In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

6 The Diémer Competition, Paris [1903] Unpublished M. R. The international [triennial] competition for the prize of four thousand gold francs, endowed by Professor Louis Diémer of the Paris Conservatoire, had once again drawn the French capital into the spotlight of musical interest.1 Above all, the names of the twelve judges appeared like a shooting rocket: there they all appeared in the judges’box of the Conservatoire,Massenet,Saint-Saëns, Paderewski, Fauré, Planté, De Greef, Paladilhe, Wormser, Pugno, Philipp, Chevillard , and little me.2 On the ¤rst day we all listened to Beethoven and Schumann (“Appassionata” Sonata and Etudes symphoniques), Chopin on the second (Fantasie op. 49 or Ballade in f, then mazurka), and either “La Campanella” by Paganini-Liszt or the “Etude en forme de Valse” by Saint-Saëns to ¤nish. The Spaniard Malats, the “star,” and Diémer’s crack student, Lazare Lévy, were the odds-on favorites.3 As Diémer and I were exchanging greetings, he took the opportunity to put in a good word for Lévy by exclaiming: “Oh, this poor Lévy, he has such a terrible fear. He is quite sick with it!”I was more than a little shocked by this shameless propaganda, but determined to allow nothing to in-®uence me in my judgment. I sat next to Paderewski, and we got on to the topic of famous concertists, and I jokingly offered him a simple means by which to measure the greatness of a success by asking a simple question of his colleagues. One should not ask how he had performed, but rather what public appreciation and the local critics are like. The level of success could be measured from the answer, just as from a thermometer. At this moment we heard a melodious, powerful baritone, that of Pugno, who called to De Greef: “You ask me, my dear fellow, what appreciation the Milanese have of music? Here is my answer: They are vulgar, ignorant, and incapable of grasping true greatness!” Paderewski and I broke out into hearty laughter, whilst Pugno and De Greef looked on in astonishment. Now Malats began the “Appassionata”and led it to its conclusion with a serene disposition. It was a polite, peaceful, domesticated “Appassionata,” an “Appassionata ” of the restrained zone, with a little stab at the Faubourg St. Germain. He was also successful with the Etudes symphoniques, although it cannot be denied that the main emphasis lay on the etudes and not on the symphonic. Lazare Lévy had specialized a little too much on the Etude by Saint-Saëns, but demonstrated quite brilliant pianism and much love for his instrument. The vote resulted in a resounding victory for Malats. Terrible excitement: what will Diémer say? In vain, I searched for Massenet among those present. Finally, I found him deep in thought on a square near the Conservatoire. Had the birdsong brought him a new, wonderful cantilena? Was he thinking of his friend Diémer, upon whom he had just in®icted a gaping wound? With the exception of Saint-Saëns’s, all of the votes had been cast against Lévy, that is, against Diémer. [Massenet’s] ancient Roman sense of justice aroused my enthusiasm. Nothing could shake him. I said to him: “You have often enchanted me, as a ¤fteen-year-old I was inspired by your Hérodiade,4 but today you have climbed to your summit!” “But why?” asked Massenet, astonished. “Well, Diémer is an old, close friend of yours and was probably hoping for your vote, which, with a keen sense of justice, you gave to Malats.” —Pause: Then a true wail from Massenet’s breast. (Oh, etc.) The dinner began without the principal character, who was letting his indisputable success be acclaimed by his Spanish and Catalan journals. The twelve of us on the jury, however, were astonished by the delirious ovations in Barcelona , such as torch-lit processions, ¤reworks, public speeches, etc., until exact reports made clear to us that the correspondence and telegrams from Paris had contained one small error: We on the jury had served not as judges but as rivals. Saint-Saëns, Massenet, Paderewski, etc., had competed at the piano and had all —all—succumbed to Malats’s genius. None of us cleared up the truth of the matter, and thus Malats was able to bask in his glory undisturbed. To his credit, let it be said that he launched the...

Share