In this extract from his forthcoming memoirs, to be published later in the year by Bloomsbury, the author looks back on an eventful life and discusses some of the stars who have been lucky enough to meet him in the course of his career.
An extract from my diary, June 14th, 1958
To the Albert Hall to watch a performance by Semprini Horowitz, the concert pianist. Not all that many people about and I have little difficulty in parking my car. But I have to elbow my way to the bar where a fair selection of the London cognoscenti are already in residence. Once again I have cause to deplore the outlandish prices charged for alcoholic beverages and resolve to bring my own hip flask next time.
As the lights dim in the main or “Albert” Hall, I can’t help noticing the piano strategically positioned in the centre of the stage. After a while, Horowitz makes his entrance and heads straight for the piano. I see from the programme notes that he has opted to begin with Chopin’s “minute” waltz, though in truth there is nothing minute about this immense work of art.
A strange hush falls over the audience soon after the great man starts to play. You can tell he’s on form tonight; he’s playing fast, he’s playing very fast indeed. Rubinstein has been clocked at 1 minute 50 seconds but it is quite clear from the outset that Conway Horowitz is going to establish a season’s best. I recall an unsolicited tribute that Rubinstein once paid him:
“Horowitz”, he said, “has more talent in his whole body than other pianists have in their little finger.”
The evening drags on. At the end, the audience moves forward to engulf Horowitz, and it is some time before I can “get through” to the great man.
“May I”, I say winningly, “on behalf of all music lovers, both here and abroad, be among the last to congratulate you on your performance here tonight at the Royal Albert Hall?”. He is obviously exhausted for he does not immediately respond to my overture….
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