A Gift of Privilege

Into the dusty little town of Prades, on the slopes of the French Pyrenees, chugged two busloads of string players from Barcelona. Stopping at a small villa where Cellist Pablo Casals is staying, the musicians unlimbered their fiddles and serenaded the master with Mozart's Eine Kleine Nachtmusik. Then, one by one, they embraced Casals and boarded the buses for the return trip.

It was the eve of the 16th annual Prades Festival, and the players, members of a music society that Casals founded in 1919, had made the long journey as a tribute to their countryman, who will celebrate his 90th birthday on December 29. In honor of the anniversary, this year's festival has one of the most stellar lineups in its history. Violinists Alexander Schneider and David Oistrakh returned after several years' absence; Pianists Rudolf Serkin, Wilhelm Kempff and Julius Katchen took leave from crowded schedules to perform. It was a sentimental journey tinged with apprehension. "When a musician is almost 90," explained Katchen, "one may legitimately worry about how he is going to play."

Smiling but Silent. On opening night, however, the wondering quickly turned to wonder. Seated at the foot of the altar in the Gothic Saint-Pierre Church, Schneider, Serkin and Casals played Beethoven's Trio in E-Flat Major with a passion that made no concession to age. Casals' luminous tone filled the vast church like waves of sunlight, touching the life's breath of the music. At concert's end, the audience of 1,000 rose from the hardwood pews smiling but silent--the only tribute allowed in the church. Later, when the old man walked out the vestry door into the balmy night, the waiting crowd broke into an ovation that echoed through the narrow streets. "Absolutely remarkable!" exclaimed Oistrakh. "Never in the history of stringed instruments has there been such a musician!"

And so it went, as the cellist joined vigorously in seven of the festival's twelve concerts. The festival is, as Director Casals describes it, a "reunion of hearts," a musicians' meeting devoid of commercialism and pervaded by an air of easy familiarity. During the day, concertgoers chatted with the performers on the street, dropped in on rehearsals to turn pages for the players and to delight in Russia's Oistrakh and America's Katchen arguing about a Schubert trio in German: "What difference does it make, Julius, whether we play it at your tempo or mine? We are going to have to play it the way the master tells us." As it worked out, the moderate tempo they agreed upon was much too slow for the cellist's tastes, and they had to press to keep up with his spirited attack.

Dancing Hand. "I am the oldest living active musician," Casals reflected last week, puffing on his crooked pipe. "I can't explain why; just say that it is a privilege that has been given to me." During the festival a doctor friend checked the cellist, pronounced him sound but advised him to take it easy. Small chance. Casals, who today lives in Puerto Rico with his attractive 29-year-old wife Martita, receives as many as 250 visitors a day, spends the rest of his time rehearsing and answering the hundreds of letters from well-wishers. And on the evenings when he is not performing, he sits listening in an armchair in the vestry, caressing his cello, his blue eyes gazing into space, his bald head nodding, his left hand dancing on the fingerboard in silent accompaniment to the music that he says sinks into him with "the pleasant heaviness of gold."

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.