Of all such concerts, the one that stands out most sharply in my memory took place in the spring of 1927 during the music festival we held in Barcelona to commemorate the hundredth anniversary of the death of Beethoven. Several months before, I had visited my dear friend, Eugène Ysaÿe, in Brussels. He was then almost seventy and had stopped playing the violin. His last public performance, in fact, had been very disappointing. I knew he grieved over this fact, and when I saw him, I thought how wonderful it would be if he could take part in the Beethoven centennial. I was convinced he was still capable of a magnificent performance. So I said to him, “Eugène, you must come and play the Beethoven violin concerto at our festival.”/ He stared at me in astonishment. “But, Pablo,” he said, “that’s impossible!”/”Why?”/ “I haven’t played the Beethoven concerto in fourteen years.” / I told him, “No matter. You can play.” / “You really believe so?” / “I know it. You can and you will.” / His face looked suddenly youthful. He said, “Perhaps the miracle will happen!” And he agreed to make the effort. / Several weeks after I had returned to Barcelona, I received a letter from Ysaÿe’s son Antoine. He was greatly disturbed. He questioned whether I should ever raised his father’s hopes that he might play again. “If only you could see my dear father,”, he wrote, “if you could see him working every day, playing scales slowly and laboriously hour after hour. It is a tragedy, and we cannot help weeping over it.” The letter wrung my heart. Had I done the right thing, after all? Still, deep inside me, I felt Ysaÿe would play again. / The time came for the festival, and Ysaÿe arrived in Barcelona. He was terribly nervous at the rehearsal, and – though I was careful not to show it- I was worried too. And when I took my place on the podium on the evening of Ysaÿe’s performance and looked at him, I was filled with apprehension. He moved so slowly – he seemed weary – and suddenly I thought, He is old, have I done my friend a great injustice? / I lifted my baton, and he raised his violin to his chin…and, with the first notes, I knew that all was well! In some passages it seemed he might falter, and I felt his nervousness throughout. But there were many moments of the great Ysaÿe, and the effect as a whole was overwhelming. /Once again, as so often in the past, I was lost in the wonder of his music. The ovation at the end was frenzied. The Ysaÿe took my place on the podium and conducted Beethoven’s “Eroica” Symphony and afterwards the Triple concerto with Cortot, Thibaud and me playing…. << less