The gold leaf. [volume] (Henderson, N.C.) 1881-1911, 1898-04-14
A BEAUTIFUL TRIBUTE.
Robert Il. ingersoll's Eloquent Words
Over a Dead faster of Music.

Over a Dead faster of Music.
The following beautiful tribute was
paid by Col. Robert g. Ingersoll to
the memory of Anton seidl, the bril-
liant musical director who died and
was buried from the Metropolitan
opera house, New York, of which he
was the strength and the hope and
the glory.
Among all the tributes paid to the
virtues and victories of the great
musician and master there was not
more touching and eloquent one than
that sent by wire from Wheeling,
West Virginia, by the gifted agnos-
tic. AS read by sympathetic friend
over the coffin Of the dead musical
director the audience was moved to
tears.
Col IngerSoll's tribute was as fol-
lows. and all who knew of the noble
man in whose honor the words were
spoken will feel a responsive chord
vibrate:
.In the noon and zenith of his career,
in the flush and glory of his success,
Anton Seidl, the greatest orchestral
leader Of all time, the perfect inter
prefer Of Wagner, of all his subtlety,
his heroism and grandeur, his inten-
dcrful harmonies that tell of all there
is in life and touch the language and
hopes of every heart, has passed from
the shores of sound to realms of
silence, borne by the mysterious tide
that ever GIBBS but never flows.
"All noodles were his Delicate as
the perfume of the first violet, wild
as the storm. he knew the music of
all sounds, from the rustic of the
leaves, the whispers of hidden springs
to the noises of the sea. He was the
master Of music, from the rhythmical
strains of irrepressible joy to the
sobs of the funeral march. He stood
like king with his sceptre in his
hand, and we know that every tone
and harmony was in his brain, every
passion in his heart, and yet his
sculptured face was as calm and
serene as perfect art.
''He mingled his soul with the
music and gave his heart to the en-
chanted air. He appeared to have no
limitations, no walls, no chains. He
seemed to follow the pathway of
desire. and with him the marvellous
melodies, the sublime harmOnies,
were as free as eagles above the
clouds, with outstretched wings.
''He was educated, refined and gave
unspeakable Joy to the many thous-
ands of his fellow-men. He added
to the grace and glory of life. He
spoke a language deeper, more poetic
than words, the language of love and
death.
but he is voiceless now. A foun-
tain Of harmony is closed. Its in
night and all its murmuring melodies
are strangely still. We will mourn
for him. we will honor him, not in
words, but in the language that he
used.
'Anton Seidl is dead. Play the
great funeral march. Envelop him
in music. Let its wild and mournful
wind sigh and mourn above him.
Give his face to its kisses and its
tears.
PLAY the great funeral march,
music as profound as death. That
will express our sorrow. That will
voice our love, our loss, our hope,
and that will tell Of the life, the
genius, the triumphs and the death
of Anton Seidl."
At the words play the funeral
march, Henry Schmitt, the concert
master of the Seidl Orchestra, and
one of the first violins of the Philhar-
monte, who acted as conductor,
stepped to the leaders, pedestal and
raised his baton. AS the last word
was dying away the sad strains of
"Seigfricd's Funeral March" broke
| from the orchestra and made a most
effective climax. This was the pub
lies last sobbing requiem at the bier
Of the great master.