One of the misfortunes of Edward Bok's training, which he realized more
clearly as time went on, was that music had little or no place in his
life. His mother did not play; and aside from the fact that his father
and mother were patrons of the opera during their residence in The
Netherlands, the musical atmosphere was lacking in his home. He realized
how welcome an outlet music might be in his now busy life. So what he
lacked himself and realized as a distinct omission in his own life he
decided to make possible for others.
The Ladies' Home Journal began to strike a definite musical note. It
first caught the eye and ear of its public by presenting the popular new
marches by John Philip Sousa; and when the comic opera of "Robin Hood"
became the favorite of the day, it secured all the new compositions by
Reginald de Koven. Following these, it introduced its readers to new
compositions by Sir Arthur Sullivan, Tosti, Moscowski, Richard Strauss,
Paderewski, Josef Hofmann, Edouard Strauss, and Mascagni. Bok induced
Josef Hofmann to give a series of piano lessons in his magazine, and
Madame Marchesi a series of vocal lessons. The Journal introduced its
readers to all the great instrumental and vocal artists of the day
through articles; it offered prizes for the best piano and vocal
compositions; it had the leading critics of New York, Boston, and
Chicago write articles explanatory of orchestral music and how to listen
to music.
Bok was early attracted by the abilities of Josef Hofmann. In 1898, he
met the pianist, who was then twenty-two years old. Of his musical
ability Bok could not judge, but he was much impressed by his unusual
mentality, and soon both learned and felt that Hofmann's art was deeply
and firmly rooted. Hofmann had a wider knowledge of affairs than other
musicians whom Bok had met; he had not narrowed his interests to his own
art. He was striving to achieve a position in his art, and, finding that
he had literary ability, Bok asked him to write a reminiscent article on
his famous master, Rubinstein.
This was followed by other articles; the publication of his new mazurka;
still further articles; and then, in 1907, Bok offered him a regular
department in the magazine and a salaried editorship on his staff.
Bok's musical friends and the music critics tried to convince the editor
that Hofmann's art lay not so deep as Bok imagined; that he had been a
child prodigy, and would end where all child prodigies invariably
end--opinions which make curious reading now in view of Hofmann's
commanding position in the world of music. But while Bok lacked musical
knowledge, his instinct led him to adhere to his belief in Hofmann; and
for twelve years, until Bok's retirement as editor, the pianist was a
regular contributor to the magazine. His success was, of course,
unquestioned. He answered hundreds of questions sent him by his readers,
and these answers furnished such valuable advice for piano students that
two volumes were made in book form and are to-day used by piano teachers
and students as authoritative guides.
Meanwhile, Bok's marriage had brought music directly into his domestic
circle. Mrs. Bok loved music, was a pianist herself, and sought to
acquaint her husband with what his former training had omitted. Hofmann
and Bok had become strong friends outside of the editorial relation, and
the pianist frequently visited the Bok home. But it was some time, even
with these influences surrounding him, before music began to play any
real part in Bok's own life.
He attended the opera occasionally; more or less under protest, because
of its length, and because his mind was too practical for the indirect
operatic form. He could not remain patient at a recital; the effort to
listen to one performer for an hour and a half was too severe a tax upon
his restless nature. The Philadelphia Orchestra gave a symphony concert
each Saturday evening, and Bok dreaded the coming of that evening in
each week for fear of being taken to hear music which he was convinced
was "over his head."
Like many men of his practical nature, he had made up his mind on this
point without ever having heard such a concert. The word "symphony" was
enough; it conveyed to him a form of the highest music quite beyond his
comprehension. Then, too, in the back of his mind there was the feeling
that, while he was perfectly willing to offer the best that the musical
world afforded in his magazine, his readers were primarily women, and
the appeal of music, after all, he felt was largely, if not wholly, to
the feminine nature. It was very satisfying to him to hear his wife play
in the evening; but when it came to public concerts, they were not for
his masculine nature. In other words, Bok shared the all too common
masculine notion that music is for women and has little place in the
lives of men.
One day Josef Hofmann gave Bok an entirely new point of view. The artist
was rehearsing in Philadelphia for an appearance with the orchestra, and
the pianist was telling Bok and his wife of the desire of Leopold
Stokowski, who had recently become conductor of the Philadelphia
Orchestra, to eliminate encores from his symphonic programmes; he wanted
to begin the experiment with Hofmann's appearance that week. This was a
novel thought to Bok: why eliminate encores from any concert? If he
liked the way any performer played, he had always done his share to
secure an encore. Why should not the public have an encore if it desired
it, and why should a conductor or a performer object? Hofmann explained
to him the entity of a symphonic programme; that it was made up with one
composition in relation to the others as a sympathetic unit, and that an
encore was an intrusion, disturbing the harmony of the whole.
"I wish you would let Stokowski come out and explain to you what he is
trying to do," said Hofmann. "He knows what he wants, and he is right in
his efforts; but he doesn't know how to educate the public. There is
where you could help him."
But Bok had no desire to meet Stokowski. He mentally pictured the
conductor: long hair; feet never touching the earth; temperament galore;
he knew them! And he had no wish to introduce the type into his home
life.
Mrs. Bok, however, ably seconded Josef Hofmann, and endeavored to
dissipate Bok's preconceived notion, with the result that Stokowksi came
to the Bok home.
Bok was not slow to see that Stokowski was quite the reverse of his
mental picture, and became intensely interested in the youthful
conductor's practical way of looking at things. It was agreed that the
encore "bull" was to be taken by the horns that week; that no matter
what the ovation to Hofmann might be, however the public might clamor,
no encore was to be forthcoming; and Bok was to give the public an
explanation during the following week. The next concert was to present
Mischa Elman, and his co-operation was assured so that continuity of
effort might be counted upon.
In order to have first-hand information, Bok attended the concert that
Saturday evening. The symphony, Dvorak's "New World Symphony," amazed
Bok by its beauty; he was more astonished that he could so easily grasp
any music in symphonic form. He was equally surprised at the simple
beauty of the other numbers on the programme, and wondered not a little
at his own perfectly absorbed attention during Hofmann's playing of a
rather long concerto.
The pianist's performance was so beautiful that the audience was
uproarious in its approval; it had calculated, of course, upon an
encore, and recalled the pianist again and again until he had appeared
and bowed his thanks several times. But there was no encore; the stage
hands appeared and moved the piano to one side, and the audience
relapsed into unsatisfied and rather bewildered silence.
Then followed Bok's publicity work in the newspapers, beginning the next
day, exonerating Hofmann and explaining the situation. The following
week, with Mischa Elman as soloist, the audience once more tried to have
its way and its cherished encore, but again none was forthcoming. Once
more the newspapers explained; the battle was won, and the no-encore
rule has prevailed at the Philadelphia Orchestra concerts from that day
to this, with the public entirely resigned to the idea and satisfied
with the reason therefor.
But the bewildered Bok could not make out exactly what had happened to
his preconceived notion about symphonic music. He attended the following
Saturday evening concert; listened to a Brahms symphony that pleased him
even more than had "The New World," and when, two weeks later, he heard
the Tschaikowski "Pathetique" and later the "Unfinished" symphony, by
Schubert, and a Beethoven symphony, attracted by each in turn, he
realized that his prejudice against the whole question of symphonic
music had been both wrongly conceived and baseless.
He now began to see the possibility of a whole world of beauty which up
to that time had been closed to him, and he made up his mind that he
would enter it. Somehow or other, he found the appeal of music did not
confine itself to women; it seemed to have a message for men. Then, too,
instead of dreading the approach of Saturday evenings, he was looking
forward to them, and invariably so arranged his engagements that they
might not interfere with his attendance at the orchestra concerts.
After a busy week, he discovered that nothing he had ever experienced
served to quiet him so much as these end-of-the-week concerts. They were
not too long, an hour and a half at the utmost; and, above all, except
now and then, when the conductor would take a flight into the world of
Bach, he found he followed him with at least a moderate degree of
intelligence; certainly with personal pleasure and inner satisfaction.
Bok concluded he would not read the articles he had published on the
meaning of the different "sections" of a symphony orchestra, or the
books issued on that subject. He would try to solve the mechanism of an
orchestra for himself, and ascertain as he went along the relation that
each portion bore to the other. When, therefore, in 1913, the president
of the Philadelphia Orchestra Association asked him to become a member
of its Board of Directors, his acceptance was a natural step in the
gradual development of his interest in orchestral music.
The public support given to orchestras now greatly interested Bok. He
was surprised to find that every symphony orchestra had a yearly
deficit. This he immediately attributed to faulty management; but on
investigating the whole question he learned that a symphony orchestra
could not possibly operate, at a profit or even on a self-sustaining
basis, because of its weekly change of programme, the incessant
rehearsals required, and the limited number of times it could actually
play within a contracted season. An annual deficit was inevitable.
He found that the Philadelphia Orchestra had a small but faithful group
of guarantors who each year made good the deficit in addition to paying
for its concert seats. This did not seem to Bok a sound business plan;
it made of the orchestra a necessarily exclusive organization,
maintained by a few; and it gave out this impression to the general
public, which felt that it did not "belong," whereas the true relation
of public and orchestra was that of mutual dependence. Other orchestras,
he found, as, for example, the Boston Symphony and the New York
Philharmonic had their deficits met by one individual patron in each
case. This, to Bok's mind, was an even worse system, since it entirely
excluded the public, making the orchestra dependent on the continued
interest and life of a single man.
In 1916 Bok sought Mr. Alexander Van Rensselaer, the president of the
Philadelphia Orchestra Association, and proposed that he, himself,
should guarantee the deficit of the orchestra for five years, provided
that during that period an endowment fund should be raised, contributed
by a large number of subscribers, and sufficient in amount to meet, from
its interest, the annual deficit. It was agreed that the donor should
remain in strict anonymity, an understanding which has been adhered to
until the present writing.
The offer from the "anonymous donor," presented by the president, was
accepted by the Orchestra Association. A subscription to an endowment
fund was shortly afterward begun; and the amount had been brought to
eight hundred thousand dollars when the Great War interrupted any
further additions. In the autumn of 1919, however, a city-wide campaign
for an addition of one million dollars to the endowment fund was
launched. The amount was not only secured, but over-subscribed. Thus,
instead of a guarantee fund, contributed by thirteen hundred
subscribers, with the necessity for annual collection, an endowment fund
of one million eight hundred thousand dollars, contributed by fourteen
thousand subscribers, has been secured; and the Philadelphia Orchestra
has been promoted from a privately maintained organization to a public
institution in which fourteen thousand residents of Philadelphia feel a
proprietary interest. It has become in fact, as well as in name, "our
orchestra."