The great Duke of Wellington,[32] who was devoted to music, and never, if he could help it, missed the “Ancient Concerts” or the opera, was in a box with my father the first time that he saw Costa conduct. He was immensely struck by the young conductor’s dominant personality, and turning round to my father said, “That young man could have commanded an army.” He recognized a magnetic influence which no one who ever played under him failed to feel. His sway over his orchestra was phenomenal. He was the incarnation of masterful will-power. When I first knew him in about the year 1850 he was forty years of age. A sturdy, powerfully-built man of about the middle height—curly, rather fair hair—whiskers meeting under his chin; slightly pitted with the smallpox; a pale complexion. But what always struck me most about him was the massive lower jaw, that meant so much. I knew him well till his death in 1884, or rather till his terrible illness in 1883—paralysis, which deprived him of the power of speech. The last time I saw him in Pall Mall he could only point with his finger to his tongue; he shook his head sadly, his eyes filled with tears, he pressed my hand warmly in a parting which we both knew must be the last. I remember the occasion when after we had rehearsed Meyerbeer’s opening music for the Exhibition of 1862, the composer bowed, thanked the band, and hailed Costa as the greatest conductor of the world. Richter is the only conductor that I have seen who could be compared with him. Leaving on one side the many faults that have been found with Costa as a musician—chiefly for tampering with scores—I believe no one could excel him in the art of conveying his intentions to a great army of performers. When he stepped into the orchestra, firmly grasped his bâton—not holding it with ladylike daintiness between two fingers as do so many emasculate conductors of to-day—he would give two curious side to side movements with his head, a little trick which never failed, and then the beating of the first bar, firm and decided, made itself felt throughout band and audience, and one realized the appreciation of the great Duke. It would hardly be thought likely that the rehearsals of a Handel Festival would lead to comic incidents—but they did to not a few. One was at the rehearsal for the miscellaneous day. We were ready for “See the Conquering Hero Comes.” The chorus was to be heralded by brass instruments alone. Costa lifted his bâton and called out, “Now, Brass! One bar for nothing!” Down came the stick and in the dead silence of “one bar for nothing,” a solitary little tenor voice piped out “See the Conquering——” He got no further, Costa tapped his desk, folded the bâton under his arm and roared out, “ARE YOU BRASS?” There was a roar of laughter. Poor little tenor! He must have wished that the Palace might collapse and he sink unnoticed in the ruins.