D m i t r i j P a p e r n o
Concert pianist and teacher, 1929
(Anedocte)
Prize-giving of the 5th International Fryderyk Chopin Piano Competition: Vladimir Ashkenazy, Andrzej Czajkowski, Bernard Ringeissen, Dmitry Paperno. Source: Medici TV
[..] One of my colleagues, Eduard Miansarov, having at last got his first concerts abroad, contrived not to submit his exit papers on time, while my official British visa was still in force. I had so little enthusiasm for the trip that I called up Venedict Boni, the director of Gosconcert (and later, of the Bolshoi Theater), in an attempt to dodge the tour. "Are you out of your mind? Do you want to lose your foreign concerts forever? Don't you realize that it's timed to the fiftieth anniversary of the revolution, and approved by Furtseva herself? Don't even think about it!"No one could with stand this kind of argument, and besides, he meant it for the best. It was November, but stiflingly hot in fabulous Havana, and sure enough, the air conditioner the Americans had built and left behind in the rambling contemporary Hilton was out of order. Not being used to one hundred percent humidity, my good colleague from Gosconcert and I found it difficult to breathe, play, even shave. And something else dampened this bright and handsome violinist's enthusiasm even further: the Soviet embassy official made an agreement with the hotel management that I would simply sign my restaurant checks. Since all my hotel expenses were taken care of by Cuba, my three daily meals in Havana thus became free. I don't know why my pal was not extended this same hospitality; three times a day, he walked several blocks to the embassy's canteen where the meals were much cheaper. (I mention this insignificant episode because it had an unexpected but unfortunately typical sequel.)
On 5 November I played the Shostakovich Concerto with the Havana Symphony at the Amadeo Roldan. The beautiful old concert hall was full to over flowing. Almost half the orchestra was made up of musicians from Bulgaria, for a large percentage of the local intelligentsia emigrated after Castro came to power. At one of the rehearsals the popular, respected conductor, Enrico Manticci, showed up in a police uniform with a holster at his belt — it was his day on duty. Let's not forget that Old Havana used to listen to Rachmaninov, Rubinstein, and many others, and the city boasted two or three conservatories.
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the professional level was more in line with our music college or high schools. (Ten years later I found, to my even greater surprise, the same situation in the United States.) Our animated conversation clearly revealed their amicability, spontaneity, and curiosity — a quality that I consider a real pledge of progress — yet at the same time, their modest knowledge of music and its history. For instance, one of them asked, "Who in the U.S.S.R. is considered the best pianist — you or Richter?" Unbelievable!
Incidentally, Sviatoslav Richter had long put up with such nonsense. Back in the mid 1940s, when his enormous popularity was just beginning, he asked a doctor from the district clinic to make a house call. In filling out the medical report, the old man learned that his patient was a pianist with the Moscow Philharmonie and remarked respectfully, "Aah, the next Bryushkov."
(In the 1930s, Yury Bryushkov had enjoyed some success among older Muscovites as a sentimental Chopin performer.)
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From: "Notes of a Moscow pianist" by Dmitrij Paperno (ukrainian concert pianist and teacher, he studied under Goldenweiser). Amadeus Press 1998.
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