Since the Second World War the Russian contingent at Brussels had regularly scooped most of the prizes, a situation which, making success customary, only rendered anything less than distinction hideous to contemplate. On this particular occasion David Oistrakh spoke to me about his country’s great hope, a young man called Sitkovietsky, who played brilliantly. […] David’s mention if his young compatriot was not intended to influence my judgement – indeed it occurred after the prizes had been awarded – but only to engage my sympathy. Sitkovietsky, he told me, could work with profit round the clock and had done so since the age of six, grooming himself through endless laborious years for world acclaim as a leading virtuoso. And then, at Brussels, he was rated second. For more aspirants this would have been a triumph; for Sitkovietsky it was a tragedy, and Oistrakh’s despondency gave me the measure of it.[…] I myself had found a competing candidate more musical, but the poignancy of the situation gave me a revulsion toward dividing winners from losers. << less