On another occasion (not very long ago, at Munich), I was present at a public performance of the overture to “Egmont,” which proved instructive—­somewhat after the manner of the customary performances of the overture to “Der Freyschutz.”  In the Allegro of the Egmont overture [Footnote:  Beethoven:  op. 84.] the powerful and weighty sostenuto of the introduction: 

[Figure:  musical example]

is used in rhythmical diminution as the first half of the second theme, and is answered in the other half, by a soft and smooth countermotive.

[Figure:  musical example]

The conductor, [Footnote:  Franz Lachner] in accordance with “classical” custom, permitted this concise and concentrated theme, a contrast of power and gentle self-content, to be swept away by the rush of the Allegro, like a sere and withered leaf; so that, whenever it caught the ear at all, a sort of dance pace was heard, in which, during the two opening bars the dancers stepped forward, and in the two following bars twirled about in “Laendler” [Footnote:  Laendler—­an Austrian peasant’s dance, in triple time, from which the waltz is derived.] fashion.

When Bulow, in the absence of the favourite senior conductor, was called upon to lead the music to Egmont at Munich, I induced him, amongst other things, to attend to the proper rendering of this passage.  It proved at once strikingly effective—­concise, laconic—­as Beethoven meant it.  The tempo, which up to that point had been kept up with passionate animation, was firmly arrested, and very slightly modified—­just as much, and no more than was necessary to permit the orchestra properly to attack this thematic combination, so full of energetic decision and of a contemplative sense of happiness.  At the end of the 3/4 time the combination is treated in a broader and still more determined manner; and thus these simple, but indispensible, modifications brought about a new reading of the overture—­the correct reading.  The impression produced by this properly conducted performance was singular, to say the least of it; I was assured that the manager of the Court theatre was persuaded there had been “a break-down.”

No one among the audience of the celebrated Odeon Concerts at Munich dreamt of “a break-down” when the above-mentioned senior “classical” conductor led the performance of Mozart’s G minor symphony, when I happened to be present.  The manner in which the Andante of the symphony was played, and the effect it produced was altogether surprising.  Who has not, in his youth, admired this beautiful piece, and tried to realize it in his own way?  In what way?  No matter.  If the marks of expression are scanty, the wonderful composition arouses one’s feelings; and fancy supplies the means to read it in accordance with such feelings.  It seems as though Mozart had expected something of the kind, for he has given but few and meagre indications of the expression.  So we felt free to indulge ourselves in the delicately increasing swing of the quavers, with the moon-like rise of the violins: