A few people to dinner

For a long time I’ve been curious about a dinner party in Paris on 18 May 1922. Now all has been revealed in Stephen Klaidman’s new book*, a biography of the hosts that evening, Sydney and Violet Schiff.

The Schiffs were committed patrons of (and friends with) artists, writers and musicians, and Sydney himself wrote autobiographical novels under the pseudonym Stephen Hudson.

It was a late dinner in an upstairs room at the Hotel Majestic, following the first night of Stravinsky’s new burlesque-ballet at the Opéra, Le Renard, which was given by Diaghilev’s Ballet Russes, the same group who had shocked Paris with The Rite of Spring. Diaghilev and several of his dancers came to the dinner, as did the designer of the new production, one Pablo Picasso.

But not content with having the leading composer, artist and impresario of the day (and maybe of the century) at their dinner, the Schiffs had also invited two writers, arguably the greatest literary innovators of the twentieth century: Marcel Proust and James Joyce.

Proust arrived around midnight and proceeded to make conversation with Stravinsky, saying how much he loved the late quartets of Beethoven and comparing Stravinsky with Beethoven. Sensing that this was Proust trying to show off his connoisseurship in music, Stravinsky took offence: “I detest Beethoven,” he announced.

Joyce arrived around 2:30am, shabby and drunk. Proust had not read any of Joyce’s work ‒ Ulysses was causing a great stir at the time, but not with Proust. And Joyce had read just a few pages of Proust’s magnum opus, In Search of Lost Time, and disclosed to a friend some time later that “I cannot see any special talent but I am a bad critic.” They found little to say to each other, these two titans of literature.

At the end of the “evening” they shared a taxi together with the Schiffs. Joyce lit a cigarette, but was silent. Proust talked incessantly – but not to Joyce.

And so finished the starriest dinner party of all time.

*Stephen Klaidman, Sydney and Violet: Their Life with TS Eliot, Proust, Joyce and the Excruciatingly Irascible Wyndham Lewis, Nan A Talese / Doubleday

Colin Davis RIP

As a young man Colin Davis came to conduct a concert at school. Was it in 1958? With the BBC Symphony Orchestra? And which Stravinsky did he conduct so blisteringly? The Rite of Spring probably. My first ear-opening experience of that composer.

My study-mate at Uppingham, Nick Billingham, announced that he would obviously become a star. “How do you know?” I asked him. “Well, he came on quickly, and with a little skip,” said Nick, as if this was the most obvious and conclusive evidence.

Then, a couple of years later, my mother took me to my first opera – Carmen at the Coventry Theatre. It was the Sadler’s Wells company – conducted by Colin Davis, of course – and it lit a flame for life.

He seems to have been ever-present in my musical life since those days. Mozart’s Marriage of Figaro and Britten’s Peter Grimes (with the incomparable Jon Vickers) at Covent Garden. Berlioz’s Trojans at the Barbican. Just three special memories. And so many fine recordings.  

So RIP Sir Colin Davis, who died last Sunday, aged 85.

Stravinsky the bank manager

Do highly creative individuals look different?

In my experience some do, some don’t.

There’s no doubt with Albert Einstein. The amazing breakthrough thinking matches up precisely with the visual image of the wild-haired, wild-eyed maverick.

But consider Igor Stravinsky. The Rite of Spring ballet that he composed for Diaghilev was so shocking when it was first performed in 1913 that there were riots in the streets of Paris. And composers are still dealing with and responding to the savagery of his musical vision.

Yet Stravinsky presented himself more like a bank manager than a revolutionary artist. And so did one of the greatest and most radical of twentieth century poets, TS Eliot.

In my own working experience, I learned over time not to trust the packaging as an accurate guide to the contents when dealing with “creatives” in an ad agency. Some of the greatest copywriters I worked with dressed and behaved conservatively, while some of the least talented presented themselves as geniuses.

But how are we to tell the difference?