[Because musical eccentricity is forever
fascinating, Biographer Victor Seroff
(lives of Ravel, Shostakovitch, Debussy,
Rachmaninoff and, most recently, Renata
Tebaldi) has contributed the following letter
to BRAVO readers. Ed.]
Par 1
IN YOUR Conversation Piece, Mischa Elman,
speaking of Vladimir de Pachmann
as an eccentric, said: "I don't know
whether he was born that way or he
acquired it". Perhaps I can shed some light
on de Pachmann.
Par 2
I never heard him play except on a few records,
which cannot do him justice. He was considered
a remarkable pianist. This I heard from a friend
of his, Moriz Rosenthal, and Rosenthal was not
particularly generous in praising his confreres
even when they happened to be his friends. But
as de Pachmann grew older, he began to play
less well and to lose his audience. His manager
suggested that he do something to attract the
public and, among other things, proposed that
he talk to the audience during performances.
"This way, at least, we shall be sure of selling
the front seats", said the manager.
Par 3
That this eccentricity was well planned and
rehearsed in advance I gather from a story
Arnold Meckel told me. Meckel, then manager
of the famous Spanish dancer,
Argentina, agreed
to arrange a few concerts for de Pachmann in
England. On this particular night, de Pachmann
came out on stage (in London) and, after taking
his bow, remained stock still, staring at a middle-aged
woman in the fourth row. She was not
particularly attractive, but her elaborate dress
and sparkling jewels were more suited to a
reception at Buckingham Palace than a concert
hall. Finally, clutching his head with both
hands, he ran backstage. There, he told his
manager that he was going home, because the
sight of the woman disturbed him so much that
he could not play. The distressed manager
begged him to wait while he would "see what
can be done about it". Thereupon, Meckel went
out on the stage and addressed the woman,
saying that her lovely gown seemed to distract
the pianist, that it was a pity it could not also
be seen by the whole audience, and suggesting
that she take a place in his box. Flattered, the
woman rose and like a proud peacock strutted
through the aisles and up to the box, while
lorgnettes and binoculars followed her every
step and gesture. A few minutes later, de
Pachmann reappeared on
stage. After carefully examining the front rows and
seeing that the woman had gone, he rubbed his hands
and said to the audience: "Did you see that
monkey? How could you expect me to play?"
Par 4
That his ungallant remark caused neither
indignation nor hysterics on the part of the woman
leads me to believe it was as prearranged as such
gags are clowns in a circus.
Par 5
On another occasion, after trying some time to
adjust his chair to the proper height, he touched
the keyboard with his fingers and with utter
disgust remarked that his position was made
uneven by dust on the keys. He then called an
attendant and explained the cause of his
discomfort. The attendant offered his
handkerchief, but de Pachmann shook his head
and told him to bring him a bucket of water,
soap and a towel. Then he proceeded carefully
to wash the keyboard. But even this did not
satisfy him — the height of the chair still was not
right. Thereupon, he pulled out a letter in a long
envelope. After reading it, he put the envelope
on the chair, sat on it and after stretching his
hands toward the keyboard, beamed, declaring:
"Now at last, it's perfect!"
Par 6
I won't deny, however, that once de Pachmann
got into the swing of his commentaries he
did ad lib once in a while, and these remarks
were usually especially appreciated by pianists.
He was famous for his particularly beautiful
playing of Chopin's Etude in thirds. Since the
first two bars are played by the right hand
alone, de Pachmann would move his left hand
over the right hand, hiding his fingers from the
sight of the audience. Continuing to trill with
his right hand, he would remark: "I don't want
Moriz Rosenthal and Leopold Godowski
to see which fingers I am using". That neither of
them was in the audience was not important.
Par 7
Or, if he had to play a rather difficult passage,
he would stop before attacking it and say to the
audience: "I know you all think it is very
difficult. Not at all. It is all your imagination.
You should practice it a long time very slowly.
Like this." And he would play it very slowly,
which was very simple indeed. Then, without
out ever playing the passage at proper tempo,
he would finish the piece.
Par 8
De Pachmann insisted that pianists throw their
hands too much around the keyboard. Indeed,
he was known for hardly moving his hands
while playing. "But what do you do when you
have to jump from one chord to the other and
move your hands from one extremity to the
other?" Rosenthal asked him. "What do I do?"
De Pachmann thought for a while. "I just don't
play such pieces", he said.