Karl Miller wrote:

>I remember reading in one of Levant's books about a concert when Enesco
>was guest conductor.  As the story goes...the concert was to include a
>Beethoven Symphony and during the rehearsal Enesco said to the orchestra
>something like..."you know this piece better than I do." They didn't
>rehearse it.  Levant goes on to say that he thought it was a wonderful
>performance.

At this point I can't resist retelling my favorite Enesco story, the truth
of which I can't guarantee.  Those who've read it before (or simply aren't
interested) are free to delete now.

It seems that Enesco was constitutionally unable to turn down a favor for
a friend.  So it was that in Paris, when a friend asked him to take his
son, a poor to mediocre violin player, as a pupil, Enesco found himself
in a great quandary.  "You know," he said to the friend, "I only take on
advanced students as pupils.  It would take several years for your son to
catch up, if he ever could, to where my other pupils start." The friend
acknowledged this but the friend kept up his entreaty, maintaining that
both he and his son were great admirers of Enescu and taking the son on
as a pupil would mean a great deal to them.  So Enesco relented.

After a little over two years the friend came back to Enesco, a little
embarrassed.  "You know," said the friend, "it's been over two years that
my son has been your pupil and you still haven't scheduled a public recital
for him.  All your other pupils have been giving recitals after eighteen
months or two years at the most.  When are you going to arrange for a
recital for my son?" "But my dear friend," replied Enescu, "I explained to
you when I agreed to take your son as a pupil that he did not yet have the
proficiency of my other starting pupils and that it would take him some
time before he caught up.  I really don't think your son is ready for a
recital yet." The friend acknowledged this but the friend kept up his
entreaty, maintaining that both he and his son were great admirers of
Enescu, and that arranging a public recital for the son would mean a great
deal to both of them.  So Enescu relented.

The recital was announced for La Salle X____ in six weeks and nobody was
buying tickets.  So the friend approached Enescu again complaining about
the very slow ticket sales.  "But you must understand," explained Enescu,
"that the public is aware of your son's inexperience and that, unlike my
other pupils, he has absolutely no reputation to precede him.  That's why
they're not buying tickets." "I do understand," replied the friend, "and
that is why I now ask you as an extra favor that you would agree to be his
accompanist.  "But this is absurd," replied Enescu.  "As everybody knows,
I'm a violinist, not a pianist, and while I can play the piano of course,
I would never presume to do so in public." The friend acknowledged this
but kept up his entreaty, maintaining that both he and his son were great
admirers of Enescu, and that agreeing to accompany him in his public
recital would mean a great deal to both of them.  So Enescu relented.

Ticket sales picked up and on the afternoon of the recital, the hall was
pretty full.  At this point a new crisis developed.  The page turner for
the accompanist had taken ill.  Enesco, not wanting to disappoint his
friend and his friend's son, looked through the crowd for a possible
subtitute when he saw Alfred Cortot in the audience.  He went to Cortot,
explained his predicament and asked if Cortot might not recognize some of
his pupils in the audience, one of whom might be persuaded to turn pages
for Enesco.  None could be found.  So Cortot himself agreed to turn pages
for the accompanying Enesco.

The next day the newspapers contained the following review of the recital:

   "A strange concert took place at La Salle X______ yesterday afternoon.
   The person who should have been the pianist was turning the pages
   for him.  The person who should have been playing the violin was
   playing the piano. And the person who was playing the violin would
   have been barely fit to turn the pages for the person playing the
   piano."

Walter Meyer