1940

CARNEGIE HALL NEW YORK

SEVENTH PROGRAM Tuesday Evening, February 13th. at 8:45

EUGENE ORMANDY Conducting ARTUR RUBINSTEIN, Pianist

BEETHOVEN...... Grand Fugue, Op. 133 (Arranged for String Orchestra by )

SIBELIUS...... Symphony No. 7 (In One Movement) Adagio—Vivacissimo—Adagio Allegro molto moderato—Vivace Presto—Adagio—Largamento

INTERMISSION

CHOPIN . . . minor for Piano and Orchestra I. Maestoso II. Larghetto III, Allegro vivace

DEBUSSY Symphonic Suite, “Printemps”

Mr. Rubinstein uses the Steinway piano

The STEINWAY is the Official Piano of the Philadelphia Orchestra VICTOR Records

KKRL McDonald, Manager LOUIS A. MATTSON, NORRIS WEST, Assistant Manager« GIRARD TRUST COMPANY BUILDING, PHILADELPHIA NEW YORK DIVISION of the PHILADELPHIA ORCHESTRA ASSOCIATION

ADVISORY BOARD Mrs. Kermit Roosevelt, Chairman Mrs. Sidney C. Borg Thomas I. Parkinson Mrs. Edward Eagan Adrian Van Sinderen Byrnes MacDonald Mme. Olga Samaroff Stokowski Mrs. Alexander H. McLanahan Mrs. Cornelius V. Whitney

Mrs. Jean Walker, Secretary Bankers Trust Company, Treasurer Walter N. Thayer, 3rd, Counsel

COMMITTEE

Miss Julia A. Berwind Miss Alice Polk Mrs. Anthony J. Drexel Biddle, Jr. Mrs. T. Markoe Robertson Mrs. David Bruce Mrs. Nelson A. Rockefeller William Marshall Bullitt Archibald B. Roosevelt Robert Cresswell C. Alison Scully Mrs. Frederic Cromwell Mrs. George R. Siedenburg Franklin D’Olier Mrs. H. Nelson Slater Mrs. Livingston Farrand Theodore E. Steinway Mrs. Arthur A. Fowler Roger Straus Mrs. John Henry Hammond Mrs. Harold E. Talbott Mrs. Basil Harris Mrs. Walter N. Thayer, 3rd Mrs. Thomas Hitchcock, Jr. Edward M. M. Warburg Ernest Hutcheson Mrs. Harold H. Weekes George Le Boutillier Mrs. Henry J. Whigham Mrs. Paul D. Mills George D. Widener Mrs. George Eustis Paine Mrs. William Woodward

Under the management of YOUR SECRETARY, INC. 29 East 69th Street Telephone: Regent 7-1704 NOTES ON THE PROGRAM By R. L. F. McCOMBS

Grand Fugue in B flat, Opus 133 Born in Bonn, December 16, 1770 Died in Vienna, March 26, 1827 (Arranged for string orchestra by Eugene Ormandy) HIS Fugue, which Sir Donald Tovey insists is “incomparably the most gigantic fugue in existence”, was written in 1825 as the last movement of Tthe String Quartet in B flat major, Opus 130. As the Quartet'was already long and complex, the Viennese musicians who heard its first performance agreed that so enormous a finale was more than either players or listeners could bear. Beethoven agreed to replace it with a new movement and his pub­ lisher promised to print the Grand Fugue as a separate work. Opus 130 was given its Finale two years later in what was to be Beethoven’s last completed composition. The composer made a four-hand piano arrangement of the Fugue, which is his Opus 134. There is, incidentally, a recent two-piano transcription of it by Harold Bauer. Comment on the Fugue has had a curious tendency to confine itself to vague formulas. We find references to its “somewhat strange” qualities, or its. “mysterious beauties”, to be revealed “only to those who can rise to the heights of the Beethoven spirit.” Even the editor of Grove’s Dictionary curtly calls it a Fugue “of immense length and still greater obscurity”, but later gives himself away by saying that “one has no opportunity of judging it, as it is never played.” It is possible to believe that the evidence of the apprecia­ tive ear may carry more weight than that of the analytical eye. The Fugue is a formidable task for any quartet of solo players, but Tovey maintains that the difficulties arise from the fact that Beethoven requires his quartet to emulate an orchestra in long forte passages. Since nowhere is the intimate quality of a quartet essential, it can do no violence to Beethoven’s intentions to augment the number of strings. Such a performance is on record as having been given in New York, April 3, 1888, at one of Theodore Thomas’s concerts. Bulow and Mahler are elder conductors, Muck, Wein- gartner and Furtwängler among our contemporaries, who have tried the experiment. In reference to the present arrangement, Mr. Ormandy says that he has been aware of the orchestral dimensions of the Fugue ever since his first ex­ perience with it as chamber-music. He once heard it played by all the strings of the Vienna Symphony Orchestra. He therefore took the time, in July, 1939, to expand it. He writes, “I have made no drastic changes, really done nothing but add the basses and simplify some of the more technically diffi­ cult passages by dividing the instruments.” BOXHOLDERS AND PATRONS

Mr. Albert M. Bagby Mrs. Goodhue Livingston, Sr. Mrs. Walter C. Baker Mrs. Goodhue Livingston, Jr. Mr. James Barney Mrs. James Long Mrs. Gordon K. Bell Mr. Henry R. Luce Mrs. Conrad Berens Mr. Charles W. McAlpin Mrs. Irving Berlin Mrs. Alexander H. McLanahan Miss Julia Berwind Mr. Byrnes MacDonald Mr. Gardner Boothe Mr. Frank S. MacGregor Mrs. Harold Brooks Miss E. L. Mackenzie Mr. and Mrs. David K. E. Bruce Mrs. H. R. Mallinson Mrs. Duncan Bulkley Mr. Herbert E. Mitler Mr. William Marshall Bullitt Mrs. Benjamin Moore Mrs. Andrew Carnegie Mrs. Lewis S. Morris Mme. Alma Clayburgh Mrs. George Eustis Paine Mrs. Sidney Colgate Mr. Thomas I. Parkinson Mrs. W. Murray Crane Miss Anne Paul Mr. Paul D. Cravath Miss Lily Pons Mr. Robert Cresswell Mrs. William Procter Mrs. W. Bayard Cutting Miss Nellie K. Pruyn Mrs. Fulton Cutting Mr. A. W. Robertson Mr. George W. Davison Miss Pauline Robinson Marchesa de Mohemando Mr. Archibald Roosevelt Mr. Franklin D’Olier Mrs. James Roosevelt Colonel William J. Donovan Mrs. Kermit Roosevelt Mrs. Barclay K. Douglas Mrs. Theodore Roosevelt Mrs. Edward Eagan Mr. Felix Rosen Mr. John Fenton Mr. Walter T. Rosen Mr. Edwin A. Fish Mr. Daniel E. Fitzpatrick Mrs. Moritz Rosenthal Mrs. Arthur A. Fowler Mr. C. Alison Scully Mrs. George Frankenthaler Mrs. Joseph Seaman Mrs. James Gerard Mrs. Arthur Seelig Mrs. Allan Gerdau Mrs. B. Sergievsky Mr. John H. P. Gould Mrs. George R. Siedenburg Mrs. John Henry Hammond Mrs. H. Nelson Slater Mrs. Jerome J. Hanauer Mrs. John Sloane Mrs. Basil Harris Mrs. Frederick Steinway Mrs. Clarence Hay Mme. Olga Samaroff Stokowski Mr. Barklie Henry Mrs. Harold E. Talbott Mrs. Albert Hoffman Mr. Walter N. Thayer, 3rd Mrs. O’Donnell Hoover Mrs. Cornelius Vanderbilt Mr. and Mrs. Ernest Hutcheson Mr. Adrian Van Sinderen The Mrs. Thomas Watson Dr. Foster Kennedy Mr. Milton M. Klein Mrs. Harold H. Weeks Mr. Herbert Klotz Mrs. Henry J. Whigham Mr. Andre Kostelanetz Mrs. Cornelius V. Whitney Mrs. Jonathan T. Lanman, Jr, Mrs. Joseph Willard Mr. Richard W. Lawrence Mr. Herschel Williams Mr. George LeBoutillier Mr. William Wister The published score identified the work as “Overtura: Grand Fugue, tantôt libre, tantôt recherchée”—the latter being technical terms that classify the fugal writing as being sometimes free, sometimes strictly according to rule. The “Overtura” is a brief prelude presenting the main theme in four slightly different disguises. The eight-note phrase is easy to recognize by its abrupt and unexpected intervals, no matter how its rhythm may be altered. The last of the four versions persists, after the Fugue itself opens, as constant compan­ ion to a vigorous, leaping theme. The two are inseparable, showing up first here, then there, in the tonal web, and making of the section a double fugue. This procedure goes on at some length, with two rhythmically different fig­ ures one after another accompanying the paired themes. In spite of a number of subtle transformations, the identity of these short themes may readily be kept in mind. There is a mysterious shift to the remote key of G flat, and a slower sec­ tion which briefly treats with the more serious of the themes as well as a new counterpoint. The mood is one of pervasive and exalted calm. The music then picks up a faster pace, and the (by now) familiar main theme, in an­ other rhythmic pattern, works its way through various keys and is presented in various fragments and alterations which only a close study of the score will easily reveal. Repeated trills in one voice, then two, then three, domi­ nate the end of the section for a climax that cannot fail to hold excitement. The great theme is eventually presented in its original form, and at the same time, in another voice, turned upside down. Other transmutations of previous material then lead inevitably and grandly toward the deeply impressive conclusion.

Such an analysis, a necessary chart for a first hearing, makes the Fugue appear to be music of the head rather than the heart. Music of the head it indisputably is, but the two, in the hands of such a master, need not be mutu­ ally exclusive. There is no parallel, in the artistic achievements of any man, to the “last quartets” of Beethoven. They are six works (if this Fugue be included) as rare in the profound and penetrating things they have to say as in the con­ summate artistry with which those things are said. After his fiftieth year Beethoven was more than ever cut off from the world about him. His music had far outstripped the ability of the public to appreciate it; memories of earlier triumphs made present poverty the more bitter; his relatives had proved unworthy of his affections; he had recurring attacks of painful illness. And he was completely, obliviously, deaf. He sat staring during a rehearsal of the E flat major Quartet, forced to check and correct the tempos by the movements of the players’ bows. This isolation could not curb the creative energy of such a man and he directed its forces to the shaping of these highly personal documents. It is as if, in these Quartets, he were talking to himself in a private language of his own invention. The truths he has thus to say are so tremendous that men must perforce strive to make themselves aware of that powerful and untrans­ latable tongue. One of the less tactful of the friends who came to call upon Beethoven as he lay in his fatal illness brought him a report that his latest quartet had not pleased its hearers. The composer replied with the calm assurance of achieve­ ment, “It will please them some day.” Symphony No. 7 (in one movement) Op. 105 Jean Sibelius Born in Tavastehus, Finland, December 8, 1865 Now living in Jdrvenpad HE Reds behave like wild beasts,” Sibelius wrote in his diary in Janu­ ary of 1918. “All educated people are in danger of their lives. Murder Tupon murder. Soon, no doubt, my hour will come, for I must be specially hateful to them as the composer of patriotic music.” His hour, happily, did not come, but many perilous weeks were to pass before relief was assured at the hands of German troops. On April 11, in Helsinki, he could write during a bombardment, “Have never dreamed of anything so tremendous. Horrible but grand! Shall I be alive tomorrow? . . . The crescendo, as the thunder of the guns came nearer, a crescendo that lasted close on thirty hours and ended in a fortissimo I could never have imagined, was really a. great sensation.” For an artist as self-contained and self-sufficient, for one whose interest has so completely centered in his music and so little in people and events, fate has involved Sibelius in far too many national upheavals. There were the restless 1890s when the young musician was of the inner circle of artistic rebels, determined upon a Finnish Finland, not dominated politically by Russia nor culturally by Sweden. There were the war times of 1914-1918, with Finland’s own desperate War of Liberation to follow. There are the even less reasonable catastrophes of today, of which no one may predict the end. But if Sibelius may be said to have a dominant characteristic, either as musician or as man, it is his independence. In the admirable essay which Ernest Newman wrote as foreword to the English translation of Karl Ekman’s “Sibelius”, he said, “External influences upon him have always been of the slightest: he has passed through other composers’ music, through contacts with contemporary artists, through public musical life in various European cities, calmly extracting from them all, with the unconscious sureness of an animal or a tree, just what he needed for nourishment and development in accordance with the inner law of his own being, and calmly rejecting the unassimilable remainder.” Whether or not Sibelius would have maintained so complete an independ­ ence had he not been so isolated geographically is an interesting and an in­ soluble question. He has, in fact, seen more of the world than popular legend will allow him. There were student days in Berlin and Vienna, there were professional engagements that took him as conductor to all the important musical centers of Europe, and even (in 1914) brought him to the United States. Many scores that have been described as bleak and boreal were penned in Italian sunshine. But popular legend is at least spiritually correct. The essentials of his music are derived from the woods and waters and winds of Finland and the sturdi­ ness of the Finnish people. Mr. Newman comments that it was greatly to his advantage to have grown up in what the larger musical world would regard as a provincial backwater. This provincialism made it easier for his genius to realize itself without distraction and without waste, much as a similar pro­ vincialism had served Bach, who was never more than two hundred miles away from his birthplace. It is doubtless chiefly this independence and isolation which have made recognition of Sibelius’s music slower than it might have been otherwise. The public ear (a conservative organ) prefers its new music to be in the prevail­ ing idiom, the current vogue. And Sibelius has said himself that, whereas his contemporaries have been mixing musical cocktails of every color, he has offered only pure cold water. (Hdr i utlandet fabricerar ni cocktails i olika kuldrer, och nu kommer jag med rena kallvattnet.”) Cecil Gray, from whose discussion of Sibelius the remark is quoted, hints that possibly too many or­ chestral cocktails have by now brought audiences to the parched condition in which pure cold water is the most welcome beverage.

The Seventh is, so far, the last in the series of symphonies by Sibelius. There have been persistent rumors since 1930 that an eighth has been completed, but it has not yet seen the light of day. There is a story of an American conductor who, hearing of the completion of the Eighth, sent a representative to Jarvenpaa to negotiate for its first performance. “Oh yes, it is finished,” the enigmatic composer told him, “but only in my head.” He entered in his diary that he had completed, on March 2, 1924, at night, his one-movement Seventh Symphony. At that time he proposed calling it “Fantasia Sinfonica”, but thought better of the title. It had been in the making, however, since 1918. He emerged from the years of war and revolution with a renewed creative vigor. In a private letter of May 20, 1918, (quoted in Karl Ekman’s biography) he wrote of his new works, partly sketched and partly planned: “The Fifth Symphony in a new form—practically composed anew—I work at daily. Movement I, entirely new; Movement II, reminiscent of the old; Movement III, reminiscent of the end of the first movement of the old; Movement IV, the old motifs, but stronger in revision. The whole, if I may say so, a vital climax to the end. Triumphal. “The Sixth Symphony is wild and impassioned in character. Somber with pastoral contrasts. Probably in four movements, with the end rising to a somber roaring of the orchestra, in which the main theme is drowned. “The Seventh Symphony—joy of life and vitality, with appassionato pas­ sages. In three movements—the last a ‘Hellenic rondo’. “All this with due reservation ... It looks as if I was to come out with all these three symphonies at the same time. As usual, the sculptural more promi­ nent in my music. Hence this hammering on the ethical line that takes hold of me entirely and on which I must concentrate and hold out . . . With regard to Symphonies VI and VII the plans may possibly be altered according to the development of the musical ideas. As usual I am a slave to my themes and submit to their demands. By all this I see how my innermost self has changed since the days of the Fourth Symphony. And these symphonies are more in the nature of professions of faith than my other works”.

His submission to his themes did radically alter the plans of the Seventh Symphony. Instead of three movements, it emerged as one gigantic carefully integrated movement. Sibelius has said, “The final form of one’s work is indeed dependent on powers that are stronger than oneself. Later on, one can substantiate this or that, but on the whole one is merely a tool. This won­ derful logic—let us call it God—that governs a work of art is the forcing power.” The Seventh Symphony was published in 1925, and the composer was to have conducted its première at an English music festival, but he was ill and unable to do so. The first performance was that of the Philadelphia Orchestra under Mr. Stokowski on April 3, 1926. The Symphony is developed by a method which Sibelius has used often enough that it can be termed characteristic of him. He presents scraps of thematic material, fleeting references to a tune or an idea, which he eventually combines into an organized whole. It is as though a painter said, “Here is this color, and this; this line and a figure shaped thus. See, I put them to­ gether and there is your picture.” The Symphony requires a relatively small orchestra. For the program of April 3, 1926, Lawrence Gilman supplied this clear and revealing analysis: “The symphony opens with an extended Adagio section of brooding and somber intensity. Its initial subject, an ascending scale passage in A minor, 3-2 time, for the strings, furnishes the underlying theme of the work. It crops out again and again, as a whole or fragmentarily, and often inverted. In the twenty-second measure it is succeeded by a broadly lyric theme in C major, sung by the divided violas and ’cellos, joined later by the divided first and second violins. The scale passages return in the strings and woodwind, and then we hear from the solo trombone a chant-like melody in C, which will later assume great importance. “The tempo quickens; there are more scale passages; the pace is now Vivacissimo, C minor. The strings announce a subject that recalls the mood of the Scherzo of Beethoven’s Eroica. There is a rallentando, and a return to the Adagio tempo of the beginning. The solo trombone repeats its chant-like phrase against figurations in the strings, and it is joined by the rest of the brass choir. Again the tempo quickens, and an Allegro molto moderato is established. “The strings (poco f, C major, 6-4) give out a new melody of folklike simplicity and breadth; and this is followed by another subject, also in C major, arranged—according to a pattern of which Sibelius is fond—for woodwind doubled in pairs, playing in thirds, fifths, and sixths. This theme is developed by the strings and wind, with interjections of the familiar scale passages for the violins. “The key changes to E-flat major, the tempo becomes Vivace. There are ascending and descending antiphonal passages, strings answered by wood­ wind. “The tempo becomes Presto, the key C major. The strings, divided in eight parts, begin a mysteriously portentous passage, at first ppp, with the violas and ’cellos defining an urgent figure against a reiterated pedal G of the violins, basses, and timpani. A crescendo, rallentando, is accompanied by a fragment of the basic scale passage, in augmentation, for the horns. “The tempo is again Adagio; and now the chant-like C major theme is heard once more from the brass choir, against mounting figurations of the strings. “There is a climax, //, for the whole orchestra. The strings are heard alone, Largamente molto, in an Affettuoso of intense expression. Flute and bassoon in octaves, supported by soft string tremolos, sing a plaint. The strings, dolce, in syncopated rhythm, modulate through seventh chords in A-flat and G to a powerful suspension, fortissimo, on the tonic chord of C major; and this brings to a close the enigmatic, puissant, and strangely mov­ ing work.” Concerto No. 2, in F minor, for Frédéric Chopin PIANO AND ORCHESTRA, Op. 21 Born near Warsaw, February 22, 1810 Died in Paris, October 17, 1849

Y HERITAGE Chopin was half Polish, half French. He left Warsaw at B the age of twenty-one and Paris was the center of his activities from then until his death, eighteen years later. He was equally attuned to the folk-music of his country neighbors in Poland and to the romantic refinements of his period in musical history. We have the mixture of both in his music, but a far more essential ingredient is the independent originality of a rare genius. As a boy of twelve he had the good luck to have as teacher in composition Joseph Elsner who appreciated that originality—a teacher wise enough to say, “Leave him alone; his is an uncommon way because his gifts are un­ common.” Liszt pointed out that Elsner taught his pupil “those things that are most difficult to learn and most rarely known—to be exacting with one’s self and to value the advantages that are only obtained by patience and labor.” His brief lifetime was complicated by unhappy affairs of the heart, by exile (the Russians bloodily discouraged Polish efforts toward freedom in 1831), by professional intrigues, by chronic lack of income enough to allow him to move in the aristocratic circles he preferred. Yet he found time to become one of the foremost pianists in a day of great pianists, and to impress his innova­ tions as master of the keyboard on all who were to come after him. Important as were his contributions to the literature and the technic of the piano, his influence as a composer upon music in general was far more sig­ nificant. He was a superb melodist, never guilty of the commonplace; he was a subtle manipulator of rhythms, never lapsing into repeated formulas; al­ though he was a harmonist of the greatest daring, his departures were always based on aesthetic logic and good taste. A swarm of his imitators plagued the ears of the last half of his century, writing sentimentality where he wrote romance, making vulgar mannerisms out of his honest individualities, dis­ torting his precisely adjusted filigrees into inane fancy-work. But Chopin must not be judged by those who tried to echo his song. His own exquisitely balanced sense of tonal beauty must be allowed to be its own guarantee of immortality.

Chopin found the smaller musical forms most congenial to him. The struc­ tural patterns of such tremendous miniatures as the etudes or scherzos or mazurkas he either invented or adapted to his own purposes. But in order to prove his right to a place in the great world of music he felt it essential to use accepted forms. To that urge may be attributed the three piano sonatas, the two examples of concerted chamber-music, the two concertos. Both of the latter were written before Chopin was twenty-one. Their num­ bers are not an accurate indication of their chronology. That in F minor was completed in the winter of 1829-30, and the composition of the E minor fol­ lowed, during the spring and summer of 1830. But the latter came to publi­ cation first, in 1833, and was labelled No. 1. Its younger companion, pub­ lished in 1836, officially became No. 2.

------O- His friend, Titus Woychiechowski, was the recipient of the composer’s first confidences about the F minor Concerto. “I have—perhaps to my misfortune —found my ideal, which I worship faithfully and sincerely,” wrote the nine- teen-year-old Chopin from Warsaw. “Six months have elapsed and I have not yet exchanged a syllable with her of whom I dream every night. While my thoughts were with her I composed the Adagio of my Concerto.” The ideal and inspiration was Constantia Gladkowska, a fellow-student at the Conservatory who was just beginning a brief career at the Warsaw Opera. Chopin adored her as a singer, as an actress, as a woman. He even adored her name. “Con ... No, I cannot complete the name; my hand is too un­ worthy.” These tender sentiments endured after Chopin left Poland, but his absence apparently did not make Constantia’s heart grow fonder for, in 1832, she married Joseph Grabowski, a merchant. Time also healed her swain’s heart, for, when it came to publishing the Concerto which Constantia inspired, he dedicated it to the Countess Delphine Potocka, a Polish emigree of charm and wealth. Delphine was a singer as well as a Countess, and it was she who, in October of 1849, rushed to Paris from Nice when she heard that Chopin was dying, and, at his request, sang to him by his bedside. Chopin, having decided upon the career of a traveling virtuoso, planned a farewell concert which was also his debut in Warsaw. On this occasion, March 17, 1830, the F minor Concerto was first played. Listeners were re­ lieved of the necessity of concentrating on a composition of such extent by the interpolation between the first Allegro and the other two movements, of a “Divertissement for French horn”, composed and played by C. Gorner. Even that respite did not result in the response that Chopin would have liked. He wrote: “The first Allegro—not intelligible to all—received indeed the reward of a ‘Bravo’, but I believe this was given because the public wished to show that it understands and knows how to appreciate serious music. There are people enough in all countries who like to assume the airs of connoisseurs! The Adagio and Rondo produced a very great effect. After these the applause and the bravos came really from the heart, but the ‘Potpourri on Polish Airs’ missed its object entirely. There was indeed some applause, but evidently only to show the player that the audience had not been bored.” However cool the reception, the concert was a good business venture. The house had been sold out three days in advance, which encouraged Chopin to repeat his farewell a week later. Various factors made the triumph more im­ pressive, even to the point of embarrassing the inexperienced hero. “A poem, addressed to me, and a large bouquet were sent to my house. Mazurkas and waltzes are being arranged on the principal themes from my Concerto. Brze- zina asked for my likeness, but I declined giving it. This would be too much all at once; besides I do not like the prospect of butter being wrapped up in the paper on which I am portrayed.”

Symphonic Suite, “Printemps” Claude Debussy Born in St. Germain, August 22, 1862 Died in Paris, March 26, 1918 TWHEN he was twenty-two, Debussy was awarded the Prix de Rome by ’’ the Academy of Fine Arts of the Institute of France. He was thereby en­ titled to four years’ residence in Rome to engage in study and creative work. Once every year he was expected to send back to his learned sponsors a sam- pie of work, a so-called envoi, by which they might measure his industry and his progress. The envoi of his second year at Rome—1887—was this Suite, “Printemps”, originally written for orchestra, piano and a wordless chorus. “Printemps” was duly examined and solemnly judged for the Institute by a distinguished committee made up of Ambroise Thomas, Gounod, Delibes, Ernest Reyer, Massenet and Saint-Saëns. They found that it was unpleasantly modern and that its design was loose. They objected to the use of voices with­ out words as though they were instruments. One of them laid down the law that no one wrote in the key of F sharp major for the orchestra. “Printemps” was rejected. The next year s offering, La Demoiselle elue”, was given a modified ap­ proval, but the composer would not allow it to be performed unless the ban on “Printemps” was lifted. Neither work was given. In 1904 Debussy made a transcription of the Suite for two pianos and chorus (without basses), and there was another arrangement for piano, four hands, which might be used with or without the voices. The composer later made the present final version, which was published in 1913, and which retains the piano duet but omits the chorus. It was first per­ formed at a concert of the Société National de Musique in Paris, April 18, 1913, under the direction of Rhené-Baton. When intro­ duced it to a New York audience the next December, it was spoken of as Debussy’s latest work and reviewers were happy to find that he had reverted to a simpler, more melodious style of writing. Tastes had changed since the harsh condemnation of 1887.

SCHEDULE OF NEW YORK CONCERTS

THE PHILADELPHIA ORCHESTRA Eugene Ormandy Conductors Eugene Ormandy, Music Director Date Soloist Conductor October 17 EUGENE ORMANDY November 7 MARCEL TABUTEAU, oboist EUGENE ORMANDY November 21 LEOPOLD STOKOWSKI December 12 MISCHA ELMAN, violinist EUGENE ORMANDY December 26 WILLIAM KINCAID, flutist EUGENE ORMANDY January 23 ...... RUDOLF SERKIN, pianist EUGENE ORMANDY February 13 ARTUR RUBINSTEIN, pianist EUGENE ORMANDY March 5 KIRSTEN FLAGSTAD, soprano edwin McArthur March 19* LEOPOLD STOKOWSKI April 16 ...... ANTON TORELLO, bass violist EUGENE ORMANDY * Dale originally March 26 th, moved forward to make it possible for Mr. Stokowski to conduct an additional concert. The majority of tickets have been overprinted with the new date, but in any event No. 9 will be honored for March 19th. ORCHESTRA PERSONNEL tot 1939-1940

SAUL CASTON Associate Conductor

LEOPOLD STOKOWSKI EUGENE ORMANDY Conductor Conductor

Violins Violoncellos Bassoons Alexander Hilsberg, Solo Benar Heifetz ( Q . Sol Schoenbach Alfred Lorenz Samuel H. Mayes f Sol° John Fisnar Alexander Zenker B. Gusikoff F. Del Negro Harry Aleinikoff William A. Schmidt William Gruner Sam Belenko Henry Schmidt Horns Dayton M. Henry Emmet R. Sargeant Adrian Siegel Mason Jones / Q . Israel Siekierka Clarence Mayer (‘ ° ° Jasha Simkin Elsa Hilger Herbert Pierson Yasha Kayaloff Harry Gorodetzer Theodore Seder George Beimel Morris Lewin Sterin A. A. Tomei Arthur B. Lipkin J. John Gray Anton Horner David Cohen David Madison Basses Trumpets Saul Caston Allan Farnham Anton Torello Sigmund Hering Louis Gesensway A. Hase arold ehrig Sol Rüden Vincent Lazzaro, Jr. H W. R Melvin Headman Julius Schulman Heinrich Wiemann Max Strassenberger Bass Trumpet Irving Bancroft M. Pauli Charles Gusikoff John W. Molloy S. SlANI A. Gorodetzky Waldemar Giese Trombones M. Roth Carl Torello Charles Gusikoff Matthew J. Mueller Irven A. Whiten ack Paul P. Lotz Domenico Bove Harps C. E. Gerhard Schima Kaufman Gordon M. Pulis Edna Phillips Meyer Simkin Fred C. Stoll Marjorie Tyre Emil Kresse Paul V. Bogarde S. Dabrowski Flutes Tubas Max Zalstein W. M. Kincaid Philip A. Donatelli Benjamin Sharlip Joseph La Monaca Heinrich Wiemann Anthony Zungolo John A. Fischer Lois Putlitz Hans Schlegel Tympani Robert Gomberg Oboes Oscar Schwar Frederick Vogelgesang Emil Kresse Marcel Tabuteau Louis Di Fulvio Battery Violas Adrian Siegel Benjamin Podemski James Valerio Samuel Lifschey English Horn Samuel Roens John Minsker Celesta and Piano Leonard Mogill Clarinets Allan Farnham Paul Ferguson Gustave A. Loeben Robert McGinnis Wm. S. Greenberg Jules J. Serpentini Euphonium Gordon Kahn N. Cerminara Charles Gusikoff Simon Asin Leon Lester J. K. Bauer William Gruner Librarian Henry J. Michaux Ermelindo Scarpa Marshall Betz Gabriel Braverman Louis Morris Alexander Gray Bass Clarinet Personnel Manager Gustave A. Loeben Leon Lester Paul P. Lotz