In the introductory chapter it was noted that the conductor must build upon a foundation of musical scholarship if he is to be really successful; that he must possess musical feeling; and that he must go through extensive musical training, if he is to conduct with taste and authority. But in addition to these purely musical requirements, experience and observation have demonstrated that the would-be conductor must be possessed of certain definitely established personal characteristics, and that many a musician who has been amply able to pass muster from a musical standpoint, has failed as a conductor because he lacked these other traits.

It is not my purpose to give at this point an exhaustive list of qualities that must form the personal equipment of the conductor. In general it will be sufficient to state that he must possess in a fair degree those personal traits that are advantageous in any profession. But of these desirable qualities three or four seem to be so indispensable that it has been thought best to devote a brief chapter to a discussion of them. These qualities are:

• 1. A sense of humor.
• 2. A creative imagination.
• 3. A sense of leadership combined with organizing ability.

The first of these traits, a sense of humor, may perhaps upon first thought seem a peculiar quality to include in a category of virtues for the professional man of any type, and especially for the musician. But upon reflection it will be admitted that the ability to see things in a humorous light (which very frequently means merely seeing them in true perspective) has helped many a man to avoid wasting nervous energy upon insignificant occurrences, while the lack of this ability has caused more trouble among all sorts of people (and particularly, it seems to me, among musicians) than any other single thing.

Some player or singer is either over-arduous or a bit sleepy during the first stages of rehearsing a new composition, and makes a wrong entrance, perhaps during a pause just before the climacteric point. The occurrence is really funny and the other performers are inclined to smile or snicker, but our serious conductor quells the outbreak with a scowl. The humorous leader, on the other hand, sees the occurrence as the performers do, joins in the laugh that is raised at the expense of the offender, and the rehearsal goes on with renewed spirit.

An instrumental performer makes a bad tone, and the conductor laughs at him, saying it sounds like a wolf howling or an ass braying. If the remark is accompanied by a smile, the performer straightens up and tries to overcome the fault; but if the comment is made with a snarl there is a tightening up of muscles, an increased tension of the nerves, and the performer is more than likely to do worse the next time.

There is a difference of opinion between the conductor and some performer about fingering or bowing, phrasing or interpretation, and a quarrel seems imminent; but the conductor refuses to take the matter too seriously, and, having ample authority for his own viewpoint, proceeds as he has begun, later on talking it over with the performer, and perhaps giving him a reason for his opinion.

Humor is thus seen to have the same effect upon a body of musicians as oil applied to machinery, and musical machinery seems to need more of this kind of lubrication than almost any other variety.

But the conductor must distinguish carefully between sarcastic wit, which laughs at, and humor, which laughs with. In a book bearing the copyright date of 1849, the writer distinguishes between the two, in the following words:[1]

The conductor with a sense of humor will ordinarily have the advantage also of being cheerful in his attitude toward the performers, and this is an asset of no mean significance. It is a well-known psychophysical fact that the human body does much better work when the mind is free from care, and that in any profession or vocation, other things being equal, the worker who is cheerful and optimistic will perform his labor much more efficiently at the expense of considerably less mental and bodily energy than he who is ill-humored, worried, fretful, and unable to take a joke. But the foreman who possesses this quality of cheerfulness and humor is doubly fortunate, for he not only secures the beneficial results in his own case, but by his attitude frequently arouses the same desirable state of mind and body in those who are working under him. It is particularly because of this latter fact that the conductor needs to cultivate a cheerful, even a humorous outlook, especially in the rehearsal. As the result of forming this habit, he will be enabled to give directions in such a way that they will be obeyed cheerfully (and consequently more effectively); he will find it possible to rehearse longer with less fatigue both to himself and to his musical forces; and he will be able to digest his food and to sleep soundly after the rehearsal because he is not worrying over trivial annoyances that, after all, should have been dismissed with a laugh as soon as they appeared. There must not of course be so much levity that the effectiveness of the rehearsal will be endangered, but there is not much likelihood that this will happen; whereas there seems to be considerable danger that our rehearsals will become too cold and formal. A writer on the psychology of laughter states that "laughter is man's best friend";[2] and in another place (p. 342) says that the smile always brings to the mind "relaxation from strain."

Creative imagination is an inborn quality—"a gift of the gods"—and if the individual does not possess it, very little can be done for him in the artistic realm. Constructive or creative imagination implies the ability to combine known elements in new ways—to use the mind forwards, as it were. The possession of this trait makes it possible to picture to oneself how things are going to look or sound or feel before any actual sense experience has taken place; to see into people's minds and often find out in advance how they are going to react to a projected situation; to combine chemical elements in new ways and thus create new substances; to plan details of organization in a manufacturing establishment or in an educational institution, and to be able to forecast how these things are going to work out.

It is this quality of creative imagination that enables the inventor to project his mind into the future and see a continent spanned by railways and telephones, and the barrier of an ocean broken down by means of wireless and aeroplane; and in every case the inventor works with old and well-known materials, being merely enabled by the power of his creative faculties (as they are erroneously called) to combine these known materials in new ways.

In the case of the musician, such creative imagination has always been recognized as a sine qua non of original composition, but its necessity has not always been so clearly felt in the case of the performer. Upon analyzing the situation it becomes evident, however, that the performer cannot possibly get from the composer his real message unless he can follow him in his imagination, and thus re-create the work. As for adding anything original to what the composer has given, this is plainly out of the question unless the interpreter is endowed somewhat extensively with creative imagination; and the possession of this quality will enable him to introduce such subtle variations from a cut-and-dried, merely accurate rendition as will make his performance seem really spontaneous, and will inevitably arouse a more enthusiastic emotional response in the listeners.

Weingartner sums up the value of imagination in the final paragraph of one of the few really valuable books on conducting at our disposal.[3]

This quality is indispensable to all musicians, be they creators or performers, but is especially desirable in the conductor, for he needs it not only from the standpoint of interpretation, as already noted, but from that of manager or organizer. Upon this latter point we shall have more to say later, but it may be well to state just here that if the conductor could imagine what was going on in the minds of his players or singers, and could see things from their viewpoint; if he could forecast the effect of his explanatory directions or of his disciplinary rulings, nine-tenths of all the quarreling, bickering, and general dissatisfaction that so frequently mar the work of any musical organization could easily be eliminated. We might also add that if the conductor could only foresee the effect upon his audiences of certain works, or of certain interpretations, his plans would probably often be materially altered.

But the conductor must be more than a humorous-minded and imaginative musician. He must also (especially in these modern times) be an organizer, a business man, a leader. The qualities of leadership and organizing ability are so closely connected that we shall for the most part treat them together in our discussion, and they are so important that a fairly extensive analysis will be attempted.

In an article on Schumann in Grove's Dictionary Dr. Philip Spitta, the well-known historian and critic, comments upon the conducting of this famous composer as follows:[4]

This estimate of Schumann's work as a conductor demonstrates unmistakably that he failed in this particular field, not because his musical scholarship was not adequate, but because he did not have that peculiar ability which enables one man to dominate others: viz., a sense of leadership, or personal magnetism, as it is often called. Seidl asserts[5] that Berlioz, Massenet, and Saint-SaËns likewise failed as conductors, in spite of recognized musicianship; and it is of course well known that even Beethoven and Brahms could not conduct their own works as well as some of their contemporaries whose names are now almost forgotten.

The feeling that one has the power to cause others to do one's will seems in most cases to be inborn, at least certain children display it at a very early age; and it is usually the boys and girls who decide on the playground what games shall be played next, or what mischief shall now be entered upon, who later on become leaders in their several fields of activity. And yet this sense of leadership, or something closely approximating it, may also be acquired, at least to a certain extent, by almost any one who makes a consistent and intelligent attempt in this direction. It is this latter fact which may encourage those of us who are not naturally as gifted along these lines as we should like to be, and it is because of this possibility of acquiring what in conducting amounts to an indispensable qualification that an attempt is here made to analyze the thing called leadership into its elements.

The primary basis upon which a sense of leadership rests is undoubtedly confidence in one's general ability and in one's knowledge of the particular subject being handled. The leader must not only know but must know that he knows. This makes quick judgments possible, and the leader and organizer must always be capable of making such judgments, and of doing it with finality. The baseball player must decide instantly whether to throw the ball to "first," "second," "third," or "home," and he must repeatedly make such decisions correctly before he can become a strong and respected baseball captain. The same thing holds true of the foreman in a factory, and both baseball captain and factory foreman must not only know every detail of the work done under them, but must know that they know it, and must feel confident of being able to cause those working under them to carry it on as they conceive it. So the conductor must not only know music, but must have confidence in his ear, in his rhythmic precision, in his taste, in his judgment of tempo, in short, in his musical scholarship; and he must not only feel that he knows exactly what should be done in any given situation, but be confident that he can make his chorus or orchestra do it as he wishes. Think for instance of securing a firm attack on the first tone of such a song as the Marseillaise. It is an extremely difficult thing to do, and it would be utterly impossible to direct any one else exactly how to accomplish it; and yet, if the conductor knows exactly how it must sound, if he has an auditory image of it before the actual tones begin, and if he feels that when he begins to beat time the chorus will sing as he has heard them in imagination, then the expected result is almost certain to follow. But if he is uncertain or hesitant upon any of these points, he will as surely fail to get a good attack.

Such confidence in one's own ability as we have been describing usually results in the acquiring of what is called an easy manner,—self-possession,—in short, poise, and it is the possession of such a bearing that gives us confidence in the scholarship and ability of the leaders in any type of activity. But the influence of this type of manner cannot be permanent unless it rests upon a foundation of really solid knowledge or ability.

The second element included in leadership and organizing ability is the power to make oneself understood, that is, clearness of speech and of expression. This involves probably first of all, so far as conducting is concerned, a voice that can be easily heard, even in a fairly large room, and that carries with it the tone of authority. But it includes also a good command of language so that one's ideas may be expressed clearly, and one's commands given definitely. An important point to be noted in this connection is that the conductor must be able to exercise rigid self-control, so as not to become incoherent under stress of anger, emergencies, or other excitement.

The final element involved in leadership is a tremendous love of and respect for the thing that is being done. Napoleon became a great general because of his confidence in his own ability, and because of his very great enthusiasm for his work. Lincoln became one of the greatest statesmen of all times largely because of his earnestness, his extraordinary love and respect for the common people, and his unfaltering confidence in the justice of the cause for which the North was contending. Pestalozzi could never have become one of the world's most influential teachers if he had not felt that the thing he was trying to do was a big thing, a vital thing in the life of his country, and if he had not had a real love in his heart for his work among the ragged and untrained urchins whom he gathered about him.

And for the same reason it is clear that no one can become a strong and forceful conductor who does not have an overwhelming love of music in his heart. We may go farther and say that no conductor can give a really spirited reading of a musical composition if he does not feel genuinely enthusiastic over the work being performed, and that one reason for the sluggish response that musicians often make to the conductor's baton is the mediocrity of the music which they are being asked to perform. The conductor is not in sympathy with it (sometimes without realizing this himself), and there is consequently no virility in the playing or singing. The remedy for this state of affairs consists, first, in allowing only those who have some taste in the selection of music to conduct; and second, in inspiring all conductors to take much more time and much greater pains in deciding upon the works to be rehearsed. In directing a choir one may examine a dozen cantatas, or twenty-five anthems, before one is found that is really distinctive. If one stops at the second or third, and thinks that although not very good yet it is possibly good enough, very probably the choir will be found to be sluggish and unresponsive, filled with what Coward calls "inertia."[6] But if one goes on looking over more and more selections until something really distinctive is discovered, it is more than probable that the chorus will respond with energy and enthusiasm.

We have heard many arguments in favor of teaching children only the best music, and here is yet another, perhaps more potent than all the rest. They must be taught only good music because you as a musician will find it impossible to become enthusiastic over mediocre or poor works; and if you do not yourself glow over the music that you are directing, you will hardly succeed in arousing the children's interest, for enthusiasm spreads by contagion, and there can be no spreading by contact unless we have a point from which to start.

A sense of leadership consists, then, of a combination of self-confidence and poise, clearness of speech and expression, and enthusiasm for one's work; and if with these three there is mingled the ability to think clearly and definitely, we have a combination that is bound to produce distinctive results, no matter what the field of activity may be. Let us repeat that the encouraging thing about the whole matter is the fact that most of the things involved in leadership can be acquired, at least to a certain degree, if persistent efforts are made for a long enough time.

Before going on with the topic to be treated in the next chapter, let us summarize the materials out of which our conductor is to be fashioned. They are:

• 1. Innate musical ability.
• 2. A long period of broad and intelligent music study.
• 3. An attractive and engaging personality.
• 4. A sense of humor.
• 5. A creative imagination.
• 6. Conscious leadership and organizing ability.

Some of these qualities are admittedly almost diametrically opposed to one another, and it is probably because so few individuals combine such apparently opposite traits that such a small number of musicians succeed as conductors, and so few organizers and business men succeed as musicians. But in spite of this difficulty, we must insist again that any really tangible and permanent success in conducting involves a combination of these attributes, and that the conductor of the future, even more than of the past, must possess not only those qualities of the artist needed by the solo performer, but must in addition be a good business manager, an organizer, a tactician, a diplomat, a task-master—in plain English, a good boss. It is primarily because of the lack of these last-mentioned qualities that most musicians fail as conductors. A writer in the Canadian Journal of Music, signing himself Varasdin, sums it up well in the following words:

He who wishes to "carry away" his body of players as well as his audience, the former to a unanimously acted improvisation, the latter to a unanimously felt emotion, needs above all "commanding personal magnetism," and everything else must be subordinate to that.

He must be "very much alive"—(highly accumulated vital energy, always ready to discharge, is the secret of all personal magnetism)—and the alertness, the presence of mind, the acute and immediate perception of everything going on during rehearsal or performance, the dominancy and impressiveness of his minutest gesture, the absolute self-possession and repose even in working up the most exciting climaxes and in effecting the most sudden contrasts—all these are simply self-evident corollaries from our first and foremost requirement.