For the tenth time in as niany years the pulse of all musical New Yorkers beat faster last week. There was no new performer who had become the fashionable rage overnight, no gaudy advertisements, no fireworks. But a little grey-haired Italian had arrived in Manhattan again to conduct the Philharmonic-Symphony.
At rehearsals the orchestramen worked as they had not worked since the little Maestro left them last spring. They played Salome's Dance brilliantly enough to suit most conscientious conductors. But Arturo Toscanini interrupted time & again. He pleaded with them to remember that...
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