Oral history interview with Laszlo Varga, 2011

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CELLO COLLECTION, UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES
THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA AT GREENSBORO
INTERVIEWEE: Laszlo Varga
INTERVIEWERS: William (Mac) Nelson
Joanna Hay, Videographer
DATES: May 27-28, 2011
[Beginning of interview]
[Beginning of tape 1]
LV: —holes in between.
WN: Sure. Sure.
LV: Which I would like to—
WN: Yes. Right.
LV: Uh—fill up with.
WN: Now do you think there are holes in your early life, or are the holes—
LV: I think the early years of my life are pretty well covered.
WN: Ok.
LV: I would like to concentrate on my American life. My marriage and so on.
WN: Sure. We’ll do that.
LV: Alright.
WN: But, I think—
LV: [unclear]
WN: Oh, that’s alright. That’s alright. We’ll get you from the front. You still have [unclear]
LV: I’m turning gray. It’s not all white yet.
WN: I’ve gotten salt and pepper, as they say.
LV: Oh, yes. That’s very nice. [laughs]
LV: Oh, we’re on. And, the arrangement is there that the children—the three children—spent
every alternate week with their father. And then other weeks, back with the mother. So
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every other week, the house is full. With the three children and the fourth. Our
grandchild. [Cough] But, they’re away for school.
WN: And, that’s your son, Michael, who lives in London? Right?
LV: Yes.
WN: Yes. And, what’s your grandchild’s name?
LV: Isabella.
WN: Isabella.
LV: And is she Bella!
WN: [chuckles] And she’s what? One and a half now? Something like that?
LV: Just about. Just about. She was born on December 9th, so it’s almost half.
WN: Ah. So she was born a week after I was visiting you in ’09, I think. I think she was on
the way—any time. And, she was born shortly afterward.
LV: But you had nothing to do with it.
WN: No! [laughs] I was—I was across the water. [laughs]
LV: Alright. Listen! If I—if I don’t make dumb jokes, I’m not happy. Everybody else is
unhappy, but—[laughs] I like to keep—
WN: Laszlo, I love your jokes. I remember when we were—we were sitting together in
Greensboro, and the speaker—we were listening to a lecture—
[Interruption]
WN: Hard. I’d better stick with my guitar.
LV: Well, I have a parallel story because I started guitar along with the cello. And, I used to
play—quite—well, not perfectly, but—I really enjoyed it very much. And, it—the tuning
is so different from the fifths-apart cello.
WN: Right.
LV: That it was a problem for me. But, I got used to it. Just now, I was working on the 5th
Suite of Bach which has a—Bach wrote it with a lower A string to G, so there’s only a
fourth between the D string and the upper G. And, that’s very hard for me to get used to
it because I’m so imbedded with the fifths-apart tuning. But I—Bach was such a genius
that that’s the only piece where he required this tuning. And, when you play it that way,
everything just falls in place. If it was played on the normal tuning, it’s a very artificial
building of chords and so it’s difficult. But that way—if you can do it—and I couldn’t
because I have perfect pitch and, you know, when I see a note that looks like an A, and it
sounds a G, it makes me wild. [chuckles] I don’t believe it. But, that’s the only way to
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use it. And, most people play it in the regular tuning, and chords cannot be played as
naturally on the cello, but there are other versions to do it. But, the ideal way is what
Bach thought. So, lately, after playing the cello for seventy years, I came back to the
realization that Bach was right in writing it that way. But then I’m going back and forth
because the regular tuning is still more natural for me.
WN: Well, you can have a friend come over and you can play the arrangement you made for
two cellos.
[Interruption: Camera moves to new position without recording]
LV: That requires that two low strings to be tuned down a half step each. So the cello is tuned
low B, F sharp, D, it’s already a B minor chord—
WN: Yes.
LV: Have you ever heard it?
WN: Yes. We have your recording on LP.
LV: Yes. Right. Right.
WN: Yeah. Oh yeah. It’s fabulous. We made you copies because we’re not sure we can trust
you with the originals, sir. [chuckles]
LV: I know. I got copies. I know. I understand. I’ll forgive you.
WN: I’m kidding you. [laughs] Well, you know I’m working on my ability to transfer the LPs
onto CD preservation copies.
LV: Oh, God bless you.
WN: Yes. Yes.
LV: I have some tapes of certain works that—
[Interruption]
WN: In fact, now, do you have—you know, your tin CDs—that you have. Do you have copies
here?
LV: Yes.
WN: Yes. Good because I’m going to buy another set from you.
LV: Oh, God bless you!
WN: Yes. I am. I’m going—there’s one—we’ve made sure that we have one in the—
JH: Do you want to say hi?
MARKITA: Hi, camera! I’m Markita. [laughs]
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WN: And Markita, you help Laszlo, don’t you? And Lillian?
MARKITA: Yes, I do. Yeah, I’ve been helping him for the last month. It’s been good.
VARGA; [unclear] In the movies.
MARKITA: I know. I love to been in the film. [laughs] I don’t mind.
LV: Ok. See you.
MARKITA: Ok. I’ll see you when you come down.
LV: Yes.
WN: You’re wired now, Laszlo. [chuckles]
LV: Don’t take me on this slow walk. I am not too happy about this. You are welcome here
too. [chuckles]
WN: Yes.
LV: And there are my [unclear] gallery, and I can translate everyone of them.
WN: What a great picture, Laszlo.
[Telephone rings]
LV: Oh! Excuse me.
[Personal telephone conversation redacted]
LV: See, this is how a worrier—sons. [chuckles] Uh—Listen! Do you want to have lights?
JH: Yes.
[Interruption]
WN: —made this portrait of you?
LV: Yes.
WN: The gentleman who used to illustrate at Tanglewood?
LV: Yes. Right and he lives in Tanglewood up near by Lenox.
WN: Lenox.
LV: Yes, he’s there now. But, he made that drawing, yes. But, that’s not really me, by the
way. My smile is missing.
WN: Yes.
LV: Just one second.
LV: Been awhile. I’ll do this later.
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WN: Ok. Yeah. We can do that. We can do that. Absolutely.
LV: Oh, here is my copy of things.
WN: Ah, yes. And, we’re going to make it. We’re going to make it fatter, Laszlo.
LV: Is this a copy of yours?
WN: That’s a copy of mine, yes.
LV: Yeah. That’s what I thought. And, uh—
WN: It looks like you’ve been marking it with your red pen.
LV: Oh, just little corrections.
WN: Yes.
LV: But, I didn’t really go through everything.
WN: Well, you already know the story.
LV: Yes, so I don’t know why I should correct it. [chuckles] Oh!
JH: Hello.
LV: Well, that’s an interesting—
JH: Light.
LV: Are you moving the end of that—little—protrusion? Oops!
WN: I’ll get that.
JH: Oops! Sorry about that.
WN: But, now we’ll have the smile. [laughs]
LV: Oh, I have to put on my smile. Alright, so—you have to tell me a joke.
JH/WN:[chuckles]
LV: Shall I ensconce myself comfortably?
JH: Can you tell me—um—can you tell me about some of these pictures on the walls?
LV: Well, I’ll be glad to if you want to. All those things—mainly the big conductors that I
experienced in the Philharmonic—with the point of exclusion of Szell. You don’t want
to point them?
JH: Yes. I’ll go over there now.
LV: Alright.
JH: And then I’ll listen to you.
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LV: Alright. Well, I can tell you most of those are inscribed to me. Starting on the upper left
is Heitor Villa-Lobos. You’ve heard of him? And, next to it is Barbirolli. What’s his
first name?
WN: Sir John.
LV: Sir John. Thank you. And, under it is Pablo Casals and two other famous cellists. One
of them are me.
JH: Oh, there you are together. The three of you.
LV: Yes, actually—we accompanied Casals as an encore with twelve cellos. And, I forget
what it was. And, then, ah, there it is. The Borodin Trio of which I was a member the
last seven years. This is a married couple: the violinist Dubinski and Luba, the pianist.
This is Andre Cluytens, a French conductor who was conducting us. And, I have no idea
who this is. [chuckles] Here is Casals accompanied by us—my wife—and he called me:
“A un gran violonchelista y amigo, Laszlo Varga!” signed Pablo Casals. Pretty good.
Here’s another famous friend, Itzhak Perlman with me, playing Kodaly: Duo in Aspen.
And, lets see—here’s Bruno Walter. Here is Erika Morini. Have you heard of her? She
was a very famous violinist who played every year with the New York Philharmonic,
beautifully. And, I used to play string quartets with her at her home. This is Arthur
Rubinstein. And, this is nobody. [chuckles] This is not inscribed. This is my cello,
backwards. Here is the front. Looks better.
JH: Beautiful.
LV: By the way, this is the artwork of a very close friend of ours. It’s a lovely, little Italian
scene. A village scene. Can you see it?
JH: The blue and white.
LV: Yes.
JH: Is it embroidery?
LV: Yes. Take a close look at it. It’s stitchery. She died a long time ago. Now, who do we
have here? You have heard of Pierre Monteux, with the mustache. And, here was my
first boss, Dimitri Mitropoulos, who engauged me to the philharmonic. He was the
director for seven years. And, after that, came this young man: Leonard Bernstein. This
also has an inscription, but I don’t think it will show up on your machine. And, this is
Casals again. Are you trying to avoid the reflection?
JH: Yes.
LV: I see. This is Guido—Guido Cantelli. A young protégé of Arturo Toscanini who came to
conduct the philharmonic, and I was soloist with him several times until at age thirty-two,
he was in an aircrash in Paris, coming to New York to conduct us. He died at the age of
thirty-two. Very excellent, talented, wonderful guy. Now, here is another great
conductor, conducting two hundred forty-seven cellists.
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JH: Oh!
LV: Can you imagine? It happens to be me.
WN: He must be one of the immortals. That’s what I was thinking.
LV: Mortals. One of the mortals. [chuckles] But, this was a Cello Congress which I always,
very frequently attended. And, here, two hundred forty-seven of them. Can you
imagine? Here is Paul Paray, from Paris. Are you with me? No.
JH: No. Hold on. I’m still on the Cello Congress.
WN: Yeah. That’s a lot of cellists to get into one picture.
JH: Ok.
LV: Don’t forget. Two hundred forty-seven, even though some doesn’t show. So, this is Paul
Paray, from Paris. A very nice gentleman. Good conductor. Here is Bernstein again,
and it happens to be me sitting there right behind him. He was giving one of his famous
lectures. Usually to young people. And, he always made us laughing. And, the
photographer caught me laughing at my collegues. Talking about Bernstein, he had the
New York Philharmonic South American Tour. Getting in the plane here is Bernstein
and his wife, and I’m here—oh, here. Here I am too. So, it’s valid. We talked about
Paul Paray. This is in Aspen. Aaron Copland is conducting, and I played the Schubert:
Concerto. And, this was one of my trios. We played a lot in California.
WN: Nice hat.
LV: Yeah. Fun. Oh! By the way, if you thought this was an immense amount of cellists—
two hundred forty-seven—here is a thousand cellists in Japan, someplace. I don’t know
whether you can see it sufficiantly. But, the conductor had to be ten foot high, standing
on an elevator so that people would see him. Can you imagine? A thousand cellists in
Japan. I think its—I told you this was—And, this is my Michael.
WN: And, his dog.
LV: Yes. The dog is not my child.
WN: [laughs]
LV: I think we’ve another picture on this side. But, if you have some film—oh, that’s right, it
doesn’t go with film.
JH: I do actually. This does have tape.
LV: Alright. I don’t know whether you—well, let’s continue with our musical friends. Do
you have enough light here?
WN: Do you want me to move this?
JH: Yes.
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WN: I’m going to move your chair, Laszlo.
LV: Alright. I don’t think—Oh! No bulb. So here—why don’t you position yourself—so I
am not in your way. Tell me when you need some rest.
JH: [chuckles] I’m alright. Ok. So—
LV: So, lets start here. This is Fritz Reiner, fellow Hungarian, but don’t hold it against him.
WN: [chuckles]
LV: Interestingly, when I was in New York, the most famous conductors were George Shulty,
Fritz Reiner, George Szell, and, I think, a few other Hungarians. [chuckles] There was a
Hungarian invasion. And, then I became a conductor too. I was already a conductor in
Hungary, but I had my own New York Philharmonic Chamber Ensemble. Yeah, I always
formed the groups. Now, lets see. Here is Gregor Piatigorsky.
JH: Piatigorsky.
LV: And, that’s uh—the Vorgers. Vorger and Mrs. Vorger.
WN: Aren’t they lovely?
LV: And, onward there’s our trio. Again, I think you saw the trio over there.
JH: Same three.
LV: Different.
WN: Is that Borodin Trio?
LV: No. No. No. That was just David Abel, Sylvia Jenkins and me. And, that was our
permanent trio. But, this was another trio with Daniel Kobialka and Paul Hersh. I don’t
know whether you came across the Hersh family of musicians. This is Paul—uh—this is
Paul Hersh, the son of Ralph Hersh. Both of them are violists. And, famous ones. He—
this one—is not only a violist, who was in many quartets and sort, but he’s a brilliant
pianist.
WN: Ahhh.
LV: And, here, this trio was the only one that was both string trio and piano trio.
JH: Ohhh!
WN: Ohhh!
LV: Because he was the switch-hitter. And, excellent on both instruments.
WN: Wow. That’s an accomplishment.
LV: Now, here is the Borodin Trio.
WN: Ok. Gotcha.
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LV: Did you run out of film?
JH: No. Not yet.
LV: Oh! Are you focusing on that?
JH: I was looking at the Borodin.
LV: Yes.
JH: And, now above. Who’s above, to the right?
LV: Oh! That’s Isaac Stern. An old friend. And, here is the New York Philharmonic Cello
Quartet.
WN: Oh, yes! Do I remember correctly that you got your start with Puccini?
LV: Not Puccini.
WN: I was thinking there was a quartet in Taska. A cello—
LV: Oh! That’s true, but that’s original.
WN: Oh! Ah, yes.
LV: That doesn’t need any translation.
WN: [laughs] Ok.
LV: Oh, yes. It’s a famous—
WN: It’s lovely.
LV: Oh, yes. I used to play—
[Interruption]
LV: Let’s see, who else is here? Did I say Thomas Schippers? And, I don’t know whether
you can possibly photograph this, but this ballerina is Mstislav Rostropovich. [laughs]
Take a close look at it.
WN: [laughs]
LV: He dressed as a ballerina.
JH: Oh, no!
LV: He came—I think it was Isaac Stern was playing an outdoor concert and he came to take
a bow with him.
JH: That is hysterical.
LV: It is.
WN: [laughs]
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LV: [chuckles] Does it come through?
JH: A little bit. Yeah, it does. I think I have it enough.
LV: Alright.
WN: But, the idea of Rostropovich as ballerina—[laughs]
JH: That’s very funny.
LV: Ah, by the way, if you will remind me, I have several stories with Rostropovich and me.
JH: Ok.
LV: Uh—we skipped just one who’s Elliott Carter with me.
JH: Which is this? Which is that? Oh! Here.
LV: Up there.
JH: Yep. This colored—
LV: Yes. I don’t know whether you can really see it. Elliott Carter. Because I played his
Cello Sonata and he was very grateful to me. Am I giving you trouble?
JH: No, it’s alright. I just need to adjust here. I just want to make sure I have this.
[Noise in the background]
LV: Is that your machine?
WN: No, it’s the yardman.
LV: Oh, the yardman.
JH: It doesn’t want to give me a good—
LV: Thank you. We don’t need any yard.
JH: Ha! [chuckles] There we are.
LV: Oh, yes. That’s nice.
JH: Now, tell me again—I’m not sure I got—tell me about this picture of Isaac Stern. The
black and white one.
LV: Well, there’s no story. He just handed it to me. You know, I didn’t take it, or—
JH: And, you’ve played with him?
LV: Oh, yes. Many times. Chamber music. Mostly at that place that I mentioned, and his
name was—it will come to me. By the way, just above—if you can take a picture—that’s
the original Borodin Quartet.
JH: Uh—hang on.
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LV: Next to that—yes, that one.
JH: Here we are.
LV: That’s the Borodin Quartet without me. But, Mr. Dubinsky, here, after that quartet
disbanded, then he formed the trio with me.
JH: Ah.
LV: But, I wasn’t a member of the quar—Ah! Yes. Wait a second. I did play with the quartet
sometimes to substitute the cellist who, after one concert, drove a very nice, young
woman home. And, while pawing her, he got into an accident and injured three fingers.
So, they called me suddenly just to substitute the next day in the mid-west someplace.
So, I had to fly out and I played with them for three weeks. Is my text being recorded?
JH: Yes, that’s the important part.
LV: [chuckles] This is later on. For the last seven years of his life, I was the cellist of the
Borodin Trio, and that last picture is—is—who the hell is it? [chuckles]
WN: Elmer.
LV: Elmer! Elmer Olivera. Yes. A very fine, young violinist. Elmer. And, here’s another
trio of mine.
JH: Which one?
WN: She’s behind you, Laszlo.
JH: I’m behind you now.
LV: Here. This one.
JH: This one.
LV: Yes. And, this is my California Cello Quartet. And, this was the New York Cello
Quartet. And, oh! We didn’t talk about these pictures. Can you see? Am I in your way?
JH: No, you’re just right.
LV: This is Josef Krips, a conductor who was conducting us playing the Beethoven Triple
Concerto. Here is me, John Colianno, and in the background—it’s hardly visible—is
Leonard Bernstein playing the piano. And, Krips was conducting it, but he is not on this
picture. And, this is—I am with Janos Starker who is a childhood colleague and friend
ever since. Here—this was a New York Philharmonic Chamber Ensemble. This is all
instruments: violins and winds and so on, with Mitropoulos in here in the center. And,
here is the Lener Quartet with which I started my career. And, if you’re here, this is one
of my pianist colleagues with whom I’ve made many of the recordings called Soyar
Schuwatovich. Schuwatovich. A Russian girl—woman. And, this is my granddaughter!
WN: [laughs]
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JH: Is it Isabella?
LV: Isabella. Isn’t she Bella? You know what Bella means?
JH: Beautiful.
LV: Beautiful.
JH: Can you kiss that? Can you kiss her picture again? I missed it. [chuckles]
LV: Back or—?
WN: [laughs]
JH: Front. Just like you did.
LV: Hi! [Kisses picture] She is lovely. This is an old picture. Fairly old. And, this is the
father, but an old picture. This is my—
JH: Who is that?
LV: My youngest son, Michael. I have better pictures of him. Ok.
JH: Well done.
LV: Here’s my sister, but I don’t know whether you want to see those.
JH: This is your sister?
LV: Yes.
WN: Clara.
LV: Clara or Klari.
JH: Is this her as well?
LV: Yes, all of these are her.
JH: Nice.
LV: Including those. Yeah. She lived till eighty-nine. And, she died in ’89.
JH: Oh!
LV: Wait a second. That doesn’t work. She died in—
WN: She died in ’09.
LV: ’09, yes, of course.
WN: ’09? Ok.
JH: So she was born in 1920.
LV: Yes, born in 1920. Correct.
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JH: What year were you born?
LV: ’24—A.D. [chuckles] Make a note.
LV: Ok, well. Here’s my daughter, Robin, with a baby. See, she went to London to see the
baby. I couldn’t.
JH: Mmmmm.
LV: And, my wife couldn’t. This is my wife. There are some others there.
JH: Ah! That’s a nice picture.
LV: Your machine must be tired taking all these pictures.
JH: [chuckles] Oops! Sorry Mac.
WN: That’s ok.
LV: Uh—just to show you. This is Michael again. And, some old pictures of family,
youngsters, and we when we were young. And, there are lots of others. I love to be
surrounded with pictures.
JH: And, what about these?
LV: Well, here—this is my wife, my daughter, Robin, and Michael. And, this is—this is my
oldest son, Peter, and Robin. Peter, but a long time ago. And, here is Peter now. He’s
fifty-eight. And, other—this is my Robin and also Peter, my oldest son. This one is the
same, and he was about six or seven, I don’t know. And, here is my wife doing her best
art: sculpture. She was a ceramic sculptor. And painter and fashion designer.
JH: Well, who is this?
LV: I wonder.
WN: He’s got a great smile.
LV: They caught me mid-word. Mid-sentence, I think. Or else, maybe I’m singing, I don’t
know. I can’t hear a thing.
JH: [chuckles]
LV: This is—uh—this is Michael and this is Peter and Robin. But, this is not a good picture
of them.
WN: I see.
LV: And, that’s my unruly desk. Now, I was going to put your records together. One, three,
four, five, six, seven, and ten. So mixed up. Six, seven, three, four—eight, nine.
WN: Well, you know, once you get all ten of them—at your leisure—I must have a greeting
from you on one of them.
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LV: Oh!
WN: Yes, just a smiling signature.
LV: If I remember how to spell it.
WN: [chuckles]
LV: Here, I think it’s correct except two, which is here. Alright. Here is a complete set.
We’ll find a bag for this. Yeah, please.
WN: I can put them in my bag, Laszlo.
LV: Can you?
WN: I’ve got a bag. And, as I say, at our leisure, I’ll have you inscribe one to me with a note if
that’s ok.
LV: Oh, yes. I’ll be glad to.
WN: We have—we have bigger fish to fry right now.
LV: Right, but we won’t forget it.
WN: No. No.
LV: And, I would like to present you with a couple of them, at least.
JH: I would love that, but I can buy them. Either way.
WN: Yes.
LV: Oh! Are you rich?
[laughs]
WN: Maybe she’ll take us to dinner.
LV: Oh, Boy! Alright. Now what?
[Interruption]
JH: Can you tell me a little bit about the cello?
LV: Yes. It’s made by Claude Victor Rambaux. Like Rambo.
WN: [laughs]
JH: Like Rambo. [laughs] Rambo with an I.
LV: R A M B A U X. You know, the French loved to use extra letters for everything. R A M
B A U X. That’s it, Rambaux. Almost like rainbow, but not quite.
JH: So how old is the cello?
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LV: Older than you. [chuckles] Two hundred years.
JH: Two hundred years.
LV: Almost. 1846. That’s a good vintage for cellos. I can, you know—I can turn it around
so you can see the front. But, it is good to sit down for a little while.
HAY/WN: Yes.
JH: Look at the grain.
LV: I don’t think it shows enough, because not enough light. It might be better when you
have your lights.
JH: Yes, it will.
[Interruption]
WN: When do we eat?
LV: Alright.
WN: All day long. When did we eat? It was so good.
LV: You know, I will be very happy to invite you for that special Hungarian dish.
WN: So you say a friend brought it?
LV: No. We have a Hungarian lady here who makes a living, you know, providing good food
to many people here.
WN: Ahh.
LV: And, it happens to be Hungarian.
WN: You know, Laszlo, when I first met you in 2005, one of the very first things you told
me—we were going out to dinner—and you said how much you liked good, plain food,
and that your wife prepared it very beautifully. You were bragging about your wife’s
cooking. First thing.
LV: She was an excellent cook, but lately—you know—we are the same age. Eighty-six plus.
Don’t listen.
WN: A fine vintage.
HA: Oh! This instrument itself—
LV: It has an extra high string. I don’t know whether you are familiar with the four cello
strings?
JH: Yes.
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LV: You are? Alright. So in addition to the C, G, D, A which is normal, another fifth higher:
E string. I don’t have any more my five string cellos. I had two actually. I sold them.
But, that enables me to play all kind of things.
JH: So, is the instrument itself smaller as well?
LV: Yes. Yes. It’s about a three-quarter sized cello.
JH: I see. So you have that higher tone?
LV: Yes.
JH: To go with the higher string.
LV: You want to hear it?
JH: Sure.
LV: Ahh. Let’s see.
LV: I will play a beautiful Bach piece that’s originally written for Viola da Gamba and
Harpsichord. We played it—instead of Gamba, I played it on a five-string cello with
cembalo/harpsichord. And, I’ll put this on.
JH: Lovely.
[Music begins playing]
LV: This is a cello piccolo. This is about the range of the Gamba. The Gamba has a high D
string, and this has a high E string. So just one. [coughs] Are you—are you videotaping
this sound? [chuckles]
JH: And you.
LV: And me. Shall I sing?
WN: That’s right. It’s a newly discovered manuscript for Viola da Gamba, cembalo, and
narrator.
LV: By the way, this is the first of the ten series on record. The first four is only Bach. But, I
would like to give you the tenth of the series, which is something special. May I have
this dance? [chuckles] Alright. I won’t play any more of this.
JH: Which—tell me the track—CD and track number.
LV: What? This is track seven.
JH: On CD one?
LV: Yes. Ok. But I want to play—oh—I want to present you with number ten.
WN: Shall I move?
17
LV: No. Stay where you are. If I find it. Tenth. Bullseye. This is something very special.
This is the Beethoven Violin Concerto played on the five-string cello, which nobody in
their right mind—or his right mind—could do. Or would do. I just want to play—this is
for cello and piano. This version. Not with orchestra, but I just want to put this—
JH: Ok.
[Music begins playing]
LV: Ah! This is the tutti and the...no. Do you happen to notice the concerto? It’s the only
Beethoven Violin Concerto. I—would you believe it that I played on the little cello, but I
played it also with orchestra which nobody in his right mind would. I wasn’t in my right
mind either. [chuckles] Soon comes the cello.
WN: You’re still having your coffee.
LV: [chuckles] Right. Now, this really utilizes the little cello...oh, way to the heavens. Oh!
You know it well? See, the range is much bigger. Are you a musician too? Violin? Oh!
Then, this is—do you play this?
JH: I practice.
LV: See, the whole thing is an octave lower. That is impossible on the regular cello, but a
fifth string enables it. Of course, I have to think of every interval is a little bit smaller on
the little cello, and one has to adjust and it’s very difficult. Alright. We don’t have to
listen to it. I will give this to you. Ok.
JH: And, that was disc ten?
LV: Yes.
JH: And, that’s the Beethoven?
LV: Beethoven And Andante Movement Of The Piano Concerto in C Major by Mozart.
WN: Ah, yes!
LV: Which is great!
WN: I think you played that one at—
LV: I did.
WN: I remember. Laszlo came out and he said, “The program says something like—” you
said it was five easy pieces.
LV: [chuckles]
WN: But, then you said—
LV: There are only four.
18
WN: There are only four and none of them are easy. [laughs] And, you also finished with the
Kodaly at that concert—.
LV: Oh, the Garante dances?
WN: Yes. And, I have a friend in Greensboro who was on the front row, cheering and
standing, and he insists to this day that you are a gypsy.
LV: Oh! I must be.
WN: Yeah. [laughs]
JH: He’s Hungarian. He’s a Hungarian gypsy.
LV: Well, I grew up with that piece, you know, because we always played it with the
Budapest Symphony, and really played it in a Hungarian style. And, my arrangement is
very close to it. I grew up with this, and Kodaly was my teacher. One of them. So.
Lady, this is yours.
JH: Oh! Thank you so much. Oh, what a treat! Thank you.
LV: And, I’ll give you this one.
[Interruption: Camera skips to Varga]
JH: —So, you have to, you know, present it to me.
LV: Alright.
JH: Hang on. Wait. Wait. Ok.
LV: My pleasure to present you with two of my recordings. I hope you’ll enjoy it. And, we
just tried each of them and I think—
[End of tape 1]
[Beginning of tape 2]
JH: —that in your pocket.
WN: Yeah.
JH: Mac, can you count to ten for me?
WN: Sure. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
[A few moments of moving around the room]
JH: Ok, we’re rolling.
LV: You have a good shot of the toilet or—?
19
JH: [laughs] No. I cut it out. [laughs]
WN: That’s a very auspicious first scene. [laughs] Ok. I’m Mac Nelson. I’m here with
Laszlo Varga at his home in Sarasota, Florida. Videographer Joanna Hay is with us too.
And, it’s Friday, the twenty-seventh of May 2011. And Laszlo, we were just talking over
lunch about your arrival here in the United States, and after the Lener Quartet had to
disband because of John Lener’s death, you were here in the U.S. and you weren’t yet a
member of the Union. And, you told me a great story.
LV: Well, if you want to hear it again. Let’s see. I arrived and right away I settled down. I
took an apartment—I took a room in a big apartment on Broadway in Manhattan. A nice
Jewish family: the grandmother who happened to have some on and off springs—just
going heaven. Thinking ahead a little bit, she invited her little granddaughter over, and
soon I married her.
WN: Ah! Yes. So that was your first marriage?
LV: That was my first marriage. She was very lovely, young, naïve girl with musical talents.
She was a good singer. She used to appear in high school productions as a lead in Gilbert
and Sullivan.
WN: Ah ha.
LV: I don’t know which one.
WN: [laughs]
LV: Anyway, we were married for about a year and a half. But, we broke up because we
really weren’t meant for each other.
WN: Right. And, how long was that after you—was that soon—very soon after you arrived
here in the U.S.?
LV: Well, I think our marriage was about a year later.
WN: Ok.
LV: But, that was my first Manhattan place.
WN: Uh huh. What year would that have been?
LV: ’48. Fall. I arrived in September ’48.
WN: Ok.
LV: And, I got this apartment—I mean just—I rented a room there, and they considered me
family right away. Very nice people. And, you know, I got married without too much
thinking. I was too young, and she was even younger. So, we were both inexperienced,
and eventually it had to break up. But, soon after—you asked me for a certain reason—?
20
WN: Oh, right. I was interested in your experience as a House Cellist and all the musicians
that you met.
LV: Oh, that’s right.
WN: Yes.
LV: Yes. Well, that was a long season of absolutely nothing for me to do professionally
because I wasn’t allowed to do anything because I wasn’t a member of the New York
Union. You had to establish six months residence in New York for qualifying. And, that
was the whole season. So, I was just yawning and doing nothing. But, a friend of mine
who I met heard about this very rich man who was the main protector—or—?
WN: Patron?
LV: Patron. Thank you. Of Isaac Stern. Had weekly session of Chamber music and through
Isaac Stern inviting the greatest visiting or living artists—musicians—in New York every
week to come and practice. And, the boss—the patron—was the usual second violinist
for everybody.
WN: [laughs]
LV: So he played. And, they needed a House Cellist. And, I, with my experience, qualified.
So he was welcoming me. I welcomed the situation because I had a chance to meet the
greatest of the world. Like Nathan Milstein, Heifetz, and Franchiscati, and everyone of
the famous visiting artists. And, Violist Primrose was there.
WN: Primrose, yes.
LV: And, Piatigorsky occasionally. And, Leonard Bernstein played the piano in quartets and
quintets. I had an introduction like no other could have.
WN: Wow!
LV: I met everybody, and—there is one funny part of it. I was to go there at eight o’clock.
There was a beautiful, ballettschule apartment in Central Park West. And, it happened on
a certain day. And, people began to filter in from eight o’clock on. Many guests to
listen, but with many players, but nobody wanted to play because there was a big
television show on between eight and nine. And, everybody was packed there in front of
the television set watching and laughing, you know.
WN: Uh huh.
LV: I think it was Sid Caesar: Show of Shows.
WN: Ahh!
LV: It was the big thing. And, I didn’t understand any English. [laughs] So, I was angry at
everybody because—“Come on! Let’s play!” All this high—high uh—high-level, high-priced
musicians are here and all they watched was television. And, I wanted to play!
21
WN: [laughs]
LV: But, by nine o’clock they began to unfold their instruments, and then we began to play
until two o’clock in the morning.
WN: Ah!
LV: You know, with different groups. Different combinations. And, I ended up, usually, the
only cellist, so—
WN: Yes. It was mostly violinists, I think you said.
LV: Yes. Those were the ones who were Isaac Stern’s colleagues and friends.
WN: Sure.
LV: It was mainly for the famous violinists, and pianists.
WN: Was that when you first met Isaac Stern?
LV: Yes.
WN: Right.
LV: And, I played many times with him—with others—even afterwards, you know, we
remained quite friendly. So, those were memorable evenings.
WN: Right.
JH: I had a question. How old were you when you came to America, and why did you come?
LV: Good questions. I was twenty-four. And, why did I come? Well, that’s already written.
I was invited to be the cellist of the most famous Hungarian quartet. They were together
since 1920 or so, and they were already Americans and settled in New York. And, their
cellist had to leave suddenly—oh, not sudden—they were touring quite a bit, and the
cellist’s wife threatened with divorce if he went on another tour. And, they were facing a
big European tour and South American tour, and so, on the recommendation of our
common chamber music teacher, Leo Weiner—who’s famous all over—recommended
me. I already saw in Budapest, the advertisement of The Lener Quartet concert. They
were coming in 1946. Fall. And, I was very glad that finally I’d have a chance to hear
The Lener Quartet. And, as it turned out, I was the cellist who came to play that concert.
Because I was invited and, like I said, recommended, and when I heard about the
invitation, I fell through the floor because I was—you know—that was the highest thing I
would ever have think. In music. And, they were famous all over the world. And, it was
just something from heaven. And, had great difficulty. It was already Communist
government, and I had great difficulty getting even a passport, let alone a permit to leave.
I had to pull all kinds of, you know, try to pull some—
WN: Strings?
22
LV: Patrons who’d help me. And, even that was—
WN: Sure.
LV: We agreed on the phone, from New York to Budapest, that they wanted me to be in
Switzerland by September 1st of ’46 to rehearse for about three months in Switzerland
before we started the tour in the middle of November. And, I tried everything to get the
permits and everything that’s necessary, but I was unsuccessful. September 1st passed.
Nothing. October 1st. November 1st passed. Finally, working desperately, you know, I
got the permit necessary—things—like passport—on November 3rd of ’46. And, our
first concert in Switzerland was scheduled on November—did I say November 3rd?
WN: Uh huh.
LV: Yes. So, the first concert was scheduled in Switzerland, in Lausanne, November 15th.
So, I took the Arlbergexpress that went through Budapest to Zurich. It’s a two-day drive.
Right. And, finally, I was able to go on a trip and go through border crossings through
Austria. Well, first I passed the Hungarian border and then I managed—because I had
the papers—but then, within Austria, there were four sections. One American zone, a
British zone, French Zone, and even Austrian zone. Can you imagine?
WN: [chuckles]
LV: And, that means four border examinations. The middle of the night. I was woken up.
So, I was worried. That was totally the first trip outside of Hungary for me, and I was a
greenhorn. And, my language capability was limited to German, which I spoke because I
studied that. And, I studied in school. And, I studied Latin too, but that wasn’t used. It
wasn’t usable. [chuckles] Nobody spoke Latin. On the border especially. So, finally I
arrived to Switzerland—Zurich—on the evening of the 5th of November, and the quartet
was crossing over from Europe after I telegrammed them that finally I was able to leave.
And, they crossed over and they were waiting for me in Lausanne, and Lener telegraphed
that they always stayed at the Hotel—anyway, I forget the name.
WN: Uh huh. That’s alright.
LV: A certain hotel—before the war, but they were not there for several years. So, I—the
evening, I called up the manager in Zurich. He was out gallivanting. Partying
someplace.
WN: [chuckles]
LV: His wife told me that he comes home about one o’clock. So, I had to take a hotel in
Zurich, and with a cello and heavy luggage, and I was totally inexperienced in traveling
and hotels. I never stayed in a hotel. But, I found a hotel nearby the station and I slept.
And, at eight o’clock I called up the manager—woke him up—and, “Oh yes!,” he said.
Oh, I tried to call the quartet at this hotel, and the telephone operator told me in
impeccable German that that hotel went out of business four years ago. And, Lener
didn’t know this because they weren’t in Europe for those four years, during the war.
23
WN: Right.
LV: And, he wanted to make sure that he took it for granted that that would be the hotel. But,
no. But, the manager knew and said, “Oh, yes. They are in the Hotel Royal.” So, I
didn’t even call them from Zurich. I took the next train and three hours later, I arrived to
Lausanne, took a taxi, and showed up at the Hotel Royal. And, I go to the manager at the
desk, “Excuse me. I’m looking for The Lener Quartet.” “Oh, sorry sir. They are not
here anymore.” I said, “What do you mean? I just found out that they were staying
here.” He said, “They did until yesterday, but they left.” And, that means four
customers, at least. Five because Lener had a wife too. And, I was on my last—I was
ready to faint. Tiredness. And, after two days of train travel, and taxi, and carrying—and
he felt sorry for me because I looked like I was ready to drop. So, he said, “Oh, sir. I
don’t know where they are really, but if I were you, you could start—you could try the
hotel across the street. The Hotel Beau Rivage.” So, I went there. Sure enough, they
were there. As it happened, Lener always traveled with a little, cute fox terrier. A Welsh
Terrier. And, he was barking, I suppose, and somebody must have complained. And the
manager mentioned it to them, and they said, “Well, if they don’t want my dog, they
don’t want me!” And, so they up and left. Angry.
WN: [chuckles]
LV: Arguments. So, that’s why they ended up at the Hotel Beau Rivage, which was just the
most gorgeous, luxury hotel right on the shore of Lake Leman, or Lake of Geneva, I
think. And, I fell into this luxury and hotel. My room was about four times as big as this.
There was a balcony overlooking the lake. And, you know, I felt like I was in the
Queen’s Palace. And, that’s how it started.
WN: Yes!
LV: And, the Lener’s were glad that finally I made it because the first concert was nine days
away. And, they didn’t know whether I could hold the bow, let alone play.
WN: They had never—never heard you, had they?
LV: No. I was honored. So, we began to rehearse very much. Eight hours every day. And,
went through thirty different quartets because, in Switzerland, we were scheduled for
twenty-seven concerts in thirty-five days.
WN: Wow!
LV: Only in Switzerland. And, the places are so close together that, you know, we cannot
play the same program because, you know, the towns are ten kilometers apart sometimes,
and people come from here or there. So, it had to be thirty quartets of many different
programs, and the first question was, “Which ones do you know?” Well, I knew about
twenty-six out of the thirty so there was no problem with that. But, there was still others
that I had never played. So, we started playing the concerts, and everything went
swimmingly. But, about three weeks later we headed back to Lausanne and there was a
24
radio broadcast scheduled the next day. And, I happened to ask Lener, “What is the
program tomorrow?” He said, “Well, Haydn Quartet and The Ravel.” I said, “The
Ravel! I’ve never played it in my life!” He said, “But, you said you did!” I said, “I
played the Debussy Quartet. I know it very well. But, not The Ravel.” You know, they
are going together.
WN: Right.
LV: And, it is difficult. You have to know everybody’s part because it’s not something like
just to play it through. It’s very complicated. So, we started rehearsing as much as we
could, and I think I slept with the score under my pillow. And, I studied that. We
rehearsed until—seemingly—five minutes before the broadcast. But, I learned it. I
memorized it in that twenty-four hours.
WN: In twenty-four hours?
LV: Yes, because, you know, we were concentrating so much. I still remember it by heart.
WN: Wow!
LV: Even now.
WN: Wow!
LV: Because it was just rammed into my mind. And, ever since, I love that work.
WN: Uh huh.
LV: My favorite. So, we went on and did thirty quartets in those thirty-five days, and it was
constantly—the beginning.
WN: Wow!
LV: And, then we began to travel through Italy all the way to the boot—uh—Sicily. I had
many, interesting experiences. Saw the greatest sites, even though we didn’t have too
much time to site-see.
WN: Uh huh.
LV: Then we went on a big tour of France. Spain. Holland. Belgium. Denmark. Part of
Germany. No, I didn’t have to go through Germany at that time. And, then in December,
we found ourselves back in Budapest for that very date that I was going to hear The
Lener Quartet. And, I never heard The Lener Quartet ever since because I was a member
of it. [laughs]
WN: Laszlo, on that tour, I can only imagine that you were going through war-torn Europe.
LV: Yes.
WN: You must have seen the ravages of war all around you.
25
LV: Oh, yes. Well, first of all, Budapest was ravaged.
WN: Yes.
LV: But, so were many other Italian towns and Sicily. We played in gal tro massimo, in—
what is the big city in Sicily?
WN: Um. Um.
LV: The largest.
JH: Par—
LV: Torino!
JH: Torino.
LV: No. Sorry. Torino is in Italy.
JH: Par—uh—
LV: Parma? No.
WN: I can’t call it up. Do you see Mount Aetna from there? Uh—I’m trying to think.
LV: Well, we saw an Aetna—Aetna—
WN: Yes.
LV: But, we’ve played in several places in Sicily, but the first was in this big town—Palermo!
WN: Palermo!
LV: Palermo! We played in the Opera House. It was filled. You know, this was right after
the end of the war and the Opera House was bombed, and the stage roof was bombed
through and had a gapping hole. So, the rest of the theatre was ok, but we had to play in
front of an iron curtain, you know—that curtain that lowered to separate the stage?
WN: Uh huh.
LV: And, we played in front of it, because this was winter, and the wind sometimes blew
through the roof and so on. And, as we were playing some soft movements, pianissimo,
all of a sudden a wind storm started and took off the scenery that was behind there
against this metal curtain. And, it was the biggest racket! While we were trying to play
soft. Can you imagine? If the metal curtain weren’t down, we would have died,
possibly, or—
WN: Been injured. Right.
LV: Been injured. It was such a big—can you imagine the sound of this big scenery for the
Opera House came over?
WN: And, you kept right on?
26
LV: Oh, yes. We’re not supposed to stop in the middle of a movement after all.
WN: [chuckles]
LV: So, that was just to describe the war conditions.
WN: Uh huh.
LV: Then, from there, our next stop was Trapani, which is a seaside, little town where we had
our next concert. And, to get there from Palermo, it was best to take a taxi. It’s a good
two-hour ride. We rented a big taxi—hired one—and it took five of us plus not all the
instruments fit in it, so my cello was lashed onto the top of the taxi. In a hard case, but
still lashed, along with one of the double violin cases, which had a Stradivarius. A
double case. A big, well-padded case. It was securely fastened, so I thought. So we
thought. After going on hilly roads with this creeping taxi, through areas which were
riddled with gangsters—or uh—we called them—you know—on the road—a road
gangster. What is the English word for it?
WN: Highwaymen?
LV: Highwaymen. Yes.
WN: Yes.
LV: Who, on certain points, would rob cars. Well, nothing like that happened. Luckily.
However, as we were bumping in a mountainous territory, all of a sudden we hear a
bump. The violin case fell off from the taxi. And, with shaken—shaken up—Lener,
who’s violin it was, went back—we ran down—picked up the double case and luckily
nothing happened to it. And, luckily, the cello remained on the top. If the cello fell off, it
would be in one hundred-fifty pieces.
WN: Uh huh.
LV: But, it stayed lashed. But the violin. We were worried about the violin.
WN: Ah!
LV: It’s the Stradivarius among them. But, luckily, nothing happened because it was so well
padded.
WN: Uh hum.
LV: So, that was a heart-stopping moment.
WN: Yes.
LV: But, that’s what I remember about that trip. Never mind the concert. Forgettable.
[laughs] But, we played in several other places in Sicily and all over Italy. I would say
we must’ve played twenty-five, thirty concerts in Italy alone.
WN: Uh huh.
27
LV: Then—
JH: I’m just going to fix this. It’s rubbing.
[Interruption. Varga’s microphone is adjusted.]
LV: Now it won’t? You heard it?
JH: I could hear it rubbing on your shirt.
LV: Oh! So I shouldn’t—maybe I shouldn’t breathe?
JH: I had it—
WN: [laughs]
LV: Alright. Thanks for letting me breathe. Then, we went through France. Interesting
things happened. For instance—this was in 1946 or ’47 and we played all through
France. In many places. Then, our next concert was Spain. This was the Franco-time,
and France and Spain had closed borders. You couldn’t go through. But, we had special
permissions that they didn’t have a problem. We arrived at the end of the French train
line on an overnight train from Paris, and we went through the passport exchange and so
on for the French, and they let us through. But, then came the Spanish exam. Lener, the
second violinist, Michael Kuttner, and the violist, Nicki Harschyni—they were all already
American citizens with American passports. I was traveling with a Hungarian passport.
Oh, this was at the French control. They stopped me and said, “You need an exit permit
from France.” Have you heard of such a thing?
WN: Uh hum.
LV: But, during the war it was for certain nationals like, you know, the third-rate citizens.
Hungarians. Yuck!
WN: [chuckles]
LV: So I said, “Nobody told me that I needed this.” “Sorry, we cannot let you out of France
without an exit permit.” And, this happened to be a Sunday. And, the next day we had a
concert in San Sebastian, which was the first stop in Spain. And, as I said, Lener and the
two others, Americans, were let through without any problems. They were already in
Spain. They had to walk through a bridge to take the Spanish train, which had a different
measurement. They couldn’t have the same train going through because, at that time, the
Spanish width of the track was different than the French and the European. So, they were
in Spain and they were incommunicado. There was no telephone or telegraph connection
between France and Spain. So, they didn’t know that I got stuck. Correction. The
second violinist, who happened to be my cousin—first cousin—stayed with me to help
me through with languages and so on. So, only the two of them, Lener and Harshyni, the
violist, went through in a hat, and they had no idea where we were. Just didn’t show up.
With Michael Kuttner—oh, we found out from the French that maybe the police—
Monsieur de Superfectur of the police will be able to give me a permit. But, it happened
28
to be a Sunday—dimanche. Nothing is open. So, we were stuck in this little border
town, which was called—my memory is very bad. Sorry. I forget the name. Anyway,
we were told that if we take a train to Bjorn, about fifty kilometers, there will be the
police headquarters and there they can give me an exit permit. So, we went to there, but
on the way was Biarritz, and it was too close—too good to let it go. We stayed in
Biarritz overnight in a hotel that happened to have a beautiful casino. Casino. Casino?
WN: Uh huh.
LV: And, we ended up—I never gambled in my life, but my cousin liked gambling and he
attracted me to it. So, we went to the casino, and I took a twenty-dollar bill and I said,
“Alright, I’m ready to loose this, but no more.” And, I began to play roulette and I
bought jetons for twenty dollars and we began to play. And—beginner’s luck—I was up
to three hundred dollars at one point, and I played for three or four hours. Of course, I
lost it all.
WN: [chuckles]
LV: But, I had fun. So, the next morning early, we went to the police headquarters, and the
Monsieur de perfectur, he showed me the passport—stamped the passport, and we went
through this time without a problem. Took the train and arrived in San Sebastian by
noon. And, then we found out that they almost cancelled the concert and the tour. We
had about thirty concerts in Spain alone. And, they didn’t know what happened to us
because there was no communication. We couldn’t telephone or anything. Nothing. It
seems that Lener rented a taxi to drive over to On Die is the French—
WN: On Die.
LV: On Die. And, the Spanish equivalent is E Rune. They rented this taxi and engaged him
to drive over the Pyrenees Mountains on secondary roads where there was no passport
control, and look for us in On Die. On Die is a one-street city; you cannot go anyplace
else. And, they couldn’t find me because we were in Biarritz. [laughs]
WN: Playing roulette.
LV: So, the next morning, finally, we met and—alright. Good bye.
[Interruption]
LV: So, we played the concert without any problem because we already were experienced.
And, went through Spain all over. Good success from Barcelona, or San Sebastian,
which is in the north part.
WN: Uh hum.
LV: All the way to Cadiz, and Sevilla and Aragon and Valencia and, of course, Madrid.
WN: Uh huh.
29
LV: And many other places. In Madrid, we played three concerts alone. So, we had a very
successful tour, and we found out that—we made a lot of pazetas—Spanish money—but,
we weren’t aloud to take out any of it from Spain. So we had to spend it in Spain. So,
we bought ourselves all kinds of things. Clothing. Beautiful clothes were dirt cheap in
pazetas because the currencies under the Franco-regime were not convertible.
WN: Ah ha.
LV: So, we found out that if we bought gold for all the pazetas, it was very well priced. Gold
jewelry. We could smuggle it across the border. So, you know what we did? With our
combined earnings, we bought seventeen gold bracelets. Yes, bracelets mainly. And, the
only wife with long-sleeved dress who volunteered to take all seventeen bracelets across
the border—one after the other, after the other—
[Varga indicates bracelets were worn up the arm]
WN: [chuckles]
LV: And, we got away with it because nobody knew. You know, there were courtiers and
women—they wouldn’t think of asking what’s under the sleeve? And, we went back to
Paris and we sold it with a big increase—profit. Because in Spain, because there was no
import/export, it was dirt cheap to buy gold jewelry, and we could almost double our
money in Paris by selling it. And, that’s what we did. But, we also bought beautiful
outfits, suits and shirts. We made a lot of money. At least it seemed like millions to me.
WN: [chuckles]
LV: But, that was our Spanish experience. We were in Spain for more than a month. Then,
we went to Britain and to Holland, Belgium, and Budapest as I said. And, played in
Vienna. So, we went around, back and forth in many ways. We toured in Europe for two
years. In Paris, we were such a success in the famous Salga Vul, playing six concerts of
only Beethoven, you know, the whole Beethoven Cycle.
WN: Yes.
LV: We played in January in ’47 and we were such a success that they reengaged us to play
again the whole Beethoven Cycle—six concerts—in November in the same place.
WN: Wow!
LV: So, we played that Beethoven Quartet twice in Paris within the same year. And, we
played the Beethoven series—the Beethoven concert—that series—in many other places,
and so, that gave us a little rest from traveling.
WN: Uh hum.
LV: Otherwise, we were constantly on trains, buses, and taxis—yeah. Lots of these little
details come up.
WN: Oh, but they’re terrific. And, you eventually came to South America, right?
30
LV: Oh, that was the end of the second year.
WN: I see.
LV: Yes, well, so we played in Budapest. I think we played six different concerts there—
different programs. Of course, there they welcomed all of us very warmly and heartily.
And, I came—you know, I finished an academy. I graduated in 1946, and this
happened—the invitation came a month later. And, we came back that same December
’46, and all my teachers were in the box listening to The Lener Quartet, including Kodaly
and Weiner, and many of my violin teachers and cello teachers were listening to me.
They couldn’t believe that the youngster was playing cello, but they liked it so that was
an incredible moment.
WN: You liked it too, didn’t you?
LV: I liked it too. Yes. [chuckles] And, all my colleagues' students—fellow students were
listening, and my relatives—it was an unforgettable time. And, as I said, we played six,
full programs so we were there for awhile. We didn’t go to play anyplace else in
Budapest—uh, in Hungary—but that was it. The next day, we had to travel away
because we had dates in Italy and—I forget where we went. So, that was the tour.
WN: Wow.
LV: Then, finally, we finished the European trip, and we crossed the ocean to Buenos Aires
from Genoa, Italy. We arrived to Genoa the night before, stayed over, and had a great
dinner. We were invited to the ship line owner’s palace because Lener knew him. And,
he invited the whole quartet for a fabulous dinner, and we already had our cabin-class
tickets for his ship, which was an eighteen days crossing at that time. But, that ship
happened to be one of the first that was air-conditioned, which was, at that time, very
rare. And, so we were lucky. During the dinner, the ship owner surprised us and
converted our cabin-class cabins into first-class because, I suppose, they were unsold.
So, we went across the ocean for eighteen days like luxury. First-class was really
[unclear]. And, it was an unforgettable travel. By the way, that was my first ocean
crossing. I never knew that water was H2O.
WN: [chuckles]
LV: But, I went a smooth crossing, including a big festivity when crossing the Equator. All
the boats had a celebration. And, by the time we met an awful lot of friends on the boat,
we had a great time. Lots of young, Italian people on the boat, because many Italians
immigrated to Argentina, because they didn’t have enough jobs to do, and Argentina was
opening countries. So, we had a great time. The only time we ran into heavy water—
weather—was on the Brazil coast as we passed, and that was something. I mean a real,
big storm. Atlantic storms can really shake you up. Everybody was sick on the boat.
The whole quartet was puking their heads off. And, guess who was showing up at the
dinner table, alone? Me. I wasn’t affected.
31
WN: Really?
LV: I’m a crazy Hungarian.
WN: [laughs]
LV: Let’s face it. I ate meals. Yes.
WN: I bet you had a sufficiency, didn’t you?
LV: Oh, I had a choice of dishes, anything. Well, I didn’t eat that much, but I ate. The others
were just white, yellow, and a variety of colors.
WN: [chuckles]
LV: Anyway, we survived it, and two days later we arrived in Buenos Aires, and there we
stayed, basically, in Argentina alone. We stayed three months. Starting with a
Beethoven Cycle in the Teatro Colon, which is a world famous Opera House with three
thousand seats and seven floors—levels or balconies. Three thousand seats full of
people. Everyone—every concert was sold out. They were so hungry for good, western
music because during the war there were no visiting artists, or hardly any. And, they
were so hungry for music—Classical music—and Beethoven is a good seller, let’s face it.
WN: Uh hum.
LV: Let’s see—after we finished the six Beethoven programs, they engaged us for two extra
Beethoven programs, again.
JH: Wow!
LV: Repeat certain ones, because they were insatiable. And, we were very—very successful.
Then, we began to travel in Argentina for about—almost two months all together. All
over. And, then to Chile and to Brazil and to Venezuela and Peru, and all the countries.
It was all throughout, for three months all together. But, at this time, Lener began to be
sick. His problem was that being a violinist, his skin was infected by the violin.
Occasionally, people are allergic to something, either the lacquer of the violin or some
wooden parts. And, he began to get infected and had a heavy sore under the violin.
[Varga indicates under the left jaw bone area.] And, it was operated on in Switzerland
while we were there, and they thought they had it, but no. It became cancerous. And, the
last two or three months he could hardly put the violin close enough because it was
heavily bandaged. It was treated in Buenos Aires. Right away they wanted to operate on
it, but, “No! We finish the tour of South America and Brazil, and all these other
countries, and when we get to America, I will be operated on in the Mayo Clinic”
because he trusted American clinics. And, by that time, it was too late. We arrived to
America, and he was already seriously affected and ill. We arrived in New York. They
operated on him right away, and six weeks later he died at age fifty-four. At the top of
his glory! He was beautifully played. But, that was a very troublesome tour. But, we
managed to play everyplace. All over South America. I remember an interesting detail
32
in Caracas. We had to fly from Rio De Janeiro to Caracas, which was our last stop for
two concerts. The best way to do it was a small plane—fairly small, like twenty
passenger plane—that was going from Rio, leaving still in the dark outside, to first
Belem, which is at the delta of the Amazon River. And, then the next day, flying with
many stops also to Caracas. This was really a mail plane so it had many stops to make,
and sometimes this little plane just landed in extremely small airports. But, I never
remember, this was my first flight in my life. And, the plane took off in total darkness
early in the morning, and I was a bit nervous. And, I look out the window and see sparks
coming out of the engines. Lit up sparks. And, I called over the stewardess and she said,
“Quiet. Don’t worry about it. That’s normal.” Those were different type of engines,
which caused this backfire especially at take-off. You know, propeller planes. And, it
was a normal thing that you see only in total darkness, otherwise I’m not aware of it.
WN: Uh hum.
LV: And, it scared me. [chuckles] I thought that was the end of me. And it’s still not.
[laughs] Oh, so we stopped five times on our way to Belem. Then, by the time we
arrived there at three o’clock in the afternoon, the plane was sleepy. I had to sleep there.
Then, we took a hotel with heavy netting against mosquitoes because it was just very
unbearable. And, the next day, again with many stops like in Trinidad and Aruba and
Curacao—it was like a mail plane, you know, delivering things. Many, many landings,
and sometimes we couldn’t take off because it was a rainstorm, suddenly, so it was
delayed. Anyway, we arrived to the port of Caracas, which was on the seashore called
Laguar, at that time. And, Caracas happens to be three thousand feet higher, up in the
mountains. We were already worn with all this flying and so on, and we wanted to get—
Oh! We had a concert that same evening in Caracas. So, we arrived like at five o’clock
in the afternoon.
WN: Uh hum. And, you had a concert that evening?
LV: Yes. And, we took a taxi, who with all the luggage, and five of us in the car, and it was a
big taxi, but still! And, the driver was taking a serpentine road up the mountain hill—
mountainside—up to Caracas like a mad-man. We thought we’d never survive that, not
with so many cars rolled down the hill—trucks—you know. Because that was common.
They were just driving like mad-men. So, we arrived to the hotel. Finally to Caracas. It
was already eight o’clock, which was passed the concert starting time. And, all of a
sudden there was no electricity at the hotel. And, all the busboys and bellboys
disappeared because they have to carry luggage up themselves on the stairs instead of—
the elevator wasn’t working. So, there were no help. We had to carry our own luggage
up stairs, and it was already late. But, we managed. And, we just fell into our full dress
as fast as we could. And, we had no time for eating anything. And, we came down, and
the audience was notified that we were late—for obvious reasons—and they were happy,
drinking at the buffet and the bar, and they were enjoying themselves. And, they waited
for us. So, finally, we got into a taxi to go to the concert, and we were all dead tired, and
33
the taxi driver asked, “A donde vas?” He says, “Where are you going?” And, we looked
at each other. Nobody knew what hall—where we are to—we forgot.
WN: [chuckles]
LV: You know. Because we were so dead tired with all the delays and—so, in Spain—I mean
in Spanish countries, it’s “in e teatro municipal” or “in e teatro nacional.” You have to
speak like this. So, I said, “Go to Municipal!” Alright. We will go there, and paid the
cab and let it go, stupidly. We go inside, and there’s a circus act in there.
WN: [chuckles]
LV: So, it was obvious that it was the wrong theatre. And, then we tried to find another cab.
No. We couldn’t. Not at that point. So, we went to—people told us, “Oh! The Teatro
Nacional is only dos cuadrantes izquierdos.” Two blocks left. It turned out to be twenty
minutes of walking. Finally, we found it and finally—can you imagine? Starting—
carrying the instruments, which was enough, especially me with the cello. So, finally, the
audience welcomed us. They stopped drinking and they came back to the hall. We were
an hour late already. Nobody left and nobody—they all understood. It was announced
that we were late. And, we started to play one particular quartet that starts with a soft
area, very translucent, and you have to play notes lightly and slow bows like this—a
Beethoven Quartet. And, we had never heard four bows rattling more instead of a
smooth—because everybody was shaking, you know, just to hold—you couldn’t hold it a
steady, soft. You can—a lashing to loud, yes, that’s easier. But, not soft. That you have
to have a quiet, steady—that’s how it started. But, nobody complained and we finished
the program and that was memorable.
WN: [chuckles]
LV: Now, this was Caracas. And, the next day we played another concert that turned out to
be our last concert.
WN: Uh hum.
LV: And, we flew to Miami, and that was the entrance to America. And soon after, to New
York. And, well, that was the end of The Quartet.
WN: And, that’s your arrival here.
LV: Yes. That was my arrival. And, again, I didn’t speak one word of English. Well, maybe
Thank you and Hi, My name is Laszlo Varga. [chuckles]
WN: So, once here, you finally became a member of the Union and—
LV: Yes. That was already—at the end of the season.
WN: Yes. Ok.
34
LV: So, it was hard to get anything. As I mentioned to you, I think, that during that time—
five months into this waiting period—there was three auditions for cello positions in the
New York Philharmonic and I wanted to go. Did I tell you this?
WN: Uhhh—no.
LV: No. Alright. And, it happened to be the fifth month of the six month waiting period, and
I go to the manager of the Philharmonic and I said I would like to play on the auditions.
He said, “Fine. Yes. Welcome. Are you a member of the Union?” I said, “Not yet, but
in one month I will be.” He said, “Sorry. Regulations don’t allow to do this.” So, I was
very upset. I said, “In a month, I will be a member.” “No. Sorry. Against regulations.”
So, I put my tail between my legs—or how do you say? [chuckles] Went home, and
that’s what—
[End of tape 2]
[Beginning of tape 3
JH: Ok. We’re rolling again.
WN: Ok. I’m Mac Nelson, here with Laszlo Varga at his home in Sarasota, Florida.
Videographer Joanna Hay is with us too. And, it’s Friday, the twenty-seventh of May
2011.
LV: Hey!
WN: And, Laszlo, we were just talking about your audition.
LV: Oh, yes. Well, as I said, I spent the whole season—my first season in New York—totally
without anything to do so to speak, professionally, because I had to belong to the Union
and there was a six-month waiting period. Finally, the six months ended and I found out
that The New York City Opera is auditioning for a solo cello job, which was much more
interesting and better paying, so to speak, than those two jobs that they were auditioning
for in The New York Philharmonic. So I went. Finally, I played the audition for the
Opera and I think I played for an hour. It was a long thing. And I got the job. I happily
started working for them and I was there for two seasons—two summers. Two seasons,
not summers. And I was very happily—the director of The Opera happened to be
Hungarian: Laszlo Halasz, who organized it, founded the whole City Opera. And I don’t
think he took me just because I was a fellow Hungarian. Actually I think I mentioned to
you that even in The Philharmonic, the most famous conductors—among them were
several Hungarians. Like Georg Solti and George Szell and Ormandy.
WN: Uh hum. Was Dorati?
35
LV: Dorati, yes. And Solti. Did I mention Solti? Georg Solti? They were all over America
and the world. So, they were—it wasn’t rare to have Hungarian conductors. By the way,
eventually—years after—I became a Hungarian conductor in New York and I formed my
own New York Philharmonic Chamber Ensemble. But, that’s another story. I was so
happily a member of The Opera. And two years later, I found out the contractor at The
Opera told me that he hates to tell me because he hates to loose me, but across the
street—on 56th Street—in Carnegie Hall there’s going to be an opening for solo cello in
The New York Philharmonic. So, not a [unclear] position but a solo cello. Because
Leonard Rose, who was a very famous and excellent cellist decided to leave and be a
soloist only. So he told me that, “Remember, there’s an audition.” So I was very happy
to go and I intended to try it. It was in a few weeks—within. And, getting closer to the
date, I also found out that The Philadelphia Orchestra was also opening an audition for
solo cello. And this was during the winter season. Because it seems that Paul Olefsky,
who was the solo cellist there, was called into the Navy in the middle of the season. You
know, at that time, American youngsters were called into the Navy.
WN: Uh hum.
LV: This is ’46. ’48. I’m sorry.
WN: Ok.
LV: So I thought this might be an interesting thing. Somehow I heard through the grapevine
that many, very famous well known American cellists are trying to play for The New
York Philharmonic job. Among them: Frank Miller. I don’t know whether you know
this name?
WN: Uh hum.
LV: He was the famous cellist on the NBC Orchestra with Toscanini.
WN: Uh hum.
LV: And Toscanini retired and NBC also petered away, and Frank Miller was in the seat as an
obvious choice because he was the best known and was famous and well deserved.
Successor to Leonard Rose, who happened to be his first cousin.
WN: Really?
LV: Can you imagine? So I felt—you know, this seems like a precondition as a preset
situation. I will never get this job. And there were many other quite well known cellists
trying for The New York Philharmonic job. So I became more interested in the
Philadelphia job. And the two auditions were five days apart. First the Philadelphia and
then the New York. So I decided to go to Philadelphia and I played for their conductor
who just happened to be Ormandy, another Hungarian. We played in the big concert
hall—on the stage. And he wouldn’t show his face to me. He was in the last row. I
hardly could see him—with his cronies there. And they just conveyed what they wanted
to hear. And I played decently, I thought, many different things. And there was no
36
opening—expression of like and dislike because there were many others playing. So I
finished my playing and I thought I did quite well. I was quite happy and hopeful. And I
went home and I was waiting for the call from Philadelphia. Pass—one day—two
days—three days—and in five days, The Philharmonic audition. I heard absolutely
nothing. So I decided to go to The Philharmonic audition. And I went and I played for
an hour and a half for Mitropoulos, the director. Leonard Rose was still playing there.
He was one of the judges. The concertmaster: John Corigliano. The leader of the
second violins: [unclear]. And the first violist: Bill Lincer. Five of them. They asked
me to play for an hour and a half. All kinds of detailed, important cello solos that occur
in the orchestra literature. And I think—the best of my offering—to begin with, they
asked me what I want to play. I offered the Kodaly Solo Sonata, which is a famous,
difficult piece. A demanding piece. And it’s a half an hour long. I played it through.
They let me through. It was very grand that they wanted to hear so much. So, they
thanked me very much. Thank you. And didn’t say ‘boo’. And I went home and I
figured maybe by that time, I hear from Philadelphia, but I never heard from
Philadelphia. Maybe this telephone call must have been—possibly—[chuckles]—telling
me, “You failed.”
WN: [laughs]
LV: Never called back or anybody bothered to call me. As it turned out, Philadelphia decided
to finish the season with their assistant first cellist—was moved up to take the first cello.
So they didn’t take anybody. But, three days later I got a call from New York, “You’ve
got it!” So I was very happy and I started an eleven-year tenure that was very happy and
successful—almost always. Very few, little bumps. Then I had the chance to play with
the world’s best soloists and one of the world’s best orchestras.
WN: Yes.
LV: And the greatest conductors. So, it was an ultimate dream. The best dream.
WN: Yes.
LV: And I established myself as a significant cellist in the scene. And, you know, I was first
cellist of the Budapest Symphony for about two years, but member of it for five or six.
We played through the literature many times there, so I was familiar with it so it wasn’t
sight-reading for me. Except modern pieces or unknown pieces. There were many of
those. But I was quite experienced so I did well.
WN: Yes. Yes.
LV: Then, I spent eleven years with The Philharmonic until 1962. The Philharmonic slowly
became a year-round season. When I started, it was only twenty-eight weeks a year.
And I usually had summer jobs. Summer places. Resorts and so on that were
symphonic. Have you heard of Chautauqua Festival?
WN: Oh, sure.
37
LV: Well, I was there for thirteen summers. And there’s an excellent symphony orchestra
made up of members of New York Philharmonic and Chicago Symphony and Pittsburgh
Symphony and all the best people. Very experienced. And we had a season of seven
weeks—it was nine weeks—nine weeks—every summer where we played four concerts
in Chautauqua every week.
WN: Wow.
LV: And full symphonic works for three times, and the fourth one was a pop concert. We
played through everything. The most difficult stuff. And we all were so experienced and
it was a pleasure. We had one rehearsal each—there was no need for more because we
knew the works. And there again, I had additional experience to gain because the
occasion to play something that I never played.
WN: Uh hum.
LV: And some new works and commissions and these kinds of things. I also was the only
cellist of the Mischakoff Quartet. Mischa Mischakoff was the concertmaster and he
always had a quartet. And I became a cellist from the beginning on. The first cellist was
always his cellist—and the first violist and so on. And we worked together for thirteen
summers. Didn’t I say thirteen? Seasons.
WN: Uh hum.
LV: Yes. Thirteen.
WN: And this is still at Chautauqua?
LV: Yes.
WN: Yes.
LV: We had three chamber music concerts during the summer, I think, within the nine weeks.
Every three weeks, one concert. And there was an opera season. There was a play
season. There was just a wonderful—my kids grew up there. And my wife loved it. It
was a real vacation on the path of Lake Chautauqua, which is just a lovely resort. It’s hot
as hell, like this, but still marvelous. We had many happy summers there.
WN: Laszlo, was in Chautauqua that you unveiled your Chaconne?
LV: Yes.
WN: I thought it was.
LV: You remember. That’s an interesting story. I was working—someplace I have it: The
Chaconne—anyway—I always loved the Chaconne, which I think is the greatest Bach
movement for violin solo. And whenever I heard violinists play it, I was awestruck
because it was such a marvelous movement. Over six movements—partite. It’s fifteen
minutes long. It was just my ultimate wish. And I always was trying to arrange it for a
cello because I think it should be sung by the cello. I was working on it for a year or
38
more. And while in Chautauqua, during rehearsals and there was a little quite in the cello
section, I began to work on the Chaconne—like this part, that part, this measure, this way
and that way. So people heard me just squeaking the cello—various—soft. And they
made fun of me. “You play the Chaconne? Want to get on with it?” They thought it was
impossible. And I sounded impossible because it was ugly and just tests. They heard me
week after week doing this, and they never thought that I could play the whole thing.
That summer, I was scheduled to play the Dvorak Concerto as a soloist, and I played it
and everybody was applauding and it was nice and successful. And the conductor
suggested I play an encore. So, “Ladies and Gentleman,” I said, “I’m going to play the
Bach: Chaconne.” In front of ten thousand people. By the way, that’s a very, big
amphitheatre. It has a roof, but no sides. So when it rains, it’s like the Niagara off the
roof, but we are all dry. So I’m just to describe the place. It was called an amphitheatre.
The orchestra—you heard the biggest groan you can—”Ugh!”—because nobody in the
orchestra thought that I can go through it. Number two: I had my doubts myself.
WN: [chuckles]
LV: But, they were groaning because it meant they had to stay on the stage for fifteen more
minutes. [laughs] That was the real reason. Before the intermission. And I started to
play, and I get through it. And in spite of all, I got through it and I got the biggest,
successful ovation afterwards. And I remembered every note, even though the fingerings
changed maybe five minutes earlier.
WN: [laughs]
LV: But, I knew the notes by then, of course, but there are, you know, many ways to skin a
cat, to get the most smooth transitions between sections. And it took an awful lot of
changes and examinations. That was my first appearance of the Chaconne.
WN: And the audience loved it, didn’t they?
LV: Oh, yes. Yes. They loved it. I don’t say it was an impeccable performance, without any
blemish. Little problems. But, the audience didn’t know that piece that well. The
orchestra did, but they were all awestruck also. But, they were so—that they had to sit
for fifteen minutes before they could smoke.
WN: [laughs]
LV: That’s very important. That was my first Chaconne. And then, I played it many times on
all kind of occasions.
WN: Uh hum. But you wanted to keep doing that and The Philharmonic schedule was
beginning to crowd your summer engagements, wasn’t it?
LV: Yes. And that’s why—by—let’s see—by ’57—’58—I forget when I finished going to
Chautauqua. But eventually I—actually I was in Chautauqua in ’62 when—I don’t know
if everybody knows that Chautauqua is on the shore of Lake Erie, very close to the
Canadian border.
39
WN: Uh hum.
LV: And it seems that in Toronto, at the radio station where I think I mentioned that we were
in—there was a Canadian string quartet who was broadcasting our broadcasts—fifty a
year, weekly—of different programs. I think I mentioned it already, didn’t I?
WN: No, I don’t think so.
LV: Well, it was an attractive thing for me to do after eleven years of just orchestra because I
wanted to teach, I wanted to play solo and quartet, which was always my desire and I
loved it. And the quartet literature is one of the richest. It’s an incredible, large beautiful
level. And at the end of the Chautauqua season—which I said is close to Canada—all of
a sudden, three wise men came over from Canada to Chautauqua from Toronto. From
the radio. The director and one of the honcho—music honcho, and another one with a
message that their cellist, George Ricci—you’ve heard of the Ricci name?
WN: Uh hum.
LV: By his brother, Ruggiero Ricci, the famous violinist.
WN: Oh, sure. Yes.
LV: Well, George Ricci was an excellent cellist.
WN: Yes.
LV: He was one of the ones who tried to get into The New York Philharmonic, but I got it.
But we were always very good friends. He was an excellent—he would’ve been a fine,
first cellist also. I had tough competition. By the way, Frank Miller, who I mentioned—
who was a sure ‘in’—decided not to play the audition because he didn’t want to step into
his first cousin’s shoes. They were a lot like this, you know, a real family.
WN: Yes. Yes.
LV: Can you imagine?
WN: Wow.
LV: He didn’t play. He would’ve been a sure—sure bet to get. And that was my luck. So,
now where are we? Chautauqua.
WN: Yes. But we’re in Toronto.
LV: Three wise men coming from Toronto. What did they call it in The Bible? Three—?
WN: Magi?
LV: Three Magi, yes. I call them three wise men. Wise guys.
WN: [laughs]
40
LV: And they heard I’m there, and they try to entice me to take the job because it had to be
open in September. It was a last minute affair. And they offered me a good position at
the Conservatory: half time teaching, half time quartet. Playing quartet concerts as well
as make the weekly broadcasts. Pre-taped. And something else—oh, playing solo. Solo
concerts.
WN: Uh hum.
LV: So, I was very interested in getting it except I already had a signed Philharmonic contract
from April, and you can’t quite get out of that, you know, just three weeks or four weeks
before the season’s starting. I called up the Philharmonic management and they said,
“We are sorry. We cannot let you go because the contract is signed and we cannot
replace you on such short notice.” It was true. It would have been—I said, “But I really
would like—” It’s not that I disliked it, but I had eleven years and it became a full-year
job from twenty-eight weeks, eventually, to start with. It became growing and growing,
and finally it was a year-round job. It was a little bit too much. That was one reason I
wanted to change. But since then, the next cellist, Lorne Munroe, stayed there for thirty-five
years. Poor guy.
WN: Uh hum. [laughs]
LV: So, I said I really would like to go. “Well, sorry.” I can’t call Lenny Bernstein, who was
gallivanting in the Riviera, half nude. “Sorry, we have to talk to Lenny.” He was the
boss at that time. I said, “Alright.” Well, Lenny called me in Chicago from the Riviera
and I had a long, hour and a half conversation with him, and I told him exactly why I—
not that I disliked him or anything else, but it became just too much. Year-round job and
we didn’t have a summer off. We had four weeks off. That wasn’t quite important
enough. And I said, “It’s a very attractive position that they’re offering there and I really
would like to leave.” I made a very strong point. And after an hour and a half, he said,
“Look, if this means so much to you, we will release you.” And I didn’t have anybody to
replace me, but he was a gentleman. He understood the point that one wants to reach out
and different. That’s how his life was always.
WN: Uh hum.
LV: So, they released me.
WN: So, you had a very, fulfilling career with Bernstein though.
LV: Oh, yes!
WN: You played the Beethoven: Triple Concerto.
LV: Twenty times. All over Europe and America. Throughout Russia. Yes, it was just
wonderful.
WN: And you managed to meet Boris Pasternak before he died, didn’t you?
41
LV: Right. That summer. I was facing the Philharmonic tour to Europe and Russia, and I
flew ahead to London a week early because I got two CBC solo broadcasts. My family
was to follow me by boat—I flew over—to meet me a week later and then we would
have traveled together whenever possible, or meet at certain places when The
Philharmonic landed here and there. I started rehearsing for the broadcast with a pianist.
He was a very good pianist, but he excused himself. He had a terrible cold, and he said
he couldn’t hear anything below middle C. I said, “Well, the cello goes two octaves
below middle C.” But he was completely full—uh—
WN: Congested. Yes.
LV: Congested. Thank you. I still need help in English.
WN: [chuckles]
LV: Yes, and so finally, it just didn’t go because we weren’t together. He excused himself
and called up the management of CBC—no. What is the—? BBC.
WN: BBC, right.
LV: BBC. And they got another very fine pianist who ended up playing with me. Why did I
mention this?
WN: Did it have to do with the Russian tour?
JH: Pasternak.
WN: Pasternak.
LV: This was before the Russian tour and the European tour.
WN: Uh hum.
LV: The reason I mentioned this: I ordered a brand new van from England that I was to use
from England on my European trip with my family. I already had two kids, three and six.
So I ordered a car, then it was waiting for me. I ordered it with a wheel on the American
side, the left side. I wanted to pick it up on the last day, but two days after I finished the
broadcast, I had two days. I decided to pick up the van. I wanted to get used to it. But,
in England. Have you ever driven in England? [chuckles] Well, everything is on the left
side, and every turn is one way—the wrong way. [chuckles] All the streets, muse, and
squares—all the crescents—all these little—
WN: Yes.
LV: All the—everything is in the wrong way somehow. And to drive this car, on the wrong
side, with the shift on the right here, it was a major turn. I never drove such a car in
my—well, I never drove on the left side. Let’s put it that way. It was very unnatural.
Well, I managed to do unscathed, without any problem. I learned how to do. So, the last
night in London I went to the hotel concierge and said, “Excuse me, how do I get a boat
trip for my car to Calais? Over to Calais?” He said, “Excuse, when would you wish to
42
cross?” I said, “Tomorrow morning.” He said, “I beg your pardon! This is May. You
have a three months waiting period for a ferry boat.” I fell over. I said, “What do you
mean? I can’t—” He said, “Sorry, I can’t help you. There’s a three month waiting
period for a spot on this ferry boat.” And my family was in the boat crossing. Almost
arriving because the next day was their arrival time to Le Havre, which is a five-hour
drive from Calais. So I was desperate. He said, “Well, sir, maybe you can go down to
the Royal Automobile Club and maybe they can help you. Maybe there was a
cancellation or something.” So, I rushed down there and they told me the same thing:
“Sorry. Three month waiting.” I said, “It’s impossible!” I made such a scene, in
Hungarian—
WN: [laughs]
LV: That they came up with the tickets. It seems they put in an extra boat because of the extra
demand, and I found myself one car out of twelve in a ferryboat that held one hundred
and twenty. So that was the surplus and they put in an extra boat. Happened to be that
same morning. So I got the ticket and I drove to Calais and got on the boat and smoked
while we crossed. I arrived to Calais and I immediately drove over to Le Havre. I got
there in the evening and there is the boat already. I wanted to go aboard. Oh, no. I had
to spend the night and wait for the Customs exam. And my family was there and I had to
take a hotel on the shore because I couldn’t see them. So I did and the next morning they
let me finally out. And then I found out that my son, who was six years old, got the small
pox or the chicken pox—one of those. And they are not allowed to board a boat with an
infectious disease. My wife had to put him in a big blanket and carry him. A six year old
is not so light. My wife is about this big. And carry him aboard and they got on. And
they had to spend the whole transatlantic trip in their cabin. The steward fed them well.
They took care of her, but it was illegal. Eventually, he got over it, but still—it was
against the law. I didn’t know this because they couldn’t notify me and I couldn’t
connect with them upon board at that time. So that was their crossing. But finally they
got off and we got into the car and began to drive around. This was ten weeks before the
Philharmonic started, so we had ten weeks to travel on our own. Then we embarked on
ten weeks Philharmonic tour and this is why I had to Europe—so I can, you know, join
them in Europe. Not to be. We finished and drove all across Europe and had a
wonderful time with a couple who were close friends at that time. We took hotels every
place and ate well, and really enjoyed the trip. At the end of the ten weeks, something
like the eighth week or so, I got an urgent telegram from New York from The
Philharmonic that said, “Lenny Bernstein decided to play through the Triple Concerto
before the tour in the New York summer season,” and I have to come back. And I felt I
had to because he would have been happier to start the tour if we played it there because
we hadn’t finished rehearsing it yet. So I felt I had to. I flew back and I left my family in
Europe. That was a strange feeling. On all tours, I was always away and my family
stayed in New York, but this was just the opposite. I flew over just for—less than a
week. And we rehearsed and we played it in Lewiston Stadium, which was a place where
The Philharmonic had a season—a summer season—with Krips conducting. Krips is
43
there someplace. And it was successful and I flew to Europe with the orchestra, together.
Whenever I could, I got away from symphony for a day or two and met the family. They
followed us. This way we could do both.
WN: Wow.
LV: And then comes the Russian trip. Do you have tape?
JH: Yes.
WN: Yes.
LV: We had to—we started playing in Prague. And there, the Russians sent their own jet
planes—passenger planes that were brand new and they were very proud of it – to take us
to Russia because we had charted American jets but they said, “No! No! No American
planes! We have our own beautiful planes.” They wanted to fly us from there so The
Philharmonic accepted it. And in Czechoslovakia, Prague airport, we changed planes.
We arrived to Prague with our planes—American planes—and we took off with the
Russians for three weeks Russian trip between Moscow, Leningrad, and Kiev. We
played nine concerts in Moscow, all different programs, six in Leningrad, and three in
Kiev. Each place we played the Triple Concerto also. So, the trip was very successful
and we were a great welcome. Had a very hardy welcome. One of our bass player
friends—colleague—found out that Pasternak just won the Nobel Prize for Doctor
Zhivago, which was recently published. But the Russian government insisted that he
refuse it because it wasn’t Communistic enough for them. It was the heavier Communist
Era. And he had to denounce the gift. And this bass player somehow got a Russian
friend—a musician friend—who knew Pasternak, and mentioned it that we would love to
meet Pasternak. He said, “I’ll arrange it. I’m sure he would like to.” He lived in a
suburb, Peredelkino, of Moscow. Not far. And he arranged a meeting for three of us,
two bass players and me. And he was out on his doorstep to welcome us, with all white
hair and with his wife. He lived there already in retirement even though he was writing.
We had an unforgettable afternoon in his house, very gracious and offering us coffee and
cakes. And we discussed—and we, of course, asked him, “Well, how come he refused
the Nobel Prize?” He said, “Well, I really didn’t deserve it. It was over thought.” What
do you call it? Over—it’s not deserved. Not properly deserved. He let himself lower it
in estimation.
WN: He underestimated himself?
LV: Yes.
WN: Ok.
LV: He had to.
WN: Yes.
LV: But the next sentence he said, “It’s a pretty good novel.”
44
WN: [laughs]
LV: He rectified himself. But, we talked from everything, you know, the difference between
the East and West in musicals and literary circles. And at one point, he excused himself
and he disappears. We’re left staring at his wife, who spoke nothing but Russian and
Yiddish, which we didn’t speak. You speak? No. We were there almost a half an hour.
That seemed like a terrible, long time. Between non-speaking—not able to speak—
people. But we survived somehow. We were trying to do a little German and a few
Yiddish words, but we got smiles and nothing much else. Finally he returned with three
handwritten sheets of paper. Beautiful ink. One for each of us by name. He wrote: To
Laszlo Varga, In remembrance of this wonderful get together of musicians or artists of
the East and West— and a few other sentences. Very lovely. And he handed it to each
of us. You know, his handwriting—I have it framed ever since, but I gave it to a famous
Jewish organization.
WN: Uh huh.
LV: It was really a—we invited him to the concerts, of course, and The Philharmonic did also.
And the next morning I go to the restaurant in the hotel and there is Bernstein and many
of my colleagues eating there, and he already heard that we visited Pasternak, and he
called me over and said, “How the hell did you get there?! How dare you! I wanted to
be and I couldn’t.” I said, “We had a contact and he was welcoming us, and you know,
we didn’t think of inviting you too.” [laughs] Well, I didn’t say it that way, but I didn’t
see anything wrong. Well, of course, he was halfway joking and making this mock-anger,
but a day or two later he found somebody who took him there too.
WN: [chuckles] Well, didn’t you also see Pasternak when you performed the Shostakovich?
LV: Yes.
WN: Yes.
LV: Yes. I don’t know if it was the same concert.
WN: Ok.
LV: But, as I said, we played nine times.
WN: Wow.
LV: Nine concerts. He came and—as I came on stage—much before the conductor—not even
the full orchestra was there—all of a sudden I see in one of the last rows an old man with
all white hair getting up and he says, “Hey!” like this, greeting me.
WN: [laughs]
LV: He saw me coming. And he did the same for the two bass players when they came out on
stage. It was just a very warm, personal attribute.
WN: Terrific.
45
LV: And, of course, after the concert we all met him. Of course, he was occupied. Busy,
talking with Bernstein and the other high officials, but we also managed to put a few
together. It was an unforgettable afternoon.
WN: Uh hum.
LV: He knew a lot of music. I don’t think he played anything, but he had a son who was a
pianist. So that was a memorable occasion.
WN: Wow.
LV: Of course, when we kept going to St. Petersburg and back, it was always an overnight
journey by train. So we got around. If we didn’t play or rehearse, we were on a train or a
plane.
WN: Uh hum.
LV: So, finally the tour ended and the Russians flew us back to Prague with their plane. We
said goodbye to them and we went to the waiting room—the restaurant. And there we
met the whole Prague Philharmonic. Can you imagine? Another hundred twenty
people—musicians—who were waiting for their plane to go on a tour someplace else.
And for two hours, the two orchestras blended and they drunk us under the floor. They
were greeting with endless beer—
[Telephone rings]
LV: Shut up.
WN: [chuckles]
LV: Oh, my daughter!
WN: Yes.
LV: Can you stop? Hello?
[Personal telephone conversation not recorded.]
LV: I believe. And we met the Prague Philharmonic and The New York Philharmonic, and
the two orchestras merged happily. They were very generous and they drank us under the
table. For two hours. We exchanged experiences by hand and foot because very few of
them spoke English and none of us spoke Czech. But it was a very enjoyable and
friendly gesture. So that was the end of our Russian tour and we continued our European
trip. And the next stop was another memorable story. Will be Scheveningen in Holland.
Scheveningen.
WN: I’ll have to let you say that one.
LV: Yes, I think I’m close to the original, but only the Dutch have the proper throat disease to
say it. [chuckles] Ok.