8 Jeanne Demessieux’s Diary and Selected Letters of 1940-1946 in Translation

This notebook is strictly confined to precise events or conversations, not a word of which has been altered, relating all without commentary and without hindsight, for my personal recollection.

[signed] Jeanne Demessieux

 

[1] Sunday 8 December 1940

Vespers at St-Sulpice at 3:30 PM. For the first time, Marcel Dupré asked me to play his organ; he had me improvise the entrance music for Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament^[2] (in the style of a procession) for a good length of time. In the middle of the improvisation he exclaimed,

“That’s beautiful, my little one!” and at the end, “what a beautiful improvisation; I am very pleased. It’s decided. Widor sat me at this organ when I was only twenty; that will bring you luck.”

Improvisation in E-flat minor on the hymn “Ave maris stella.”^[3]

 

Monday 9 December 1940

Dupré announced in [the organ] class that I had played at St-Sulpice and asked me if I had ever dreamed of this.

Jean Gallon, when I told him this news, was very moved and said to me, “This is a great honour that Dupré has bestowed on you, an honour that you deserve. Here is my heart’s secret desire: once Dupré is named director [of the Paris Conservatory], he will not leave St-Sulpice, but will likely appoint a substitute; you will have your [Conservatory] prize and become substitute at St-Sulpice straight away, having, then, an advantage before becoming more. My feeling of friendship for you is as deep as for Marcel Dupré.”

Dupré made a point of [2] telling Busser that he had me improvise on Sunday. They spoke of my symphony; Busser said,

“She is writing me a symphony that is quite interesting but is not for the old fogies at the January exam; for that she will write a sonata for piano and violin.”

 

Wednesday 11 December 1940

Since I was speaking to the master about a feeling of fear towards art that I am presently experiencing, he said to me, “That is a good problem to have; don’t worry.” He confessed to me that he has never played or improvised in a concert, or in a service, and been completely satisfied with himself. He wanted to see my symphony. Recalling the day when I was introduced to him [in 1936]:

“I can tell you now: when I asked you how many little preludes and nocturnes you had composed in the style of the one in G-sharp minor that you had just played for me, and you responded, modestly, ‘Twenty-five… thirty…’ I thought to myself, “Here is a kid [petite gosse] with a brain. It is the only time in my career I encountered such a case.”^[4]

 

[3] Saturday 30 November 1940^[5]

I learned, confidentially, through the Conservatory administration, that the position of director will be open either very soon, or in a year.^[6] They are pleading with me, as Dupré’s student and someone able to approach him, to let him know how much all the civil servants in the administration, as well as the entire musical milieu, wish to see Dupré named as Rabaud’s successor. I was warned that Marcel Samuel-Rousseau is seeking to make himself a definite threat.

On the advice of those close to me, following my own impulse, and out of loyalty to the Dupré family, I rushed to Meudon in the afternoon, aiming to impart this. Profoundly touched, they admitted to me that Jean Gallon had already spoken of it to M^me [Jeanne] Dupré and Marguerite [Dupré] two years ago. Dupré said to me, “Since then, a few of my dearest friends have spoken of it to me. I have never wanted to accept, because I am not a man of the theatre like Rabaud and because I do not wish to sit on the throne of Fauré, who (I dare say) was a genius.” But, at M^me Dupré’s insistence, I left feeling certain that they would accept, if the offer were made to them by the state. They both kissed my cheeks [in parting] after having kept me for an hour.^[7]

 

[4] Sunday 15 December 1940

At my 11:30 AM Mass at St-Esprit,^[8] I played the opening movement of the Symphonie-Passion by Marcel Dupré (at the Offertory) for the first time, then the chorale prelude with ornamented melody in G “Nun komm’, der Heiden Heiland.”^[9] The first part of the Mass, improvised on the hymn “Creator alme siderum” (chorals [i.e., variations]). Postlude: improvised on a theme by Yvette Grimaud—beautiful (modulation and recapitulation in the subdominant, canons). Nine people in my gallery.

Sadly, I learned that M^r le Curé is in the hospital, where they had to perform emergency surgery.

 

Wednesday 18 December 1940

At the organ class, [we were given] a subject for a fugue and a symphony. The master found my symphony, “remarkable, individual, with attention to timbre and form.” He called my fugue one of the most beautiful that I have improvised in class.

He spoke to me about my sonata for piano and violin for which I have just finished an Adagio, and wants me to carry on immediately after with my symphony, which he wishes to get to know.

Dupré gave us a very profound definition of the artist (impossible to reproduce).

 

Friday 20 December 1940

After class, I accompanied Dupré as far as the [5] library, to speak to him and ask him to listen to my sonata and the fragment of my symphony as soon as I was ready.

He mentioned that he was very happy to chat with me to bring me up to date on the position of director of the Conservatory. Candidates’ applications are pouring in: Noël Gallon, for one, [and] the director of the Versailles Conservatory^[10]—strongly backed by Busser—for another. Dupré does not want to get anyone to help him, and told me that the most worthy candidate would be named, even if it were not him (!)

 

Tuesday 24 December 1940

At 5:30 PM Mass at St-Sulpice (Midnight Mass). The master began playing at 5:15: Widor’s Symphonie-Gothique (I turned pages for him, though he played from memory), Sinfonia from the Cantata No. 29 by Bach, from memory. He improvised the Offertory (a noël); during the Communion: some extraordinary variations with hugely imaginative timbres; for the postlude, based on two noëls, a symphony in three movements—Allegro, Scherzo, Finale (in the style of a fugue).

Yolande was in the gallery and was magnificently received.^[11]

 

Wednesday 25 December 1940

At High Mass [at St-Esprit], improvisations on noëls; d’Argœuves congratulated me. At 11:30 AM, I played the “Nativité” [movement] from [Dupré’s] [6] Symphonie-Passion for the Offertory. The rest of the time, I improvised on some noëls. Four people in my gallery.

At 3:30 PM, [attended Vespers at] St-Sulpice: Dupré improvised some magnificent versets that were profound, and a little melancholy. He had me sit on his left.

At 5:00 PM, my Vespers, which went very well; I created some versets, responding to the hymn. This evening and this morning, I was in brilliant form.

 

Sunday 19 January 1941

Feast of St-Sulpice. I asked for leave from St-Esprit so that I could spend the entire morning at St-Sulpice. High Mass: Dupré played an excerpt from Widor’s Sixth [Symphony] and improvised a symphony at the end. 11:15 Mass: Liszt’s great Fantasia [on “Ad nos, ad salutarem undam”].

Between the two masses, the master and Madame Dupré kept me for three-quarters of an hour in private conversation.

MD: “The more I think about it [Plus je vais], the less I understand what Busser said to you, in front of me, about your symphony. He finds it confusing, I find it very clear. I do not understand how he understands music. The same with Rabaud. I believe Rabaud has many young artists’ failed careers on his conscience. He is not my enemy, but he is the enemy of my success, even though I was his student.^[12]

“As for the directorship of the Conservatory (this will [7] sadden you): Delvincourt will have it. It’s only a matter of forty-eight hours before it will be official; I can’t imagine any other outcome: Busser took care of everything.^[13] I would have preferred to stay in my own little corner, to not have my name create such a fuss in this matter. I asked for nothing. I am sorry, to tell the truth, partly for ‘the family business,’ mostly for you.”

Dupré introduced me to Duruflé who said he remembered the last time I competed, having been on the jury, and judged my fugue as the best; Dupré responded [to Duruflé], “You are going to think I’m exaggerating… I set you apart because you are an artist; and I maintain that, of all those present, no one is capable of competing with a fugue improvised by Jeanne Demessieux.”

Before I left, my dear teacher made some humble remarks to me, which I will not reproduce, lest a false interpretation tarnish the genius of Marcel Dupré for the reader of these pages. These words suffice to summarize his meaning:

“I have always asked affection of my students, not admiration.”

 

[8] Sunday 26 January 1941

I’m reporting here [about] Wednesday, January 15^th, when Dupré had me come to the Conservatory to tell me about some recent impressions of events concerning “the family business,” and entrust me with the copy of his work for the next Bornemann edition of Liszt. He asked me to look at the metronome speeds, the fingering, and made me promise to tell him whether my musical sense agreed with his or not.^[14] He again wanted to see my symphony that I’d sketched out for him at Meudon two days before.

As we were leaving, we ran into Jean Gallon; they spoke about my sonata, the finale of which Dupré has urged me to develop further. He said he’s enthusiastic about my symphony and declared to Jean Gallon that if I do not receive my organ prize this year, he will resign.

I left with Jean Gallon, who said to me that he had never seen Dupré so very enthusiastic about one of his students. He [Gallon] was very happy about this. We chatted privately. Jean Gallon: “I know a little Jeanne Demessieux who will one day be a professor at the Conservatory. Oh, not tomorrow, but… soon! When that day comes, old Gallon [9] will be happy, and if Dupré were to be director… ah, well!…”

Wednesday the 22^nd [of January 1941], Dupré had me come to Meudon an hour before class. I returned the score and played the Liszt for him by heart. Only one point on which I am not of the same mind as he: for the passage in G minor (arpeggios) the master has indicated 72 =  quarter note; I find this too slow. We worked on it, then, MD: “You are right,” and he made a note. He was uncertain about the Andante, which he believed to be too slow, and asked my opinion; he decided to review the movement. I switched one of his pedaling indications. MD: “You really think that this is better? I’m asking in the interest of pedagogy; as a virtuoso, I can stray in a personal direction; but the moment you tell me that there is a better way of doing it, I believe you.”

Sunday the 26^th, I played Liszt’s great Fantasia on “Ad nos” at St-Esprit.

Thursday the 23^rd, Busser announced his official retirement.^[15] As director, he named Paray, Delvincourt, Dupré.

Busser: “What would you say, Demessieux, if Dupré were no longer an organ professor? Would you cry?…”

 

Monday 27 January 1941

Rabaud will finish out the academic year.

 

[10] Tuesday 28 January 1941

For Noël Gallon, I played my sonata (with my violinist). He liked it better on the second hearing.

NG: “I’m somewhat afraid that the harmonies are too aggressive for the jury. It is aggressive as a whole, not in the detail, which is preferable. It’s well constructed; there are some imaginative timbres. Do you remember the first thing that you played for me; you were only thirteen! It was some Chopin. Up until then I had judged you to be an exceptionally gifted student, like Jean Hubeau. You have thrown me off course; I had said to myself, this child will never be a composer; she will always gravitate around some kind of influence. [But] now, do show me what you’ve written over the past three years, as I would like to take stock of the situation.”

 

Wednesday, 29 January 1941

Organ class; fine fugue. Piece on two themes.

MD: “That’s a beautiful [organ] symphony, a lovely piece; you made me wait for the theme. I did not notice you had it written out: careful! Be sure to tell me what Jean Gallon has to say about the sonata; I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I played for J. Gallon. I tried to find out if he considered my sonata aggressive.

JG: You are twenty years old and speak the language of your century. I’m with you. Your sonata is dissonant [âpre] and individual to you; [11] it’s rich. Don’t seek to please everyone! There will always be some who are crabby; old Georges Hüe will make a fuss. You have only to answer to yourself and to those in whom you have confidence and who love you, which is to say, Marcel Dupré.”

In response, I added that I also value his personal judgment.

 

Thursday 30 January 1941

Composition exam. My violinist, Micheline Bauzet (student of Bouillon and J. Gallon) played magnificently.

The atmosphere created by the jury was horrible. Dupré was beside Philippe Gaubert, Rabaud presided, and Busser was standing—agitated, and talking. First movement of my sonata: I heard Marcel Samuel-Rousseau say out loud, “What’s that supposed to be? A funeral march? [Something] in church for the entrance of the officiating minister!” Second movement: Busser was talking very loudly to [Samuel-]Rousseau; I heard [the word] “sad.” Third movement: Georges Hüe was furious, got up and exclaimed, “Just look at Dupré! Look! He’s listening to that! He thinks it’s beautiful! It’s scandalous, hideous!” At the very end, Rabaud said, “That’s fine,” without raising his eyes. I departed, crushed.

The next instant, I saw Busser, who in front of thirty people, reprimanded me in the [12] following way.

B: “Oh, it’s you! Yes, you! They found it hideous, horrible! They’re all wound up arguing about it.^[16] Too bad for you: all you wrote were wrong notes. But, during the first years, it’s always that way; you have replaced Falcinelli.”^[17]

I told Busser that I did not think this judgment was worth much because no one had actually listened to my sonata.

He left, repeating, “It was hideous.”

Dupré came out, saying, “My poor dear, I was not able to rescue you: they are all against me. They have been very harsh today: I have suffered for it. Tomorrow we will chat, and I will tell you what Rabaud said. Bye for now; I’m going to see Marguerite!”

I spotted my teacher again in the subway, looking for the right direction; I retreated. [But] seeing me, he took me by the arm [and said]:

“Come with me.” I remember this much [of what else Dupré said]: “I believe I finally understand what they are asking of composition students: a [style of] writing that stems directly from a given melody and figured bass, with no attempt to seek out imaginative harmonies, in a form that we could call, in a word, eighteenth-century pastiche. There is a class missing at the Conservatory, a [13] class for teaching these stylistic imitations, making the connection between the harmony-fugue [classes] and the composition [class].”

I asked, “What name would you give to this class?”

“Neither composition, nor study of forms, not even an introduction.”

Me: “This class would then be based on a misunderstanding.”

MD: “You’ve said it. And now, my little one, remember this: all the great musicians were misunderstood, derided, starting in their youth: you can’t be a great musician without going through this. I am telling you this from experience, and I’ll share this much: I myself have known grave insults. Today I was once again subjected to direct attacks on my artistry. For you it will be the same.”

Marcel Dupré left, telling me again not to forget this.

 

Friday 31 January 1941

I went to see Noël Gallon at his morning class to ask him for a meeting. He wanted to chat and kept me for a half hour. I told him I’m discouraged and shared my impressions with him. He told me that my sonata was much too advanced for the jury and asked me what music I like. He was stunned when I told him that I particularly like Beethoven, Chopin, [14] Wagner and the romantics generally; that I like, but less passionately, Fauré, Debussy, Ravel, and that I find myself attracted more and more to the great classics.

NG: “Then, I don’t understand anymore, I do not understand.” And because he wanted to encourage me, I told him that I am at the point of asking someone I can trust whether I should continue to write or not. Noël Gallon was startled, began to stutter; then,

NG: “You believe, then, that I who started you on harmony, on fugue, who has seen you take your first steps, I am going to pronounce such a halt? This is serious: I cannot and do not wish to; and if I were wrong? An opinion more authoritative than mine is needed. Perhaps it would be good if you went to see Rabaud to present your case to him. Do you compose with difficulty or because you want to write?”

I responded, “I’ve been drawn to composition practically since my earliest years [depuis mon âge de bébé], but there’s a difference between childish [enfantin] enthusiasm and grand artistic aim. That’s what troubles me, because yesterday it became clear to me that I must choose.”

NG: “If you are writing from a desire [to compose], you must become a composer; I’ll ponder this; it’s a serious matter.” [15] He advised me to speak to Dupré.

In the afternoon, I waited for Dupré before the start of the class. He was worried: “Are you feeling better?” After a moment, we chatted. MD: “After leaving you yesterday, I spent twenty minutes with Marguerite (at the clinic);^[18] out of twenty minutes, we spent fifteen talking about you. At lunch with my wife, we spoke only of you—and the same all evening. Last night I did not sleep, and this morning my mind is made up. Don’t listen to anyone! Do not believe what they are telling you! Right now, you are searching for yourself. Stay true to yourself! [Restez-vous même!] If you wouldn’t mind, I wish to speak to you in front of your classmates. First, though, have you something confidential you want to say to me?” With the master, I went back through my conversation with N. Gallon and, trembling, I asked him the same question that I told him I had posed to Noël Gallon: should I continue to write or not?

MD: “So that’s it… it has come to this… beautiful!” A pause. MD: “Remember the story of Glazunov asking Liszt this question? Do you remember Liszt’s response? [16] Well, my little one, here is mine: taking upon myself—accepting—paternal responsibility, I’ll permit myself to say to you, on my honour as an artist: you have been born to a career as a composer just as to a career as an organist and improviser; your life must be spent pursuing this aim. [Believe me when] I tell you, a child who, at nine years of age, wrote thirty nocturnes for piano is a born composer. Now, come.”

In class, Dupré asked my classmates for permission to speak with me at length in front of them. Publicly, he repeated the same words to me. Here is what Henri Rabaud said to him: “Among these young people [enfants], there are those who are in ensemble classes. I listen to them interpret Beethoven, Schumann, Mozart, sometimes in an admirable way; I am persuaded that they like this [music]. The same young people write ugly things, enough to make you believe they are not musicians. Others are in a harmony or fugue class; they know how to create something charming out of a given melody, or write a correct fugue; [yet] when they compose, they make ugly music. I [17] end up believing that they are not musicians. I am nearly convinced that I see them in their compositions, and that where I am mistaken is in believing them to be musicians based on a beautiful performance or a good bass [realization].”

The master spoke for an hour and a half, so magnificently that I dare not report, not being certain of every word.

I played two stations from [Dupré’s] Chemin de la Croix (fifth and ninth) for him.^[19]When I had finished, he said to me,

“You certainly are taking this to heart [vous êtes bien touchée]! Rest assured, my little one; there will be [other setbacks] (I have had them), but of all the blows ones receives in life, the first is the hardest.”

As he was leaving us, this is what the master said to me:

MD: “Lastly, my little one, I say to you again: you are a composer! Don’t worry; go in peace.”

Concerning the fifth station from the Chemin de la Croix, I am reporting Marcel Dupré’s idea: a man, a labourer, is returning from work and meets the procession of the tortured Christ [Supplicié]; he retreats to the edge of the road to watch it pass, “the way one watches an accident.” A soldier orders him to help Jesus carry his cross; he obeys, without enthusiasm, but, touched by [18] divine grace, he adjusts his steps little by little to those of Jesus and, having achieved this, tries to carry the heavier weight.

 

Sunday 2 February 1941

Mass at 10:00 AM: [Yvette] Grimaud brought me a theme on which I improvised a symphony (not so beautiful). 11:30: I played “Choral mystique de l’Eucharistie,”^[20] the Toccata and Fugue in D minor by Bach, improvisation[s] in the forms of chorale variations, a symphony.

I saw Father de la Motte, who said to me, “I have unlimited confidence in my little Jeanne. She can do whatever she wants in her art; I have confidence in her, and nothing will make me change. She can count on my support.”

 

Monday 3 February 1941

Marcel Dupré: “Would you believe that this child, who looks like an angel from heaven landing in our world of misery, would be capable of making a jury so angry, and that she could scandalize them so much that they find her language ‘too advanced’” ([said] in the organ class).

 

Wednesday 5 February 1941

M. Dupré had Jean Gallon come by the class, having said to me: “Here is a great artist who wishes to speak to you. You are going to end up smiling!”

JG: “What is Marcel talking about? What’s going [19] on?”

I said, among other things, that they have labelled my music “music of the mad.”

JG: “It certainly makes you wonder who it is that is mad!” He openly blamed Busser. He vigorously encouraged me.

JG: “Don’t listen to any of them; ignore that ridiculous old man (Georges Hüe). Only one person is worthy of your confidence: Dupré; my brother, and myself for advice and support. You will play your sonata for me again, and we will see, fairly, between the two of us, if—in view of the opinion here—there are things to be scratched out and tried again or if the whole thing is unredeemable. We’re going to try to find the definitive plan that will allow you to receive the prize in composition as quickly as possible, and then, ‘Bye-bye.’ In three or four years, people around you will be saying, Jeanne Demessieux has a personality [that is her own]. And later, you will be a professor here; that’s how it goes!”

I mentioned to him that Dupré had been attacked strongly at the jury.

JG: “Nothing surprising there; he’s starting to bother them a bit!” He laughed. “Things are going fine for him. Take heart, my little Jeanne, take heart.”

I returned to the class where Dupré exclaimed, [20] “She is smiling! For your sonata as for everything, you must tell Jean that I insist he promise to tell you everything he really thinks, as I can say he always did for me. He, with Augustin Barié, was supportive of my three Preludes and Fugues [Op. 7] two years before I won the Rome Prize.^[21] Théodore Dubois, a member of the Institute, spoke of me to Widor, saying: ‘this little Dupré is very nice, a good musician; he’ll have a fine career as an organist, but he will never be a composer.’ Widor repeated this to me after my Rome Prize…”

I was improvising very badly and stopped in the middle of a symphony, disgusted. MD: “It is that unfair reproach that has upset you so much [fait tant de mal]! …” I told him I’d had a fever for several days. MD: “Tell me about it! Just ask my wife and Marguerite; for eight days we’ve talked of nothing but you at the table, and I dare say that you have preoccupied us as much as Marguerite’s infection [panaris]. Don’t worry; remember what Liszt said to Glazunov!”

I left with Jean Gallon; we chatted for three-quarters of an hour. He got me wound up, and [21] insisted I go to concerts as often as possible, especially to the Opéra. He has boundless enthusiasm.

I went to visit Noël Gallon, who kept me for two hours to have me play my works composed since 1935. Like me, he considers my suite and my sonata, written under the same conditions—for the jury and very quickly—to not truly be expressions of myself. He was reassured by hearing the sketch of my symphony and said that I am on the right track. He focused great attention on my preludes for piano. He told me he is still puzzled by my musical taste, though he recognizes a hint of classicism in my symphony.

 

Sunday 9 February 1941

11:30 Mass: Chorale (Bach) No. 50;^[22] ninth and fifth of Le Chemin de la Croix by Dupré. Improvisations: chorale variations, symphony (on the Communion [chant] for Septuagesima Sunday).

At 5:30, a concert by Maurice Duruflé at the Trocadéro;^[23] Dupré had insisted that I attend. I was able to observe the console in detail. Moving the organ case forward has had an enormous effect. Many [22] people present. Duruflé fell short of a huge success by not responding to the call for an encore and improvisation while enthusiasm was building.^[24] I encountered Dupré and his wife. I spotted Grunenwald [as well as] Marchal, who attracted such a fuss that one could not get near him. Duruflé welcomed me kindly: “Ah! You’ve come!” I introduced my sister to him. The organ is interesting, but the foundation stops are weak, the mixtures a bit acidic, and the overall effect somewhat hard, lacking support. A mishap during the concert: a cipher on the Récit that they did not manage to fix.

 

Monday 10 February 1941

Organ class; I improvised a lovely fugue; Dupré found it interesting and “alive” (I did a rare stretto of the countersubject in class, my third experiment). Lovely free theme (by mistake, a discord at the reprise).

Dupré: “I can’t wait to hear what Jean (Gallon) will have said about the [violin] sonata! I’m very interested. I can’t get over Busser’s volte-face Thursday: ‘You could have a [First] Prize, or a Second Prize, in two or [23] three years, with the same jury, by presenting the same sonata; they would not remember and might [simply] be better disposed toward it.’”

Regarding the Duruflé concert: MD: “An artist must seize the moment when, there on the stage, he senses a growing fever of excitement in his audience. In several instances, this has launched a career.”

I played my sonata again for Jean Gallon. He devoted an hour to me after his class, just the two of us with my violinist.

JG: “The more I hear this sonata, the more I like it; that’s significant: it proves how good it is. First, I’ll say what I think. With all due respect, I do not agree with the jury. There is, here, a single idea, worked through; it is admirably written. Evidently, there is a conflict between your music and your person: you are angelic, delicate; one expects you to write berceuses, romances, and [instead] you write this music, which I like, and which is proud (in a noble way) and masculine, rough. For the jury, this is disconcerting. If I were a critic, I would not dare write anything after a first hearing of this sonata; I would ask to borrow the [24] score for a week. With these things, it’s necessary to reserve judgment at first: ‘I don’t like that,’ right off the bat, is a ridiculous statement. You have undeniable character. You can believe in this [sonata], as can we, because it is built on your past and backed up by prizes in harmony, fugue, organ, and piano, of which it is the fulfilment. You are a profound and erudite musician, a thinker.”

Jean Gallon sought to identify the “spots” that would have bothered the jury. After skimming through the score, he thought he could find none; he hesitated, afraid of making a mistake, then made up his mind.

JG: “If I were called Jeanne Demessieux, I would take up this sonata again during the next vacation and, without touching anything, I would try to present the same ideas in a language accessible to the man in the street; one has to treat the jury like a man in the street.” As an example, he gave the last measures of the Adagio (which he found well thought-out). I tried playing them for him with a simple harmonization.

JG: “That would work for the jury, though the audience would remain cool, in need of what you actually wrote.” And again: “What always works, regardless of the language, is rhythm. We experience rhythm, but it not so with harmony, which we analyze with the heart, the head, or the ear. This is why an Adagio is the most difficult to impose on a general audience. Remember this: you always need the ‘man in the street’; it is he who is right when he has the majority. The moral of the story for you, as the fable says, is that a mouse may sometimes help a lion [on a souvent besoin d’un plus petit que soi].”

J. Gallon promised to bring me the orchestral score of [Ravel’s] Le Tombeau de Couperin, as a gift.

 

Wednesday 12 February 1941

Jean Gallon had me call in at the Conservatory to collect the Ravel score.

Organ class: I improvised one of the most beautiful fugues (Dupré found it admirable) and a symphony that he called “a lovely bit of symphonic work”; he remarked on the beauty of both pieces.

Dupré’s definitive version regarding the composition class: “The professors’ misunderstanding is in failing to realize that a student needs to like what they have written, even if it pleases no one else. For students, the misunderstanding is not having the courage to do simple composition exercises [26] that permit them to study form.”

After class, I chatted with Dupré, who brought me up to date on his application. We chatted with Jean Gallon.

During class, Dupré said to me, “You’ve got all your sparkle back. That pleases me greatly.” I repeated what J. Gallon had said to me.

 

Thursday 13 February 1941

My birthday. My parents presented me with the Dubois’s Treatise on Counterpoint and Fugue,^[25] knowing my desire to do a thorough review of counterpoint as soon as possible. They have also ordered many works by Marcel Dupré for me. My joy overflows.

 

Friday 14 February 1941

Yesterday, I met M^r Mazellier who spoke to me about the exam in these terms: “Don’t be discouraged. But still, what music! You could do much better with what you have learned. Do you think it is harder to write the way you write? Come now, give in to your impulses, write what you think; ah! Well, if this is your music! Then…” (It felt like the walls of the Conservatory were caving in on me.)

Today, the organ class: the master liked the [27] way in which I interpreted [Franck’s] Grande Pièce symphonique. [Improvisation on a] free theme (nice arrangement at the reprise) of which Dupré said, as soon as it ended:

“I can say it no other way: I liked that, my little one! Perhaps I am not a good teacher; perhaps I am wrong, but I prefer simply telling you what I think. There are some people who do not understand that no artist, of any age, can write without emotion.”

 

Monday 17 February 1941

Organ class: MD: “Good fugue; nice beginning to the free theme” (I didn’t continue).

Dupré gave me excellent advice on composition; he again advised me to write a fantasy for piano and orchestra (with winds in threes) for the competition.

MD: “They cannot reproach you for writing badly for piano, since they recognize that you play it magnificently. Write for winds in threes: don’t forget that you are in Paris. Allow your ideas to mature over time before writing; gather phrases, harmonies, orchestral arrangements, the way one cultivates flowers; it doesn’t matter if, for one drop of essence, it takes hundreds of flowers! Even so, there will be [28] people who do not like that particular scent.”

Speaking of my symphony, which I am orchestrating as I compose,

MD: “I admire people who compose directly for orchestra; I have known three: Paray, Litaize, and you.”

 

Wednesday 19 February 1941

Organ class. MD: “A magnificent fugue; there is nothing to say.” The symphony movement was a scherzo on two themes. MD: “That’s remarkably beautiful.”

I went to Jean Gallon’s, where I listened to Beethoven’s Mass.

 

Friday 28 February 1941

I was the only student at the organ class until 3:00. Dupré arrived with Duruflé; they chatted about the organ at St-Étienne-du-Mont, which is going to be renovated. When Duruflé left, I played the Grande Pièce symphonique, in its entirety, from memory. Afterwards, I noticed that Dupré’s eyes were moist; after a moment,

MD: “Now listen to me: when you give an organ concert, the audience will go to it just as one goes to take a lesson. Don’t worry about your future. You will have [29] a magnificent career as organist and composer… When Busoni played, one had the feeling of being at a lesson. That’s the ultimate mark of a great artist. I like the way you play the Pièce symphonique; it’s profound.”

On the subject of the directorship, MD: “I don’t know if I really have any chance. The freemasons tend to have it all wrapped up. Yet, I cannot make myself into a freemason.^[26] There are two things in life I fervently hoped for: St-Sulpice and the organ class. If I were given a choice between St-Sulpice and the directorship, do you think I could renounce St-Sulpice? To you I can make my profession of faith: I have never degraded myself to seek an honour; I have the Legion of Honour because it was offered to me, and as soon as I cross the border, I stop wearing it. I can be reproached for nothing in my public life, nor in my private life. I know that there are those who have tried to turn my friends against me. If I were a freemason, I would never want to enter a church, take the holy water, [30] make the sign of the cross, kneel down, because therein lies the Phariseeism Jesus pointed to.”

I improvised on a free theme. MD: “A jewel.”

I left with Jean Gallon.

 

Monday 3 March 1941

Dupré, having learned that Busser does not want me to write a fantasy for piano and orchestra (there being another student working on a similar work), strongly encouraged me to write a large-scale organ piece.

MD: “One knows neither who will enter the competition nor who the judges will be.” He does not want me to ask for a leave from the composition class this year.

 

Wednesday 5 March 1941

MD: “An artist-composer has made his contribution to art when he is convinced of having created a useful work.”

I showed Dupré an Adagio theme that had come to me. He whistled it, stopped: “it seems beautiful to me….” studied it, then:

“What you have here is the Adagio of the symphony!”

I asked him if I could use it for a fantasy for organ.

MD: “I’ll have to think about it… I promise to think about it between now and Friday, and let you know.”

 

[31] Friday 7 March 1941

Before the organ class, Duruflé, Perroux, and Beuchet were there waiting for the master to talk about St-Étienne-du-Mont.^[27] Duruflé drew me into the conversation and introduced Beuchet to me; we spoke about my organ and about St-Esprit.

In class, as soon as Dupré arrived:

“I’ve thought about your theme; it is the Adagio of your symphony. You resist because you were obliged to abandon your symphony several times. (Busser did not encourage you, and you listened to him out of mere obedience.) But the symphony is close to your heart and won’t go away… Whether you like it or not, you are writing your symphony, you are hearing your Adagio (he sang it from memory), isn’t that so?… Keep this beautiful theme for the symphony but think of something for organ.”

 

Saturday 8 March 1941

Composition class. H. Busser: “Be so kind as to tell Dupré for me that he is invited to my students’ concert, or rather, his wife and daughter, too, for he may not come.… Ah! In fact, he would not come for me; but for you—yes.”

B. to M^lle Deschamps: “In your first year [as a composition student] [32], you are playing it safe, unlike M^lle Demessieux, for example. She [Demessieux] has to have a Second or First Prize―Second at least.”

Me: “I will have nothing.”

B: “In composition one can remain five years without getting anything.”

Me: “This is what will save me!”^[28]

B: “I telephoned Vichy yesterday evening and was told that the director has been named. Tell me his name, I asked. ‘Oh, we can’t tell you.’ All they would say is that the new director is a war veteran…”

Me: “So, it’s not [Marcel Samuel-]Rousseau any more than Dupré… it’s Delvincourt…”

B: “Tell your pianist that she must not be late (for the recital).”

Me: “Thank you for reminding me, Master. That often happens with her.”

B: “You won’t let me down, will you?”^[29]

 

Sunday 9 March 1941

Concert given by André Fleury at the Palais de Chaillot. Beautiful concert, good response from the audience. A fine success. An encore: the Prelude in B major by Dupré. I was with Papa.

In the foyer, Papa introduced me to Fleury, who had the kindness to welcome me in these words: “M^lle Demessieux? You’re the one who improvises such fine fugues! I didn’t [33] recognize you for a moment, I’m so used to seeing you in the competition, without a hat! My father often spoke of you; he very much enjoyed going to St-Esprit. I am very pleased to meet you.”

We spoke to Monsieur and Madame Dupré, and Marguerite; M^r and M^me Touche and their charming [son] Jean-Claude; Thibaud, the singer;^[30] some classmates. We noticed Marchal, who spoke briefly to Dupré. Same people I see at St-Sulpice.

 

Monday 10 March 1941

Extraordinary organ class. (I improvised first.) Dupré revealed something that my six classmates claimed to not understand but that profoundly touched [émeut] my artistic sensibility.

MD: “Since Saturday evening, I have been extremely troubled. Since the construction of my extraordinary organ, with which you are familiar, I have done, for friends and for others, some experiments in registration, experiments that I have never dared do just for myself, being hugely apprehensive about that [sort of thing]. Saturday, I was drawn, as though someone had me by the collar of my jacket, to do this experiment. I improvised, and at the end of the day I wrote six measures. Ideally, in my [34] opinion, one would superimpose timbres, to amalgamate them according to the colour, their intensity, vertically, instead of in succession. Discovering that encouraged me to write using a particular harmonic language that resembles one of my latest Preludes and Fugues, the one in E; one cannot write on only 4 or 5 staves; one must use an alto-C-clef. I believe I’m on the verge of discovering a scientific fact that will allow for the teaching of ‘orchestration’ in a reliable manner. Therein are the laws of nature concerning the relationships and intensities of timbres. It is trivial to compare timbres to colours or to vowels; but there are a few things that can be compared to consonants. A trumpet pronounces on its attack P, a violin V, a flute T, etc. Perhaps I am the victim of a mirage… Soon I will know if this mirage is reality. I believe that the ideal I seek will appear to me. I think only of that; I will share my impressions with you. If I am wrong, my children, you will indulge me…”

 

[35] Tuesday 11 March 1941

I chatted at length with Jean Gallon.

 

Wednesday 12 March 1941

Monday, March 10^th, Busser spoke with Dupré in the foyer of the Conservatory. In the subway, I saw Dupré, who said to me, “Life is funny…” He then said to me, “… But… nothing has been done; you can still hope…”, and he led me to a coffee shop.

Today, Dupré spoke briefly to me:

“You must have been surprised the day before yesterday to see me with our associate!… The reason is that one should never forget: ‘Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.’”

In class, fugue and symphony. On hearing my countersubject, Dupré exclaimed,

“There is the right countersubject. I am erasing mine and putting yours in its place; I am a bit of a thief, don’t you know?…” For the symphony,

MD: “You have treated the theme just as I hear it. Nice colour, well constructed.” Fugue: “A beautiful competition fugue.” Verset (I did polyphony in 6 voices):

MD: “That’s very nice, admirably presented, very interesting; for the competition, this [36] would be interesting, except we mustn’t forget our great invertible [counterpoint], and the effect that it has.”

 

Friday 14 March 1941

Organ class. I was alone when the master arrived. A moment later Jean Gallon entered.

JG: “Are you alone, Marcel, my lad?” Seeing me: “I believe we can speak in front of Jeanne Demessieux…What’s new? I’ve been told that Busser announced in his composition class that Delvincourt’s nomination will occur any time now…” (It was I who apprised J. Gallon of this without having spoken of it to Dupré.)

MD: “I know nothing of it.”^[31]

During the conversation, which, I recall, was very private:

MD: “I always told you that Delvincourt had the best chance, being severely disfigured… That’s why I did not want to run against him. In [the] Vichy [government], Delvincourt and Jacques Ibert were the preferred candidates;^[32] [Samuel-]Rousseau was not, nor was I…”

JG: “Delvincourt is clearly an honest man, but I can tell you that the general consensus is for you: [37] everyone wants you… I wish to believe this right to the end.” Dupré tried to dissuade J. Gallon.

MD: “I believe that our youngster here is saddened not to see this realized… They are both taken aback!”

JG: “What’s certain is that in 5 years, all will have changed here, the people—even the people!… What will be the new trends? Busser has said to his students: ‘You could “go there” now.’”

MD: “Do you, yourself, consider Delvincourt’s music to be so modern?”

JG: “No.”

MD: “It’s not as easy as that to write ‘modern’ music! I confess to you, Jean, that I would like this child to graduate from here…”

JG: “Ah, yes; of course.” Then, “Her graduation from the organ class being such a long time in coming, she is bored!”

MD: “I believe we will see each other again, even afterwards.”

JG: “It’s obvious that you will have gone to Vichy…”

MD: “To take the waters? I did that once in 1936.”

JG: “No, you would have to cross the line… [into the unoccupied zone]. But you would not because you are Dupré, while for others, it is not so…”

MD: “If only you knew, Jean, what this school is like [ce qu’est la boîte, ici]:^[33] it’s sheer hell [c’est infernal]!! I believe that my destiny is gradually to return [38] to private life…”^[34]

Jean Gallon left, and Dupré confided his private thoughts to me.

MD: “Delvincourt needs to be director: it will be a joy for him. I myself have joy at home!… I have fully done my duty; I did my duty by applying for the directorship, by not withdrawing my candidacy… As far as I’m concerned, since last Saturday I have prospects [j’ai un horizon]…”

I pointed out to the master that since the appointment of a director lasted for some twenty years, in theory, a lot of music could be expected to pass “like water under a bridge” during this time, with very important consequences for young people. Dupré was thoughtful for a while, then: “That’s true; you’re right.”

Dupré spoke again to Jean Gallon:

“Now I’ll tell you again what I’ve said to the rare friends who could comprehend it; I have not yet begun to compose. I now have the feeling that I am going to compose. This may be only an illusion, but I don’t think so.”

Thursday 18 March 1941

I chatted for twenty minutes with Jean Gallon. His first words:

“No news?…”

“No, Master.”

[39] “Well, I’ve had some. For our great man, it’s not going as badly as he likes to believe.”

As I was leaving, he said to me, “I have hopes for our ‘saint.’ In this affair, only one student and two professors have been in on the secret. We form a little Trinity.”

 

Wednesday 19 March 1941

I informed Dupré that my sonata for violin and piano had been a success at Busser’s recital.* (I had telephoned Busser the day before to ask him to let me play my sonata despite the scandal at the January exam.) Dupré was bursting with joy.

MD: “There you have it: ‘they’ were obliged to listen to the sonata! (Rabaud, Mazellier, Georges Hüe, etc.…). It took guts for you to insist; it was a stroke of genius. Bravo!”

Jean Gallon attended the recital.

 

* [Squeezed into the bottom margin:] I was called back to the stage three times with very insistent applause. Marcel Delannoy, in Les Nouveaux Temps, demolished me, ferociously.^[35]

 

Sunday 23 March 1941

Concert given by Noëlie Pierront at St-Germain-des-Prés; works by Jehan Alain.^[36] I noticed Rolland, Duruflé, Fleury, Marchal, Lazare-Lévy. Dupré attended the first part with his wife. I climbed to the gallery where Noëlie Pierront received me with kindness that was very touching.

 

[40] Wednesday 2 April 1941

After class, Dupré led all his students to the Palais de la découverte,^[37] the music section. A two-hour lecture-demonstration. I saw, for the first time, sounds visualized on a lit screen. [Also saw] a working model of windchests and pipes built by Cavaillé-Coll.^[38]

 

Sunday 20 April 1941

St-Sulpice. At 11:15 AM Dupré played Widor’s Fifth Symphony (movements I, II, III, V), from memory.

 

Tuesday 13 May 1941

In Meudon, for Dupré, I played the first movement of my symphony, for which I just completed the [piano] reduction.

 

Wednesday 14 May 1941

Organ exam. Jean Gallon was on the jury, as were Norbert Dufourcq, Cellier, Marchal, Messiaen,^[39] Panel, Mazellier, etc. Themes by Marchal. Delvincourt presided. The overall grades: Me, Very good [T.B., for très bien] (nice remarks on my technique); Marie-Louise Girod, Good [B., for bien]; Denise Raffy, Pretty good [A.B., for assez bien].^[40] Messiaen personally congratulated me!

 

Friday 16 May 1941

Upon my arrival at class, Dupré said to me, “For two days, I’ve been thinking about symphonies… much more [41] about yours than mine.” He appeared troubled and told me he had discovered, as if through a prism, the fundamentally nostalgic character of my music. He compared [my symphony] with some of my other works and found this characteristic to be subtly present, veiled yet still a part of the vital essence of my symphony. Such deep study astonished me.

MD: “I do not intend this as a reproach: Chopin, too, was nostalgic. I like your music. But for the ‘establishment’ [at the Conservatory] the contrast is so striking between what you write and you, yourself! Physically!… Your playing, as much on the organ as on the piano, is sunny. So, too, are your improvisations; your compositions are sunny to anyone who beholds them. [But] over these there is a veil and, deeper down, this indefinable nostalgia. I am convinced that you are searching for yourself.”

 

Sunday 18 May 1941

Concert by Marcel Dupré at the Church of St-Pierre-de-Charenton. Before the concert, the master invited me to come up to the gallery. Once seated at the organ, he asked Édouard Monet, sitting on his right, to give me his seat, and I witnessed the concert from this place of honour. Dupré played from [42] memory; the two of us pulled stops.

Two details to remember: I got an unforgettable lesson on mastery and humility that came directly from ideas of the master; secondly, I heard Bach’s Magnificat in its entirety for the first time with orchestra and chorus.^[41]

 

Thursday 22 May 1941

On the radio, I heard part of [Wagner’s] Tristan (half of the second act and the third).^[42]

 

Sunday 1 June 1941

Pentecost. Cardinal Suhard came to St-Esprit for the first time. Full church. Maman and Yoyo [Yolande] attended the Mass, sitting downstairs. I played the Allegro from Widor’s Sixth [Symphony], Prelude in B major by Marcel Dupré, Toccata from Widor’s Fifth Symphony; and I improvised. My gallery was full of people.

 

Friday 6 June 1941

Organ competition. Jury: Jean Gallon, Duruflé, Fleury, Panel, Marchal, Litaize, Cellier, Noëlie Pierront, Marthe Bracquemond, Mignan. Delvincourt presided. Themes by Cellier.

My emotions ran high; I felt as if I were staking my future on my playing; I redoubled my efforts.

Delvincourt announced: “M^lle Demessieux?… Mademoiselle, the jury and I award [43] your First Prize unanimously. M^lle Girod, the jury awards you also a First Prize.” Raffy [received a] Second Prize.

I met up with Dupré, who was waiting for us in the café at the Montparnasse St-Lazare train station.^[43] With him were M^me Dupré, M^lle Chauvière, Marguerite, and her friend M^lle Fernande Vignard. The master greeted me with open arms upon learning the results.

MD: “This is the first time in sixteen years that the results are exactly what I wanted: I’m so happy!” He couldn’t stop repeating this sentence. Speaking to me of my three [organ] competitions: “For three years I’ve been scared stiff that I might see you fall to pieces in my class! The first year I believed that you would bring down Jehan Alain and Segond; last year, I feared the enormous difference between you and your classmates, and this year, the same.”

Girod and Raffy arrived. The master embraced them.

He said again, speaking to M^lle Chauvière: “In sixteen years, two of my students should have had their First Prize in the first year: Messiaen and that one,” pointing to me.

Amusing detail: while leaving we passed a group of Germans, who were quite intrigued.

MD (aside): “Now that you have been triumphant, would you like me [44] to introduce you to our guests?” A charming witticism.

We accompanied them [the Dupré family] as far as the train for Rouen in high spirits. Everyone embraced everyone else. I have never seen the master so happy.

Jean Gallon had required that his entire class attend the [organ] competition. Since he had gathered his students in his classroom after the adjudication, I rushed over to throw myself into his arms before going to Dupré. He was rather gruff; no one moved a muscle.

JG: “That makes how many for you?… Four?… Ah well… keep it up!!”

At home, it was sheer madness. I have a strong impression that this day is like a milestone between my past and my future.

I humbly took news of my triumphs to Father de la Motte, who embraced me with tears of joy.

I went to bed [feeling] totally intoxicated.

 

Monday 9 June 1941

With Jacqueline Pangnier, I played the first movement of my symphony for Jean Gallon. “That’s beautiful,” he said. He did not elaborate and wants to hear it again in a few days.

 

Friday 13 June 1941

I played the Allegro for Jean Gallon again, with the Adagio [45] that follows and that I’ve just finished. Henri Challan was present at the request of J. G. When the performance ended, J. Gallon turned toward Challan:

“This symphony is polished… polished… is it not, my little one? What beautiful orchestration, rich. It’s great. Ah! it’s carefully crafted…”

Challan, with a hostile air: “She must have had a terrible job writing this orchestration with winds in fours… It’s uncommon.”

JG: “And you wrote it all directly for orchestra?”

“Yes, Master.”

Challan shook his head: “That must have caused you some trouble? It’s very difficult.”

J. Gallon asked to see the melody; he appeared to be “making up his mind,” but said nothing. We stayed to work.

 

Sunday 15 June 1941

Jean Langlais concert at Chaillot. More beautiful technique than Marchal, heard previously. A problem with the [stop] combinations.

After the concert, I went with Papa into the foyer. Langlais was quite curt. I was surprised because it was he, himself, who had invited me. We saw M^me Dupré and Marguerite and spoke to them for a long time; the master is playing in Besançon today.^[44] Marchal received me graciously, inviting me to go see his gallery. Duruflé and Litaize were cordial. [46] Langlais’s only words, to be remembered and savoured: “So, you have come here to recover from [cuver] your First Prize?”

 

Tuesday 17 June 1941

Composition competition. In the morning, I played the Adagio [of my symphony] for Noël Gallon (who is already familiar with the first movement).

At the competition in the afternoon, four of us played my symphony. I was at the first piano with Yvette Grimaud (who had just been awarded her First Prizes in harmony and accompanying), who played the treble part. At the second piano, Jacqueline Pangnier with Rolande Falcinelli taking the bass. Irène Joachim sang my song, practiced that very morning. My performers displayed great skill, considering that they received the scores very late.

Ten jury members were in attendance. I saw Honegger, Georges Hüe, Kœchlin, Tony Aubin, Messiaen, Delannoy, Maurice Yvain, Grovley, Max d’Ollone. The entire jury gathered around Delvincourt to follow the orchestral score; but it wasn’t long before Tony Aubin went and sat down again. A deathly silence during the Allegro. The Adagio began auspiciously; but Busser, having taken an adjudicator aside, talked nonstop in a loud voice, from the first note [47] until the last, without any response from the other. The same during the song. A sense of failure was in the air. I was very nervous having had to defend my 4^th place ranking against my classmates.^[45]

The result is that, out of eleven participants, the six male students received recognition, the five female students did not. A First Prize: Gallois-Montbrun; a Second Prize: Desenclos, Landowski, Sautereau [class of Roger-Ducasse];^[46] a First Mention: Pascal; a Second Mention: Martinet [class of Roger-Ducasse]. Fallen: [Tombées:] R. Falcinelli, Eliane Pradelle, Simone Féjard [class of Roger-Ducasse], Demessieux, Deschamps.^[47]

I don’t know anyone’s opinion; Busser was paying me no attention.^[48]

 

Friday 20 June 1941

Dupré (whom I had not seen [since the organ competition]), gathered us together in Meudon: Marie-Louise Girod, Françoise Aubut and her sister, recently returned from internment.^[49] We arrived at 2:45 PM and left at 7:15. A warm and intimate reception. Marguerite was there; M^me Dupré served us a sumptuous feast.

From 5:00 to 6:30, the master played his organ for us (Litanies by Jehan Alain, the anniversary of whose death it is). A brand-new, full demonstration [of the organ]; improvisation.

The master pulled a manuscript of a few lines from the [48] back of a drawer: it was the sketch Dupré spoke of in class on March 10^th: six measures, in pencil, very neat. (In playing them, use of sostenuto,^[50] inversion at the octave, and divided stops. The master played the sketch twice, with different timbres. I had time to read it several times. I felt it was the sketch of a master; those few measures were of a beauty, a richness, a completeness in all details, truly a solution to Marcel Dupré’s anxiety. To me, they appeared to be not so much the impetus for an entire piece, but an already developed idea, just one, taking shape all at once, because his [musical] language is found. The fundamental discovery is, then, this amalgam of timbres and possibilities. The result: an unedited and already perfect concept and, with a little probing, sensitive harmony without harshness—a perfect balance.)

A walk in the garden. Dupré took me aside. MD: “Tell me, my little Jeanne, what are you going to do?”* (There had occurred, just a moment before, a dramatic incident—the Duprés having heard from M^r [Louis] Laloy that I had a Second Prize in composition [49]—huge disappointment.) With Marcel Dupré, I broached the idea of my taking a break [from my studies], which my family has proposed. He shut this idea down immediately. I felt inspired to speak of my career aspirations. Dupré responded with some of his observations about America. He wants to take a few days to reflect: “Come, Sunday, to St-Sulpice; I will be playing Vespers.”

 

* [Squeezed into the bottom of page:] A matter of principle (Dupré having the greatest respect for the freedom of others). But there is no doubt that he had made up his mind.

 

Sunday 22 June 1941

St-Sulpice, at Vespers.

MD: “You and your parents must have such confidence in me to literally throw you into my arms! I am touched.”

I said that my parents would like to see him.

MD: “I would think so! Ah, it is I who wish to see them. This is the first time in my career that I shall make such a decision, and I make this decision for you in whom I have as much confidence as in myself: in your technique, as in my own. This is also the first time that one of my students, one who is precious in all ways, has said to me: I want to follow your footsteps: that is the pinnacle I aim for. Here is a glimpse of the past that is well for you to know.”

Marcel Dupré told me of his longstanding desire [50] to mold his own equal [former un émule], a peer capable of having a brilliant career. He believed he had found this in Marcel Lanctuis,** and procured an engagement in America for him; but despite a good start, Lanctuis gave up on his career. He [then] found rich skill and promise [riche nature] in Messiaen and procured an engagement in Brussels for him; Messiaen refused, wishing to make his career as a composer and only wanting to be an organist to play his own works, in the way he wanted.

The master asked me to keep his intentions absolutely secret. These pages are being written to establish the authenticity of these few memories.

 

** [Squeezed into the bottom margin:] Lanquetuit of Rouen.

 

Wednesday 25 June 1941

Papa, Maman, and I visited Marcel Dupré in Meudon (the master having wanted me to be present). The master had a long conversation with my parents, impossible to reproduce in detail. My future, if God so wills it, is laid out, from this moment. An artistic pact is established between Dupré and me. The conversation lasted for two-and-a-half hours.

 

Sunday 6 July 1941

Present at my 11:30 AM Mass were: M^r and M^me [51] Descombes, M^r d’Argœuves, M^r G. Fleury, M^r Provost from Les Amis de l’Orgue. Symphony on a theme by G. Fleury .

At 9:00 AM I briefly visited St-Sulpice.

 

Monday 7 July 1941

I went to J. Gallon’s (at the Conservatory). He played Beethoven’s Mass on the piano. His entire class was there. A beautiful atmosphere.

 

Tuesday 8 July 1941

I went to Marcel Dupré’s in Meudon. He had me play Bach’s Fugue in D^[51] while he listened from the back of the room “to hear the effect one more time.”

I brought him some documents, which he placed in my portfolio.

He revealed to me the secret of his technique, which I do not dare put into words.^[52] MD: “I would like to teach it, were it not impossible. It’s a matter of initiation,^[53] of instinct. What’s needed is to collaborate; I could only do it with you. I was only a child when my father discovered, seeing me play, this curious innovation, which he hastened to cultivate. He revealed this to me when the time [52] was right. I have never spoken of it to anyone but him. I would not have spoken of it to anyone had not Providence led you to me, to consider as my dear daughter to whom I will confide everything I know.”

Dupré drew a parallel between his childhood musical evolution and mine; he pointed out similarities. At the point where the comparison brought us to the discovery of “the artist,” I halted it. The master, believing he saw a lack of faith in me, said, “You have what I have, in your art and in your soul. What’s more, you bring your personal contribution, just as I made a contribution beyond Widor’s.”

He retraced the lineage of our tradition of the organ, naming, “Lemmens, Guilmant, Widor, myself, and you.” Marcel Dupré said again, in all respects, “I am doing for you what Widor did for me.”*

 

* I quickly acknowledge the fact that he did much more, and said this to him, one day, in front of M^me Dupré, who agreed.

 

[53] Wednesday 9 July 1941 [sic]

I took Mireille Auxiètre to visit Yves Nat, with whom I was not acquainted, but who welcomed us cordially, having received a letter of recommendation from Noël Gallon. He found Mireille to be gifted, playing very intelligently; he wants to have her apply to the Conservatory, but left no hope for her entry into his class. He wants to see her again in September, not before. I feel that this would be moving too slowly, so I ran over to N. Gallon’s, then to l’École supérieure, where I spoke to him at the end of a competition.^[54] Mireille needs to feel totally supported by a teacher, beginning now, to give her the courage to take the entrance examination. Noël will put some pressure on Nat, we agreed.

 

Thursday 10 July 1941

I have learned of the unexpected death of Philippe Gaubert.^[55]

 

Saturday 12 July 1941

I went to the Opéra, where a Philippe Gaubert festival is taking place. Germaine Lubin sang several songs (she had a terrible cold, to judge by the tissue she held to her face between phrases). Evening of ballet: [Gaubert’s] Alexandre le Grand and [54] Le Chevalier et la Damoiselle danced by Serge Lifar and Solange Schwartz. The first time that I have seen Serge Lifar dance: very impressive, and the same for the general choreography. Lifar’s technique is a revelation to me: strength and balance, expression.

 

Sunday 13 July 1941

Father [Marie Joseph] Rouët de Journel came to my 10:00 AM Mass; we set a meeting to introduce me to L[éonce] de Saint-Martin at 2:30 PM Vespers at Notre-Dame.^[56]

De Saint-Martin, who was expecting me, welcomed me cordially, saying, straight away, that the door of his gallery was “wide open” to me. Those present: three men, three women, the priest. Petty expressions. He speaks easily, has natural poise, makes judgments casually. He breathes heavily while playing, nervously racing through the notes [courant après ses notes]. Plays the pedal with one foot; Swell box; arpeggiates the chords. Much use of solos when improvising; all outward appearances; rubato, pretty things, banalities, overlong passages, octaves. He played his Passacaglia [published as his Op. 28] for the postlude. I remained standing behind the bench the entire time. A certain [55] M^r René Blin opened fire on Messiaen; this reeked of pettiness.

I had time to observe the specification and layout of the instrument. I am drawn to the Contra Bombarde 32′. Splendid instrument. I think of [Louis] Vierne. Meditative thoughts about this milieu on the one hand and thirteen-year-old memories on the other.*

 

* I was seven years old when I visited Paris for the first time. Upon hearing the organ of Notre-Dame one Sunday, I was so well and truly taken by it that Maman prayed for me to become an organist, though at the time I seemed destined by my milieu for the piano.

 

Sunday 20 July 1941

In my gallery at 11:30 AM, M^r Bruel, secretary of the Conservatory; M^r Provost of Les Amis de l’Orgue; Yvette Grimaud (beautiful theme: variations, finale); Weissère.

At 3:00, pilgrimage from St-Esprit to Sacré-Cœur. I went along and played the little [choir] organ; below, Papa, Maman, and Yolande.

At 5:10 I met up with Dupré and M^me Dupré at the Chaillot Theatre for Litaize’s concert; Marie-Louise Girod and I were among the guests who had been invited to sit in their box: a remarkable honour. Beautiful concert. Litaize played [Dupré’s] “Fileuse” [from Suite Bretonne] magnificently. Franck’s Choral No. 3, full of painful rubatos. Alain’s Litanies. Improvisation [on a] theme by Busser: burlesque.

In the foyer, I shook hands and chatted with Fleury, Duruflé, Panel, Edouard Monet, Provost, Beuchet the [organ] builder, Rolland, [Antoine] Reboulot; I caught sight of Marchal, [56] Busser, Langlais, Messiaen, Norbert Dufourcq. Litaize was charming with me and my family. Dupré advised me to write to Busser to pave the way regarding the leave of absence. They chatted with my parents; the master had a touching word for my sister. We took our leave of them.

In the morning, 9:00 at St-Sulpice, Dupré, speaking to me about our collaboration: “You cannot imagine how important this new thing has become in my life. I believed I would never have a successor. I have found a successor capable of equaling and surpassing me. It is the duty of every artist of integrity to search for the one who will go farther than him.” The master improvised sublimely; the organ has just been tuned by Pérroux. Dupré introduced me to Jules Isambart, the builder of his organ in Meudon.

My sister’s thoughts after Litaize’s concert: “There are three organists in Paris who play the organ well: Dupré, you, and Duruflé.”

 

Tuesday 22 July 1941

Maman’s name day;^[57] Papa presented her with her portrait [57] done in pastels: magnificent.

Upon entering my studio yesterday, I found my organ diploma, framed.

 

Wednesday 23 July 1941

Lesson at Dupré’s from 9:45 to 11:45. I played all the major and minor scales and [Bach’s] Fugue in D. For the first time in front of Dupré, I wore Louis XV heels.^[58] My emotions are running high: I have never played his organ so well. After fifteen days of trial and error I sense that my technique has taken off. The master encouraged me, and said, “in a year, we will see clearly.”

He gave me a book of Alkan’s pedal Études in an out-of-print edition.^[59] MD: “I’ve worked on these a lot. Here is what I still remember.”

MD: “I am going to write a series of twelve études for you, the manuscripts of which I will pass on to you as I go along; you will copy them. I will publish them. But if you don’t mind, I will not dedicate them to you. Do you understand why? That would bring you harm; the easiest weapon is the tongue.”

Dupré gave me much advice. He ran through an overview of contemporary French female organists [58]; none appear to be a threat (I listened to Dupré’s opinions in silence).^[60] Three foreign artists, one of whom is of interest: he gave me their names. Two Italians, prodigious in acrobatics. No threat from male organists in France, but Dupré omitted mention of Duruflé…

MD: “I want to write a symphony for orchestra; I have my themes. I’m caught between two desires: to write it immediately, because I’m obsessed with it, and to wait yet so that it will be all the more beautiful, more mature. So, for the time being, I am writing an organ symphony in memory of Papa: the inauguration [of the organ] in St-Ouen is set for October 28; I want you to be there, incognito; I’ll pay for your trip; I’m pleased to do that.”

We looked for exercises in virtuosity; Dupré recommended pedal staccato.^[61] For my next lesson, a heavy assignment in technique [and] the Prelude in A-flat [Dupré’s Op. 36, No. 2].

 

Saturday 26 July 1941

I received a message from Dupré by pneumatic dispatch.^[62] He asked me to play Vespers at St-Sulpice and summoned me to Meudon to get my instructions; I went immediately.

He was giving a lesson [59] to Jeanne Marguillard and introduced me. The master explained the rite to me in detail. Made a plan for me, spoke to me again of his études: “This is just between us” (concerning the lending of manuscripts). I copied down the layout of the organ.

M^me Dupré welcomed me fondly. A meeting before High Mass [is planned].

 

Sunday 27 July 1941

8:45 AM, St-Sulpice. Detailed explanation of the instrument; advice. MD: “Take off your gloves: you are going to play the entrance music.” Dupré spoke some more about our projects, like yesterday: “I can think of nothing else.”

At 3:30, Vespers. I was quite frightened but itching to play. The organ sound was magnificent; I was transported. Entrance music. Hymn: first [verset] in plainchant tutti, second: canon at the fourth between soprano and bass, in four voices. Magnificat versets: foundation stops G.O.-flutes-mixtures-reeds. R[écit] pp—and the last [verset], Cornet with Bourdon 8′, but… the Cornet did not sound: I had forgotten to set the piston; I salvaged the situation; Papa, who never suspected a thing, told me he liked this verset the best…! The bell rang at the last verset, which seemed likely to go on, and with good reason: I [60] never wanted to stop.

That very evening, I wrote to Dupré.

 

Sunday 10 August 1941

8:45 AM, St-Sulpice. I made the illustrious acquaintance of Madame Dominique Jouvet-Magron, to whom Dupré introduced me. In speaking of M^me Jouvet-Magron, he told me, “… the greatest painter of our time.” She is currently working on an important realist composition that Dupré saw yesterday, and that he considers splendid. The conversation began in the parlour and continued around the console: M^me Jouvet-Magron sat to the master’s left and I to the right. The person accompanying Jouvet-Magron seemed excluded from the very friendly conversation. Dupré, as is his wont, did “lay some groundwork” by talking a lot about me. I honestly remember: MD: “When you become a member of the [French] Institute, Magron, you must not forget to vote for Jeanne Demessieux for the Rome Prize! It would be amusing to see the two of you there! I would give anything to spy through the keyhole to see Magron on the committee.”

Me: “You would be much better off seeing it from the inside, [61] Master.”

MD: Oh, no! You will never see me in the Institute. What a life! I was a candidate for something once in my life, for the organ class: I swore that I would never do that again; the lobbying one must do!… (abruptly). I’d like you to play the Adagio for me, from your symphony that I have not heard. You will come to Meudon. I think you must finish the symphony before anything else.”

Me: “Yes, I cannot get it out of my mind.”

MD: “It is well within your power, so write it; I can also tell you not to hurry.”

Jouvet-Magron: “A symphony? For orchestra?…”

MD: “Yes, written directly for orchestra, just like that.”

Me: “It’s just a sketch, the first one I am writing.”

Jouvet-Magron: “My child, I would think so, to see you, that this would be the first!…”

MD: “This little one is going to be a great artist; I have great hopes for her future. You will bear that in mind?” During the sprinkling of holy water [Asperges]:

MD: “Jeanne, look, the officiant is going into the congregation; he is not going around the church; a verset must be played; when he gets to the foot of the altar, you stop. I have the wrong book; bring me the Parisian Propers.” [62]

To M^me Jouvet-Magron, MD: “This child can stay no longer at the Conservatory, where she isn’t happy, except in Jean Gallon’s class, and in mine, perhaps. Her downfall was the class of that Spaniard Riera, who is so irascible; she worked one year with Magda Tagliaferro, who fell in love with her, of course! She left for America, sorry to say. She [Demessieux] did not loiter in Jean Gallon’s class; with Noël she was not unhappy; with me…” I tried to interject, but I was cut off. Dupré continued: “In composition, she is like you and me: she has a personality, and for that reason, she suffers. It’s not right when a little child of 19 is already being insulted for her music!^[63] ‘They’ did not like her music!”

Jouvet-Magron: “My child, if they say bad things about your music, it’s because you are beginning to make them feel uncomfortable… and you certainly have talent.”

MD: “Ah, you see. I wish to make her an artist and a virtuoso. Ever since I relieved her of all these concerns, I have seen her develop, blossom: she has more colour.”

Jouvet-Magron: “There are not enough [63] virtuoso artists in our era.”

MD: “What we especially lack is artists who create.”

Dupré took me aside: “How is the technique coming? Tell me about your work, your impressions.” I recounted these in detail and said that I had written exercises for my personal difficulties: the heels. MD: “Ah, that’s very interesting; don’t forget to bring them to me. Difficult, huh, that old Alkan? The little fugue in A minor [No. 3]… it will do you good. Have you seen Busser?* What has he said to you?”

“Nothing, Master.”

MD: “Nothing?”

“Yes. He was astonished to see me and said to me ‘but… you have gotten fatter.’” Hilarious laughter from Jouvet-Magron; Dupré was furious:

“Can you believe it! I’ll be taking a little trip in ten days or so; that’s why I am obliged to put you on Tuesday the 26^th [of August]; you’ve taken note of it? Bring me the Adagio, your technical exercises, and the A minor.”

Jouvet-Magron has a rather elderly appearance and walks with a cane. A pale blonde, she dresses in light colours, wears her hair down with a tousle of curls at the front. She observes a lot, speaks [64] little and gently; her face is delicate. She lives in Meudon.

 

* Classes continued in the summer during the war.

 

Wednesday 20 August 1941

This morning, a three-hour lesson at Meudon (9:30 to 12:30). From the garden, I could hear the organ: Dupré was working on his Prelude in A-flat.^[64] From these three hours of work and conversation, here is exactly what I’ve retained:

MD: “I am working on my technique again now, because of you. It’s very interesting. I am afraid that you will catch up with me! No. On the contrary, I want you to match me and surpass me.

“What should we begin with today? To be completely honest: I am longing to hear the second movement of the symphony.” The Adagio, presented to the jury two months ago, was yet unknown to Dupré. The master followed along with the score. I was very moved.

MD: “I like that, deeply. You have made huge progress in composition, my little Jeanne. In terms of musical emotion, you have developed greatly. It’s much less harsh than what you have written at other times. One senses that, at last, you are pouring your heart out. [65] It’s grand, it’s profound; and the chords that begin each measure—expansive, well thought out—are like a conversation in which each word counts. I am very happy.

“In terms of form, however, perhaps the ending is a bit truncated; when one arrives here (the re-entry), one thinks: well now, it’s soon going to be over… For a symphony, you can allow yourself to go with more lyricism in the conclusion. And here, your orchestration will not give you the effect of alternation that you want: these contrabasses are not doubled at the octave. You can look at that again if you want.”

I showed him the letter in which [Maurice] Le Boucher proposes that I give three concerts in Montpellier in 1942. As soon as he read it, Dupré said excitedly: “That’s decent of him! You must say yes.”

We worked on pedal technique. From the first scales, Dupré has his eyes glued to the pedalboard; then: “That’s great; continue; I’ll go look.” And, returning from the back of the room: “You cannot imagine how pretty it is to see, so flexible, with your little heels. No woman organist [66] has ever played the pedals as you do, my little one; you have understood so very well.” And again: MD: “Since the last lesson, I have discussed technique a lot with Marguerite; I’ve worked and researched for you. She told me that [Nicolai] Medtner made her work on scales slowly at first, then doubled (by 2 and 4) a single time. To avoid tension when practising, try it. It’s something that only a great artist could have discovered.”

Speaking to me of his symphony “Évocation,” written for the inauguration of [the rebuilding of the organ of] St-Ouen in Rouen,^[65] Dupré announced to me that he had finished the sketch of the three movements the evening before last. MD: “When the music is written, I’ll be able to breathe once more. Before looking at the last two movements again, I’m going to return to the first; there is an important inversion to make.” He feels he is ahead of schedule. In the Adagio, there are, he says, some curious timbral effects, resembling, to the ear, the use of sostenuto, an unintended parallel, but about which Dupré said to me: “I’m happy if this is the influence of my organ.”

Concerning the Prelude in A-flat, he thinks that the tempo, as published, is perhaps a bit excessive, but [67] that, even at a more moderate tempo one must understand it as agitated, tumultuous (crescendo by means of the Swell box). I played the Prelude twice.

Parting words: MD: “At present, you play the organ just as well as I. Now you have all you need: you have me, your little organ, all of Bach, the environment that you need in order to work. I want you to work happily and without pushing. For children, one uses an allegory to explain that we are tied to our planet so long as we live: a path filled with stones, thorns, and, above it all, sky. By the time of your triumph, you must have traveled a path filled with joy where people will say to you, ‘along your way, smell this flower, look at that butterfly, see this beautiful view.’

“The cultivation of your talent and the work that we will do together are just as important to me, from a pedagogical perspective, as all my students and my teaching combined. When I am gone (because I will expire like everyone else), you will be there; I am counting on you.

“I will tell you what Widor said to me, while [68] accompanying us to the train, for my first trip to America: ‘Think about what you represent.’ The prestige of France in foreign countries has been completely destroyed. We need virtuosi; everything must be rebuilt. If necessary, I will once again cross the border and play all of Bach, even in Germany!”

 

Thursday 21 August 1941

My little organ was installed in my studio.^[66] It’s a day for celebrating an anniversary.* Yolande inaugurated the organ. Very impressive. I sent a note to M. Dupré who wanted to be notified immediately of this big event. My studio has become a temple for work.

 

* August 21 has become the anniversary of my collaboration with Marcel Dupré, a date that he himself proclaimed and never forgets.

 

Sunday 24 August 1941

At St-Sulpice, 9:00 AM. The master gave me three major organ works by Liszt, promised since January, which have just appeared in his edition. He had these kind words: “This is a little souvenir of something huge,” the dedication having been made in remembrance of my First Prize in organ.

At 4:00 PM, I took the train from St-Lazare station in the direction of Évreux where I was met by [69] Mireille Auxiètre, who had invited me to spend a week at her mother’s place in the country, nine kilometres from Évreux. I crossed Évreux, a city destroyed; the cathedral has a damaged tower.^[67] Terrible feelings. We covered the nine kilometres by bicycle.

 

Saturday 30 August 1941

Back in Paris now. [While] with Mireille, I visited Évreux Cathedral under reconstruction. Unforgettable memory.

 

Sunday 31 August 1941

St-Sulpice in the morning. It should be noted that this is just an amusing detail I wish to remember. Upon arriving at the church, I hit upon a 4-measure-long motif that I’ve been trying to find for a week, perhaps for my scherzo. Dupré arrived; we chatted in the gallery before High Mass. I brought up the subject of the motif.

“Have you written it down?” he asked.

“No, but I have it memorized.”

Immediately, I saw Dupré start to rummage intently; he took a tiny sheet of music paper out of his notebook and divided it in two. “I have kept half of it. Write.”

I jotted it down. The idea for the orchestration clarified itself at the same [70] time. I was absorbed. The master sat in a corner, silent, until the moment when we heard the clock chime 9:00. He jumped up: “Come only when you have finished,” and I heard him quickly draw the stops and immediately start to improvise. I showed him the motif; he understood that it was an episodic fragment and said, “It’s good.”

Regarding his organ symphony “Évocation,” Dupré explained the plan of the finale to me, a rondo: first theme in A minor; couplet (first theme of the opening Allegro); refrain in [C] minor; second couplet (second theme of the opening Allegro); refrain in [C-sharp] minor: third couplet (theme of the slow movement); refrain in [C] minor.^[68] Two details: first, the form of the finale suggesting the idea of a cyclical symphony by the restatement of principal themes [from previous movements], all the while retaining its own form; second, the insistence on the key of C minor, which seems to draw together the three couplets that were each presented in remote keys.

 

Friday 5 September 1941

I saw Jean and Noël Gallon at the Conservatory and attended their class.

Jean Gallon told me a touching anecdote concerning [71] César Franck. At Ste-Clothilde, while Franck was organist, the choirmaster was Samuel Rousseau, Franck’s student. On New Year’s Day, they went together to the parish priest to present their good wishes. Here is the scene: Franck sitting modestly in a corner, Samuel Rousseau self-conscious. After exchanging courtesies, the priest launched into the question of craft [métier] and began by complimenting Samuel Rousseau at length on his service. Then, turning towards Franck:

“And with you, Monsieur, I am not happy. The parishioners are complaining about your 11:15 masses: you hinder them from praying. You do not know your craft, Monsieur.” And Franck, instead of slamming the door, kept repeating,

“I assure you, Father, that I know my job!” Apparently, he was banned from his 11:15 masses.

 

Saturday 6 September 1941

My student Marthe Dramez, a qualified teacher [agrégée] of history, asked me to help her with the research for a series of ten lectures* on music (music history), of which she had been put in charge by M^r Carcopino and which will be broadcast by Vichy.^[69] I wrote a little text for her [72] about the library at the Conservatory.

* These lectures did not take place.

Sunday 7 September 1941

9:00, St-Sulpice. Conversation with Dupré, during which the master shared with me how much he wished to see my harmonium. I told him how we would never have dared to invite him to come to our home; he seemed touched. We set September 24^th because he will be away until then.

MD: “Your parents should not trouble themselves. We will spend the time working. I will give you your lesson on the little harmonium, and you will show me the scherzo, if it is sufficiently advanced. I will be there around 4:00, or a little before.” [Then] the master said this to me:

“Soon, when I am old, you will be the interpreter of my works. You alone, because you are the only one who has the necessary technique to master them.

“I went to Rouen this week; I saw [the organ at] St-Ouen. It’s magnificent what Pérroux has done! I tried ‘Évocation’ on the organ. It’s beautiful; that organ is splendid. I cleaned up a few things after rehearsing: [made] some small cuts.” Dupré told me how very difficult the symphony is to play. He went so far as to say these words, which are enough to make [73] a young neophyte like me tremble:

“If I have definitively finished at the end of the month, I hope that by working hard, I will manage to play it.” Speaking of the composition of his piece:

“I worked like a martyr yesterday.”

MD, concerning my work: “You have everything it takes to be a great artist.”

Me: “I have courage.”

MD: “I know. Above all, do not write hurriedly!… You must feel pleasure in your work.”

Me: “I have the feeling that one day, perhaps, I will find myself.”

MD: “But, of course!”

Next Sunday, Dupré is to inaugurate a little organ built by Perroux, in a village in Normandy.^[70]

 

Friday 12 September 1941

Yesterday evening, I went to hear [Mozart’s] Les Noces de Figaro at the Opéra-Comique for the first time.

 

Wednesday 24 September 1941

For the very first time, Marcel Dupré came to our house on rue du Docteur Goujon, to see my little organ and work with me. He was expected around 5:00 PM and arrived with Papa, who had gone to meet him. His introduction was very courteous, but modest, and extraordinarily sensitive. [74] He appeared happy, relaxed within our family circle, and did not hide his pleasure. We showed him around the little apartment; he looked at everything very candidly, and asked questions in front of certain portraits. From the time he entered, he kept repeating, “That’s charming! How well she looks, the little one!” He tried my little organ (improvised some pedal lines, did some exercises on the manuals, was visibly left-handed); the instrument pleased him.

We offered him coffee, which, to my surprise, he honoured us by accepting. We then engaged in a long conversation, quite comfortably.

The master recounted for us the childhood of his mother who, at thirteen, went every day to give lessons to two young girls, two sisters, who lived on a hill near Rouen. (She left on foot at 11:00, lunched up there and, after having given the lessons, returned with two two-franc coins, always new, that she put in a piggy bank.)

When Dupré was composing his Fantasia for piano and orchestra,^[71] an unhappy Widor said to him: “Don’t keep that, don’t throw it out: tear it up. But remember the second theme of the Allegro; you may be able to make use of it.” One day after having done this, Dupré [75] found the score in his mother’s closet, carefully pasted together; his mother begged him not take it away from her. Speaking of her, Dupré turned to me:

“I dare say that she was as gifted as you.” Then he retraced the story of his own artistic life, from the beginning of his career. My sister noticed from the way he spoke, how often he appears to have suffered.

He retraced the musical temperament of his best students in an immensely loyal critique; he said he had not found his desired successor among them. He spoke of Duruflé with frank approval, but complained of his modesty.

MD: “People walk all over him. I said to him, ‘When you know yourself, you will be redeemed; look at yourself in the mirror’.” Yet overall, he gets by [Mais pour la grande question, il passe].

“But when I happened upon this child here, and Jean Gallon said to me, ‘remember well what I am telling you, Marcel: that little Jeanne Demessieux is an angel [from heaven]’… I told myself, ‘There she is, my little one!’ I am well aware that some things are meant to be.”

Concerning my career, he confided to Papa his decisions about a plan for the future, naming two people, whom I will not name.

[76] At 7:10, the master asked me to play the organ for him: time had passed very quickly. Prelude and Fugue in A-flat major [Dupré’s Op.  36, No. 2]; despite the natural excitement of the situation, I never played so well. Dupré exclaimed, “This confirms what I said to you (to my parents)! That’s tenfold what I said a moment ago.”

I told Dupré about Father de la Motte’s invitation to come see him, himself not being able to pay a visit to the master. But we ran out of time, which Dupré appeared to regret. Seeing me beside my sister, Dupré exclaimed, “These two young ones truly do look alike!” On the topic of careers,

MD: “One’s native region [contrée natale], France, and foreign lands are three very distinct things.”

Dupré just made the last train for Meudon.

 

Sunday 28 September 1941

St-Sulpice: the master and Madame Dupré brought me three beautiful, signed photos, just as Dupré himself had promised.

[79]^[72] Today, I had in my gallery the distinguished Gérard Hekking, violoncello professor at the Conservatory, accompanied by Yvette Grimaud and some students. He gave me a theme to treat as I wished. I improvised from the Elevation to the end (variations, intermezzo, leading to a free fugue and toccata finale). Hekking was very kind and spoke of coming again.

 

Friday 3 October 1941

[76, resumed] Conversation with Noël-Gallon who told me that, as of today, Busser is no longer director of the Opéra-Comique.^[73] He [77] says that for the composition class there is talk of… Marcel Delannoy, Francis Poulenc, and that people such as himself are not in the running.

NG: “I don’t know where we are going!… Now, you are grown up enough that I can say this to you: well, I never thought that M^r Busser could teach you anything about composition; but, in the present state of things, I ask myself whether the lesser of two evils would not be for Busser to remain a professor.”^[74]

 

Thursday 9 October 1941

In accordance with Marcel Dupré’s desire to meet Father de la Motte, we got the master to agree to come to our home again, with M^me and M^lle Dupré. At 3:30 I met them at the subway, and as agreed upon, we went directly to the church [St-Esprit]. (I should say here that this second visit Dupré paid us, with his family, was a true joy for him and for us.)

We entered by no. 1 rue Cannebière. Immediately upon entering, Dupré stopped to look at the dome: “It certainly is stylish!…” We entered [78] the centre of the nave. Seeing the organ gallery and its narrow dimensions, they unanimously deplored these conditions. Dupré visited alone for a half-hour with Father de la Motte, after which we went up to my gallery. The master tried my instrument in a long improvisation, then asked me, in turn, to improvise so they could hear the sound from the back of the nave. The master was enthusiastic about the acoustics, and the richness of the little organ. As was his intention, he spoke to the priest about the future great organ; he foresees an organ of sixty stops, with beautiful detailing.

After that, illumination [of the interior] of the church, study of the paintings. Father de la Motte was very much at ease.

At home, a charming reception, an atmosphere of simplicity and trust. Dupré said to me, speaking of the paintings: “The huge number of allegories ends up obscuring… For children they provide an explanation, yes; but for art…”^[75] When Papa asked him for his assessment of the Chemin de Croix by Desvallières, he told us he only imagines Christ’s suffering in the original setting and, it being the “universal drama” that subsumes all others, there is no need of allegorical commentary; [79] there’s no reason, he says, to present a comparison of this drama with a human drama, one of thousands; all or none.^[76] The same ideas concerning Chemin de la Croix by Paul Claudel, which is a transposition to socialism.^[77]

Dupré asked me to play the Prelude and Fugue in-A flat [his Op. 36, No. 2]. When I had finished, Madame Dupré rose and embraced me effusively. MD: “That is becoming transcendent. Before playing the organ, one has to play the bass drum, [but] not you!”^[78] Marguerite: “We will play it for you!”

We parted around 7:15 PM.

 

Wednesday 15 October 1941

Organ lesson at Meudon.^[79]

 

[80] Friday 17 October 1941

I finalized, with Dupré, the programs for my tour.^[80] MD: “We must talk. Meet me at my class Monday, if you possibly can. You will accompany me to Montparnasse [train station].^[81]

You must also come to Meudon one day; I’ll show you how to turn on the wind [supply]; you can copy the organ [specification] and what is on the pistons. It’s a concert organ: you’ll want to be comfortable at it. You must be able to play it as well as I.”^[82]

 

Monday 20 October 1941

I went to meet Marcel Dupré at his class at 3:30 PM, and we remained together until 6:30.

First, a visit to a photo print shop in Montmartre. From there we went into Sacré-Cœur to perform our devotions, as the master wished. A very moving moment.

Upon leaving, we gazed upon Paris, then made our way to Montparnasse, to the Dupont terrace,^[83] where we had a long conversation of supreme importance. Dupré’s aim is to reveal me to myself, to have me know my own artistry (impossible to retrace all the details). All this while defining the characteristics of a complete artist, and drawing [81] a comparison with me.

I accompanied the master to his train. The question of the concert in Rouen remains [to be decided].

 

Sunday 26 October 1941

I cannot go to Rouen:^[84] Father de la Motte prefers that I take the services.

Friday 31 October 1941

I was at M^r and M^me Dupré’s home in Meudon from 1:30 to 8:00 PM to copy out the plan of the organ, practice, and play Liszt’s [“Weinen, Klagen”] Variations for the master. Dupré was performing a radio concert in the afternoon; I ran into Marguerite and him catching the train to Paris. M^me Dupré greeted me affectionately, as always.

They had heated the room. Dupré had written some instructions for me; the motor was already on. I set to work. I am passionate about this organ, and I did my utmost to draw inspiring results.^[85]

At 5:00 M^me Dupré came and fetched me for tea. (By the way, I was totally stunned by the results of my work). The master had returned, tired but happy. We took a half-hour break, then returned to work. Detailed explanations. I played the Variations (for the first time on an organ) during which Dupré heard his registration for the first time. Notes, papers. I took away with me Dupré’s unpublished version [82] of the [“Weinen, Klagen”] Variations,^[86] as well as Liszt’s version for piano.

 

Saturday 1 November 1941

Concert by Noëlie Pierront at Chaillot. Terrible, no technique, nothing by memory, no style. When I went to greet her, she exclaimed,

“Goodness! What a distinguished critic I had in the hall!”

Me: “I beg you, there were many more distinguished than I.” It’s bittersweet. I saw there, among others, Messiaen, his wife, and his adorable child.

 

Sunday 2 November 1941

Day off from St-Esprit. I spent the morning at St-Sulpice. M^r and M^me Dupré kept me in the gallery between the two masses; the three of us chatted. Dupré introduced me to [Stéphane] Bornemann, the editor. With great enthusiasm, I spoke to Dupré of the unpublished Liszt version [Variations on “Weinen, Klagen”], and we decided that I would work on it, despite his misgivings. M^me Dupré pushed for my idea.

Brilliant improvisations. [I also met] a fine [female] pianist, [a] student of Busoni for seven years.

 

Friday 7 November 1941

At the Conservatory, Dupré presented me with the handwritten score of the Liszt Variations (transcription based on the original version for piano): a priceless gift [83] that I was not expecting. The score had been newly annotated for the occasion, and I found, upon opening it, a [personal] dedication and an explanatory message.

 

Saturday 22 November 1941

Feast of Saint Cecilia. An important and instructive day. At Marcel Dupré’s home in Meudon, I gave my first trial concert before the master, M^me Dupré, M^lle Dupré, Papa, and Maman. The program consisted of Liszt’s three major pieces, which I played from memory, without stopping. For the Variations, I played Marcel Dupré’s transcription, which he heard me play for the first time. Order of the program: Variations [on “Weinen, Klagen”]; [Prelude and Fugue on] B-A-C-H; Fantasia [and Fugue on “Ad nos, ad salutarem undam”].

I arrived at Meudon at 2:30 PM for the only rehearsal. My parents [arrived] at 4:30. Discussion between the master and me, with Dupré wishing me to set the organ according to my needs, and I, having decided in advance that, on principle, I would change none of the pistons set for Évocation. The master was unhappy: “With you I should have known better!” In the end, I changed everything [and] only practiced the Variations. The concert would go ahead without being fully rehearsed.

At the appointed hour, my audience took their seats at the back of the hall, then in the gallery. Dupré had said to me: “It’s time to get on with it; [84] once the first act begins, it must be finished. No stopping.”

The master was astounded by the outcome; he kept repeating, “It’s a miracle….” No one other than the two of us knew how much of a tour de force this was. For my part, I had several slips, but was able to recover so that the music did not suffer too much. I maintained my equilibrium from beginning to end, despite serious stage fright beforehand.

When the recital ended, Dupré kissed my cheeks, saying, “You have more than doubled all expectations: that was wonderful.” Then, turning to his wife, “Can you have any doubt that this child will climb even higher!… I see that I was not mistaken. I have gotten hold of a first-rate thoroughbred.” Marguerite remarked on the inspiration in my interpretations.

They had fun making me pretend to bow under the spotlights, then we moved to the parlour where we chatted for another hour. There, the master raised a question that is becoming important to me. A favour to do for him (supposedly). He has decided with Claude Delvincourt to prepare an anthology of organ music, the most important works, for the purpose of expanding the repertoire of the students in the organ class.^[87] The anthology will be published by Bornemann. But the master, who simply does not have enough time [85] to do all the work involved in preparing the edition, asked me if I would agree to help him with this 117-page work, of which twenty pages are already completed. I have accepted and am very moved.

MD: “As I was sure that you would accept, I have everything nicely arranged with Bornemann; we have decided that you will receive 3,500 francs for this work, as well as a copy of the anthology when it appears. But… only under the condition that you do not work on this more than one-and-a-half hours a day: no saying to me, ‘I just wanted to finish…’ Bornemann is a fine, honest man. He knows you already, will regard you as a friend, and when we think of publishing…” It is agreed, so I don’t have to interrupt my work, that on Friday Marcel Dupré himself will come to our house to bring me all the material and explain it to me.^[88]

Dupré, who had already taken the trouble of going to meet my parents at the station, insisted on accompanying us back, embraced each of us, and waited until we could feel the rumble of the approaching train.

Noteworthy: the warm welcome, so full of affection, received from Madame Dupré and Marguerite.

 

Saturday 29 November 1941

Around 5:30 PM, Dupré arrived at the house, [86] bringing me the work for the Anthology. We had coffee (despite the master’s polite refusals), then we moved to the studio where we worked together on the editing.

MD: “You mark the fingering and phrasing (according to convention). Also, analyze the fugue by Beethoven. Perhaps you will find it worthwhile to transcribe certain things on three staves. I will mark in the registration and the tempos. Do all this as you best see fit and promise me that you will not let your fascination with this work draw you in for more than 1, 1 ½ hours a day.”

From our overall conversation, I remember:

MD: “My wife and Marguerite loved the Liszt. To have managed that when the Variations hadn’t even been registered yet!… It bowls me over. In the great Fantasia (on “Ad nos”), there is mastery…”

Me: “One feels transported, drawn in while playing it.”

MD: “Of course! The performer is the first to sense it. I believe that it is the greatest piece to have been written for organ since Bach. I even dare to liken it to Bach’s major works, perhaps even placing it above Franck’s Chorals. This afternoon, Jean Gallon came to [87] Meudon, and I played Évocation for him. He had asked me to, on Monday. He wanted me to play it for him at the Conservatory. He stayed two hours. I showed him inside the organ, showed him my registrateur,*^[89] and insisted that he improvise. He wanted me to play the Adagio [of Évocation] again. I believe—I got the impression—that he considers it to be my best work, that I have made progress. He is a magnificent improviser. I remember when I was preparing for the Rome [Prize] he said to me, ‘No, no, let’s see, not like that. Here’s how this should be treated…’, and he improvised a choral passage on the piano, a whole scene for a cantata. Another time, when he sat at the St-Ouen organ (in Rouen), he improvised for an hour-and-a-half, always so interesting… with a few pauses during which he slid over on the bench saying, ‘your turn, Marcel…’ I had to keep up with him, come hell or high water. I don’t think we are going to be able to hide our projects from him for long, you know… certainly not for four years! When he questions me, I deliberately change the subject. Here’s what I think: I hope [88] to begin [composing] the twelve études this very month. You will work on them as I go along (I’ll hand them over to you; there will be a few things crossed out; you will copy each, leaving you a duplicate in your own script). The best-case scenario is that I will be finished after the vacation, in October. Then, I could ask Jean Gallon if he would like to hear my études. I’ll bring him to Meudon; he will be astonished to find you here. And then, when the time came to play, it would be little Jeanne who sits at the organ.” We both laughed heartily.

Me: “Master, it can’t be me who performs them for the first time.”

MD: “Why not?”

Me: “Because you will be there.”

MD: “I’ll be there! I am writing them for you. You work for me, and I work for you!” Then:

MD: “Before your debut, I will take you to Rouen and have you practice at St-Ouen with the doors closed to the public. The same at St-Sulpice—with me, or alone if you prefer. You must feel that your sound carries; you must work at the site. There’s a reason that I have had you play at St-Sulpice.” [89]

My parents said they didn’t know how to thank him, to which Dupré responded with these magnificent words:

“Seeing her talent develop is what truly brings me joy. When a child wants to give his grandfather something for his birthday and, being but a child, he has no money, he tells a story.”

When speaking of Évocation, the master told me, “One day I will play it just for you.” And then, regarding the études project: “I don’t talk about it, because I’m afraid that someone will steal my idea.”

We spoke of my sister.

 

* [Squeezed into the bottom margin:] The most recent of several models that Dupré had tried before his definitive registrateur.

 

[Appendix]

 

“Form is the destiny of expression.”—Yves Nat, 1941.

“When composing, one wants to love all the notes.”—Marcel Dupré, 1940.

 

“Bach is so rich, we could very well borrow a train ticket from him!”—Marcel Dupré, 1940.

 

“It is not as interesting to learn as it is to know. What’s important is not the searching but the finding.”—Marcel Dupré, 1940.

 

Regarding the minimum of science one must learn: “Even a genius cannot write without a pencil.”—Marcel Dupré, 1940.

 

“One cannot be a great artist without having studied with a great artist: of this, I am sure.”—Marcel Dupré, St-Sulpice, 1940.

 

“To write one’s own music, one must know the music of others.”—Noël Gallon [no date].

 

“The secret of technique lies in the order of movements [the order you do things].”—Medtner. Quoted by Marcel Dupré, 1941.

 

“When Cavaillé-Coll died, people said, ‘He has gone to voice the trumpet for the Last Judgment.’”—Dupré, 1941.

This notebook is the continuation of No. I.

[signed] Jeanne Demessieux

 

[90] Friday 5 December 1941

I heard Mozart’s Requiem for the first time.

 

Saturday 6 December 1941

Marcel Dupré concert at Notre-Dame.^[91] The Prelude and Fugue in G major [BWV 541] made a strong impression on me. I was with Papa.

 

Saturday 13 December 1941

Lesson at Meudon. First contact with a radiating pedalboard.^[92]

 

Monday 22 December 1941

Marcel Dupré had me call in at Meudon to make corrections to the Anthology pages. I arrived around 1:30 PM and left on the 7:15 train.

Marguerite greeted me and settled me in the parlour, where everything was prepared for my work. She told me the master would like me to wait for him. I worked quickly, aware that I was, for a time, the only person in the house! Then Madame Dupré, back from Paris, offered me tea.

The master arrived late, having come from Perroux’s. He gave a lesson while I returned to work; then we chatted. He brought me up to date on the question of Ste-Clothilde: the competition to succeed [Charles] Tournemire was to have taken place on the 20^th, [91] but with the candidates having dropped out one-by-one, only Jean Langlais was left. The competition has been postponed to a future date (Dupré was to have been a member of the jury). Dupré revealed an intriguing detail of this situation to me:

MD: “You received nothing? No one asked you to present your candidacy?” I was very astonished at this question, having never thought about Ste-Clothilde.

MD: “Yesterday, I saw Grunenwald, who said to me: ‘Do you know that Busser wants to make that little Jeanne Demessieux put forth her candidacy… to be a “filler” during the competition?’ and he added: ‘a child like that!’” He expanded upon what had happened and told me to be forewarned. Quite a plot has been hatched for the benefit of Langlais.

Dupré also said to me: “I will soon be giving you my first étude to copy and work on: it’s almost finished. I believe it will do you good.”

 

Thursday 25 December 1941

Christmas. I went to hear Vespers at St-Sulpice with Papa and Maman. Marcel Dupré had me play the entrance piece. There were people present in the gallery.

 

[92] Thursday 1 January 1942

11:15 AM Mass at St-Sulpice.^[93]A number of people present, including Michel Boulnois.

Dupré asked me to play Vespers. At 3:30, my parents arrived, and everything in the order of worship went very well. As for me, I had an indefinable feeling of having mastery of this instrument, so much more so than on my first try. Processional; five versets; hymn using tutti, canon, etc.; [for the] Magnificat, five versets; an improvised recessional. I telephoned Dupré this evening.

 

Friday 6 February 1942

Marcel Dupré did us the honor of spending a short time at our home* after his class. We visited for an hour-and-a-half, after which I accompanied the master as far as Montparnasse for the 8:00 PM train. We discussed our work on the Anthology and talked about the project. Dupré asked me to play for High Mass at St-Sulpice on Sunday, up until he arrives.

 

* After a period during which I was quarantined for chicken pox.

 

Saturday 7 February 1942

Impossible to play at St-Sulpice on Sunday, as I’m the only one available for the service at St-Esprit.

 

[93] Tuesday 17 February 1942

Lesson at Meudon from 8:45 AM to 12:30 PM.

I presented a set of scales, three of Alkan’s Études [nos. 6, 7 and 8] and the six [Bach] trio sonatas to Marcel Dupré, complete, from memory. Dupré highlighted the significance of this accomplishment with these words: “Colossal progress on the pedals. This time you’ve got it. Ah, you have nothing to worry about—not in the least!”^[94]

I had the run of the organ, as always, having made a permanent arrangement with him. The master said to me, “Register things however you like this morning; you can change the pistons: my organ is yours.” Then he listened to the sonatas from the back of the hall, seated on the stairs, from where he exclaimed from time to time, “Ah! That’s magnificent, you know!” He had me try some acrobatics on the pedal and, appearing delighted, said to me:

MD: “All told, to achieve first-class virtuoso technique, it suffices to have the three sets of scales, Alkan’s Études, and the études that I am in the process of writing.” And again:

MD: “I am no longer wondering whether I am capable of creating a virtuoso; I have done it.”

[94] During a minute of rest, I recall the master saying: “A very great artist is unmistakable; one senses it. They are like a breed apart. We sense this especially when we are of the same breed! Those who are not like others. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Dupré seemed not to notice that I mumbled my response. I shall make it a point of honour to reply to him, in a few years’ time.

After the lesson, we chatted one-to-one. Concerning the edition of the Anthology, we decided to visit Bornemann tomorrow. On the subject of Évocation, which is in press, he said he had reserved a copy for me, and added, “You can begin practising it immediately, if you like.”

As for the future, my first concerts in Paris, he gave me yet more advice, preparing me, little by little, for the recital platform. He told me that for a concert “one must arrive very early, see no one and, while waiting, chat only with a very good friend. During the intermission one must see no one; the door must be kept shut. Anyway, when you play, I will be there, in the wings, the entire time, and I will guard the door.”

“Master, your place is not there!” I [95] exclaimed.

MD: “Yes: I will lead you from the green room to the stage and from the stage to the green room to make sure that no one speaks to you.”

 

Wednesday 18 February 1942

First visit to the publisher Bornemann, with Dupré. We brought our work with us. Dupré provided the proofs of the preface, and I another twenty-three pages of proofs. Bornemann is very classy. We chatted. We decided to go ahead and publish the edition. An interesting technical discussion.

Speaking of me, Dupré said, “You see, all of this has taught her the craft of being a composer…” and to me as we were leaving,

“You see? That’s how one goes about telling people things.”^[95]

He asked me to stay with him until the train had left. We chatted for an hour. Since yesterday, we’ve been thinking about the question of the hall and the organ in Paris, and we continued this conversation. Dupré is strongly in favour of a moveable console. Apart from that, a wide-ranging conversation, full of interest for both of us.

 

Wednesday 4 March 1942

After an anxious night, we learned [96] by telephone that Dupré’s house and organ hall had been wrecked in the bombing.^[96] My father decided to go to Meudon tomorrow morning. Madame Dupré’s face has been wounded; the master is ill.

 

Thursday 5 March 1942

Papa went to Marcel Dupré’s.* Marguerite, the only uninjured member of the family, greeted him upon his arrival, but the master, upon hearing his voice, came down from his bedroom, where he’d been resting. All three of them welcomed Papa in a way that left him shaken. “You are the first!…” cried Madame Dupré. They were dreadfully upset; the master could not bear to look at his organ hall. A panel of the organ is torn off, but none of the pipes have suffered; the little organ and the three pianos are intact, as are the library and the archives. They [the Duprés] must protect themselves from the cold with tarpaulins stretched across the openings.

(They owe their life to Marguerite, who convinced them to go to the basement.)

After a conversation with Papa concerning practical matters, all three felt able to speak to him about me and, it appears, did so in [97] the most affectionate terms. “Tell Jeanne not to worry,” the master kept saying; the concert is pushed back to a later date.^[97] The Anthology was discussed. Dupré spoke a lot about my technique, and said (in essence), “No woman nor man has played the pedals with such virtuosity.”

 

* I had to play for a service at St-Esprit.

 

Wednesday 18 March 1942

The concert is set for the 19^th. Rehearsal today at Meudon. Arrival at 1:30 PM.  I set my combinations myself and worked until 5:00.

We had tea in Marguerite’s quarters and waited for Marcel Dupré.

When he arrived, I chatted with him for a moment; he advised me to go hear Grunenwald’s upcoming concert at Chaillot, but to keep myself hidden!

We put off until tomorrow the rehearsal for the concert that was to have taken place this evening. MD: “I’m going to play the organ for you.” For the first time, I heard the étude (no. 1 of the twelve) and Évocation, complete, both played by the master. An unforgettable memory. I took the manuscript of the étude for copying.

MD: “I am playing in Lyon on Sunday, and I haven’t begun to prepare.^[98] But I tell people that I’m always working.”

Me: “What is the best policy?”

MD: “Say, like Busoni: ‘Do you think this repertoire just learns itself?’”

 

[98] Thursday 19 March 1942

At 1:30 PM, as I was taking the train for Meudon, I ran into Marcel Dupré and Marguerite. Dupré had bandaged hands and moved with difficulty: yesterday evening, he fell down a flight of stairs. Miraculously, nothing [was] broken.

MD: “Marguerite doesn’t want to leave me alone anymore… I have indigestion!… and I’m leaving tomorrow at 6:00 AM…” I wanted to withdraw [from playing my recital].

MD: “So, that’s it! You’ve decided ‘it doesn’t matter’? You have your whole future before you, and I am only a dusty old virtuoso. On the contrary, today is when I need to hear you.” Speaking of the Lyon concert:

MD: “Another one that I can give without preparation.”

At Meudon, I played Bach’s Six [Trio] Sonatas for Dupré, who was settled into his armchair. Here are his words:

“What a future! What execution and what a brain! You give me very great pleasure. (Concerning the sonatas:) “Your future is secure, my little one. The virtuoso life will not be a hardship for you; you will live it with ease! I am convinced that no one [99] since me has played the organ like that. How strange it is to see beneath a sweet little powdered face the brain of a man.”

A few moments’ rest. Dupré gave me a copy of Évocation, with a [personal] dedication.

Around 5:00 PM, Papa and Maman arrived, and my audience, consisting of my parents, Madame Dupré, Marguerite, and the master, seated themselves in the gallery. I replayed the Six Trio Sonatas [by Bach], in order. (M^me Dupré left before the end to go to Paris. She had listened to the rehearsal from the study.)

The afternoon ended cozily in the parlour. It was decided that I would work on Évocation and on the étude. We left at 7:30.

I have just remembered a bit of a conversation between Dupré and me yesterday: I realized how fortunate I am, and said this to the master in parting.

“Wait a bit and you’ll see,” he replied.

I also note, concerning Évocation,

MD: “My idea is to trace the three aspects of my father’s character: he was a worrier, like me; he was loving; and he had pride, in the sense of dignity.”

Today, Thursday, we talked composition.

MD: “Now I write for myself, what I [100] want, without concerning myself with trends or schools.” I said I could not understand how a composer of sincerity could voluntarily attach himself to a school or party, instead of searching to develop a personal art.

MD: “They do not consider themselves to be plagiarists, seeing that they all want to be leaders of schools. Consider how Beethoven depended upon Mozart, Schubert on Beethoven, Wagner on Liszt and Chopin, Debussy on Mussorgsky, how Ravel depended upon Debussy. Only one amongst these did not depend upon anyone: he, Chopin, was a sort of miracle. Transposed into art, it was like an incarnation of the divine.”

 

Sunday 29 March 1942

Grunenwald’s concert at Chaillot. Considered as a whole, there was great virtuosity, but the execution was ragged. He plays too quickly, resulting, on both manuals and pedal, in a cumbersome, thick legato. In the Bach, numerous errors in the traditional articulations and in the text. Detailed registrations. Skipped a measure. The Franck was interesting, distinctive. His own works, colourful. The interpretation of Liszt’s great Fantasia appeared confused to me and [101] uncertain. I could not make out the basic idea. Memory gap of a page and a half (after the exposition of the fugue until the 2^nd-inversion F-sharp-minor chord). He improvised for a long time to get himself back on track.

Huge success. Three encores: improvisation on a theme by Marcel Dupré (Prelude and Fugue), Franck’s Final, Toccata and Fugue in D minor [by Bach], with another memory gap.

He is the first, other than blind musicians, to play from memory at the Trocadéro. His bearing is quite spectacular. I am troubled by the way he orients his success, playing only to the crowd [le gros public]. Dupré was not at the concert.

 

Tuesday 31 March 1942

I went to Meudon toward the end of the afternoon to show Dupré the errors I believed I’d found in the text of Évocation and in the manuscript of the étude.

MD: “You were at Grunenwald’s concert?”

“Yes”

“Be honest with me; tell me what you thought of it. This will be just between the two of us, as always. Afterwards, I’ll tell you what M^me Dupré and Marguerite said to me.” I went into detail concerning an idea I had, in which Dupré took great interest. He gave me his opinion (which I will not share here) and seemed [102] to trust me very much.

Regarding Évocation, I asked him if he would permit me to play it for him initially without aiming to interpret it, out of respect for him, or, instead, according to my own sensibilities.

MD: “Play it as you feel it; I would prefer that. Play with your heart. To relieve your scruples, I’ll assure you that if there is the slightest thing that I would prefer to see us drop, I will tell you, very gently: of that you may be sure.”

And, speaking generally: “While working, be careful not to live in a world of fantasy. Just as one keeps one’s body clean, one must keep one’s heart pure and one’s intellect clear.”

 

Good Friday 3 April 1942

A Pasdeloup concert^[99] in which Marcel Dupré played, with orchestra, Liszt’s Fantasia (“Ad nos”) in his own transcription.^[100] He asked us to see him home.

 

Sunday 12 April 1942

A visit to Jean Gallon at Vespers at St-Philippe-du-Roule. He had me play the little organ (Cavaillé-Coll—beautiful flute).^[101]

 

Wednesday 15 April 1942

Rehearsed Liszt’s “Weinen, Klagen, Sorgen Zagen” Variations on the St-Sulpice organ [103], it being arranged with Dupré that I will replace him on Sunday morning.

I had an appointment with the master at 4:15 PM. We worked for two hours (up until Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament). Dupré was happy. He asked me, “Do you have Widor’s Sixth [Organ Symphony] under your fingers? During the Offertory at 10:00 AM, that’s what I would like you to play for them. For the Communion, would you try Franck’s Prière? For the entrance, you’ll improvise a march;* for the recession, a toccata. At 11:30, a fugue in five voices on the chorale theme, as I generally do.” He had me try the Widor, stopped me, played. “Hold on; here is what I do.” It was an admirable lesson in interpretation. In our enthusiasm, we traded places on the bench, and I felt as if I were being propelled forward, playing with greater scope than I could have imagined of myself. Concerning the recitative, page 2, of Widor’s Sixth Symphony,

MD: “This is Wotan in the third act of Die Walküre, in a rage, commanding that they lead the culprit to him. Widor had just heard the cycle of four operas, and he wrote this under its influence. Moreover, Cavaillé-Coll’s conception is the Wagnerian conception, as difficult as it is to admit it.”

Dupré has notified no one of his planned absence on Sunday; even so, he has [104] invited Bornemann and other very important people. He’s beginning to think about “propaganda […] for overseas” and insists that the clergy will think they are hearing “a man’s playing.” He drew parallels between Grunenwald, Geneviève Poirier-Denis (who usually replaces him) and me, and gave me my instructions. He introduced me to the priest who is the treasurer, and “prepared the way.”

We left together.

* [Squeezed into the bottom margin:] Dupré gave me a sample and improvised sixteen measures of a particularly striking march; then he asked me to improvise in the same manner. “What can I do, after you?” I said. “Whatever you want.” I replayed his sixteen measures and added the theme in canon for the elaboration. Dupré, full of joy.

Sunday 19 April 1942

I played the masses in Dupré’s place for the first time.

10:00 AM, Pontifical High Mass: Mgr. Suhard presided. (Plainchant by the seminarians of St-Sulpice.)^[105] I improvised the entrance music, a march. I played the entire Allegro from Widor’s Sixth Symphony at the Offertory; improvised from the Elevation to the Agnus Dei (flutes, Prestant, and Quintaton [16’] on the Récit, box closed; foundations on the Positif; 16′ then flute 4′ on the pedal); Franck’s Prière at the Communion, where I was stopped in the middle. Recessional: a toccata improvised on a theme by M^r Jean Laurent* (engineer), a friend of Dupré.

At 11:30: [Bach’s] chorale “Gloria Mystique”^[106] in its entirety; Liszt’s Variations [“Weinen, Klagen”] transcribed by M. Dupré. I had the manuscript on the stand but played from memory. [105] Everything sounds magnificent on this organ; nothing is ever boring. I spent two- and-a-half hours in a state of exultation.

[There was] a crush of people in the gallery who had expected to find Dupré. Some would have gone back down, but curiosity held them. I met Amable Massis, director of the Troyes Conservatory, and Laurent, the engineer, whom I mentioned above. A group of dignified looking Germans tried to start up a conversation. Beuchet, the builder, full of enthusiasm, talked to me about St-Esprit and claimed he wanted to put a 60-stop organ in the main organ gallery. E. Monet, the usual people, plus others, friends. Massis uttered the word “moving” after the toccata.

After the mass, Papa met M^r le Curé, who, it seems, was endless in his praise. The Germans asked me for my impression of the Chaillot organ.

I’m absolutely thrilled to have publicly ministered in this celebrated position. [Squeezed between lines:] My parents were with me.

 

* [Squeezed into the bottom margin:] From 1943: “When he speaks of you, it is with tears in his eyes,” Marguerite Dupré told me.

 

Saturday 25 April 1942

After several meetings, I had a short telephone conversation with Dupré. I am noting this because of the development it represents in the course of our collaboration:

MD: “I’ve been hearing feedback since Sunday.

“Ah!  Well…?”

“Well?… All right: simply put, you were a sensation… [106]

“No!”

“Yes! You know, people were bowled over! To the point that… but I see the need to be careful as to what we do next; the project…”

I said nothing.

“Yes, but I don’t want them to figure it out too soon… We’ll consider this together. I’m happy: this allowed us to take the temperature of our audience, and I have the thermometer well in hand! So, there’s what I wanted to say to you; and tell your parents; it will please them.”

Friday 1 May 1942

Organ lesson at Meudon. I played Évocation and the Étude (1^st) from memory for Dupré, for the first time. The master was filled with enthusiasm. After Évocation, he was so moved that he could not hold back his tears, and was speechless for a moment. Then:

“What a thrill… If [your] Papa and Maman had heard you, they would have said only that I was not mistaken.”

Advice to remember for Évocation: the beginning should be slower than is indicated by the metronome mark in the published version, more “philosophical.” The Adagio:

MD: “This passage (pages 4 and 5) must be played almost rubato; it must pour out its feelings even more. That tosses [107] out my whole theory against the use of rubato on the organ… and proves that no law governs feelings. If I had dared, I would have written (at the top), Rubato.”

Regarding the Più mosso [mm. 60-73 of the Adagio]:

MD: “[This is] a kind of short ecstasy; magical, saturated, watery; the effect of the pedal on the piano.”

Dupré played. I tried it. Left hand: semi-staccato in the fingers; the right hand a light legato (perhaps a bit faster than eighth note = 104).  Similar passage in the Finale: the same; the staccato in the right hand “weighted,” quite expressive.^[107]In the first movement, after the restatement, the Allegro con moto, “less brisk”;^[108] exactly the same tempo at the conclusion of the Finale.^[109]

As for the Étude, nothing to say.

Dupré talked about the impression I had made at St-Sulpice on the 19^th. He showed me a letter about me, addressed to him from the engineer Laurent. Massis, the director of the Troyes Conservatory, was impressed by my improvisations. E. Monet remembered Widor’s Sixth [Organ Symphony]. The priest in charge of taking care of the organ said to Dupré, “Everyone thought it was you.” The master reported these details to me faithfully, as well as the rumors going around.

MD: “Let’s be careful. When you do ‘debut,’ [108] your enemies will split into two factions: those looking to find you in the wrong, and those who will say ‘the student has surpassed the master; Dupré must give way.’ Let’s maintain our lead, which is becoming enormous.

“As for me, I’ve entered the stage where I get more pleasure watching you play than from playing myself.  I’ve experienced true pleasure in playing; now I am a bit jaded, you know. Therefore, it’s all the same to me.

“In Paris, you already have the reputation of a first-rate organist and as an improviser of high calibre. We must influence opinion.

“I don’t mean that I won’t invite you to St-Sulpice again: far from it.

“I’m certain of public reception now. This will create an undisputed sensation.”

When I played Évocation, Dupré also said:

“What an artist I will give to the world.” And again, MD: “It’s staggering how rapidly your gifts have developed. At home, your studio, nurtured by your parents, with me at the other end of the line.”

Me: “Yes, it’s like being raised in a hothouse.”

MD: “Exactly.”

Me: “Also, whatever sort of artist I become [109] someday, it will never be enough to pay you back for all you’ve given me, you and my parents: you’ve given me everything. I don’t think anything [I do] could ever be too much.”

MD: “It’s not quite as easy as that: with hindsight, you’ll learn that you can’t make it up to those who gave to you, not in this life, it would be a step backwards. You will pay it back to your audiences. You will give back to France as I have given. For the time being, we are at the virtuoso stage. As far as improvisation and composition go, you have nothing to worry about for the future.”

And, bringing up a topic we frequently discuss, Dupré said to me,

“Don’t worry that you’ll turn out to be a mere copy of me. You will always have your own sensibilities.”

We also had a philosophical conversation in which, speaking of perfection, Dupré said that “the splendor of cathedrals is nothing compared to the universe. There, truly, is the temple raised to God’s glory.”

The master asked me to work on his Prelude and Fugue in E minor [Op. 36, No. 1], among other pieces.

Madame Dupré, who [110] from her study had heard me play, kissed me effusively on both cheeks.

There was mention of a very important concert on May 7.

 

Sunday 3 May 1942

Gaëtan Fleury (André Fleury’s father) visited my gallery. He gave me a theme for the 10:00 AM Offertory and another theme on which I improvised at 11:30, beginning with the Elevation. The latter I treated in two different styles: pastoral (Andante and Variations) and rhythmic (symphonic Allegro); broken into its component parts, it also served as the 2^nd, lyrical theme of the Allegro. Interesting; canons of all sorts, contrary motion, augmentations.

Fleury spoke to me about St-Sulpice and about Chaillot; I steered the conversation elsewhere. Spirited throughout, he said to me: “One gives you a tea towel, and you turn it into a hat from the rue de la Paix.”^[110] After the symphony: “From a stone you make a cathedral.” In between, he talked to me about his son [André Fleury], and then departed quite suddenly.

 

Tuesday 5 May 1942

I attended a rehearsal for a concert by Dupré and heard him practice Bach and Évocation.

 

[111] Thursday 7 May 1942

Marcel Dupré concert at St-Sulpice. Prelude and Fugue in E-flat, Trio Sonata No. 6, Fantasia and Fugue in G minor, [all] by Bach; the Paris première of Évocation; improvisation on an antiphon submitted by the clergy; Widor’s Toccata after Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament.^[111]

A concert of overwhelming excellence. The audience was extremely receptive, particularly during Évocation.

After the concert, the master and M^me Dupré conversed with us for a long time on the square. Dupré said, “Is my star satisfied?”

 

Thursday 8 May 1942

The morning at Meudon. I brought flowers to M^me Dupré to commemorate Évocation. They welcomed me en famille. The master was a little sad. Audiences no longer satisfy him.

Accompanying me back, he spoke to me about composition. I suggested to him the idea of a second concert for Évocation.

He was bitter to have found “a Borchard”^[112] in the audience.

My visit brightened the day. Germaine Lubin, among others, was at the concert.

 

Sunday 10 May 1942

Yves Nat concert at the Châtelet.^[113] Schumann [piano] concerto; première of Yves Nat’s L’Enfer.^[114] [112] Nat had not played in eight years. Magnificent artist at the piano; he received an ovation.

His own piece surprised the audience; next, one sensed tension rising and factions forming. A boo and bursts of laughter and comments were heard. A full house. Most of the audience was against the piece. In retaliation, the minority was enthusiastic.

After the concert, in the foyer, police guarded the entrance; one could sense the riot. When the way was clear, Nat came out. He was surrounded by fans.

The piece was tremendous. At first hearing, its colours, its “atmosphere” created a staggering effect in my mind. The principal idea did not seem to evolve: it simply turned back on itself. The opening recitative in the soprano appeared to me like an allegorical symbol of the subject, more so than the actual theme. Its [the recitative’s] return punctuated the work, like an obsession. Without calling for contrasts or incongruence, I would have liked the different passages to emphasize their distinct characters more.

I am surprised that a man who has devoted eight years to the elaboration of his work [113] wrote it on such a dark subject. Why is art becoming so philosophically abstract? The spirits ask for something new and the response is: Heaven. Hell. Antithesis.

 

Tuesday 19 May 1942

Organ lesson at Marcel Dupré’s. I played Dupré’s Prelude and Fugue in E minor [Op. 36, No. 1], Franck’s Final [Op. 21], and two Alkan études. The master was very happy. His extraordinary confidence in me grows every day. I arrived at 5:15 PM and left around 8:00. The time was divided between the organ and conversation.

MD: “Speaking of Cavaillé-Coll, here’s what I’ve decided. You know that I plan to offer the city of Montpellier a commemorative plaque (with a reproduction of his portrait) that could be placed in the entrance of the organ hall. We will do this at the time of your career launch: we’ll each give a concert, a few days apart, in Montpellier. I knew Cavaillé-Coll. You didn’t, but your name should be attached to his: you and he were born in the same region. I gave [114] a concert with Widor at Baden [in northwestern France]. I didn’t want to; he said to me, ‘Dupré, do as I say: it’s in your interest.’”

The master also said, straight off, that he wants to get to know Aigues-Mortes, and we finalized a project that has been dear to my parents for a long time.

Without naming any names, we talked about trends in composition.

MD: “They’re just birdsongs [turlutaines]. No structure.”

Me: “I loathe the abstraction of this suspended music that doesn’t give of itself, that seems to float above humanity as if detached from it.”

MD: “I don’t like it either. I’m certain that they are not sincere, that they don’t hear. For them, the notes don’t matter.”

Me: “These philosophical ideas scare me: art is only a means.”

MD: “Yes!”

Me: “But, isn’t this its disintegration?”…

MD: “I cannot conceive of writing whatever one wants instead of writing what one is able to.”

Me: “I’m glad to hear it, I was afraid of being wrong.”

MD: “I like lush harmonies, I adore them; but I don’t like harshness. For me, music must caress the ear.”

Dupré asked me if I had been at [115] Yves Nat’s concert. No comment.

Speaking of [Wagner’s] Parsifal, we debated Magre’s theories, purely for the love of discussion.

MD: “I consider August 21, the day you got your harmonium, the anniversary of the start of our project. In two months, we must be finished Franck. Marguerite says that you are ahead of schedule. In one year, you will have performed four recitals and my works.” Again, the question of the hall in Paris.

MD: “You won’t be surprised when I tell you that we think about you constantly. My wife has an idea.” I shall not write it down.

MD: “I would give you Meudon, but that’s not Paris, and you will have three hundred people [attending]. St-Sulpice, one cannot be seen when playing there: impossible. A church: impossible. We could try Chaillot. Pleyel is in the running too. Or Cavaillé-Coll. Fifty stops. All that would be needed is to turn the console around.^[115] No reason to hesitate: better to invest 6,000 francs there than in posters.”

The master leaves tomorrow morning on a tour; he returns on the 30^th [of May].^[116]

MD: “I’m playing [116] Évocation. It feels lucky, so I’m urging it on!”

Dupré asked my opinion of his May 7 concert, again, unbelievable as that seemed to me. Thumbing through the score of his Prelude and Fugue in E [minor]:^[117]

MD: “How can this be! You don’t have even a small dedication at the top?” And he said to me again: “My blessings on your work.”

I saw M^me Dupré and Marguerite, who were very friendly.

 

Sunday 7 June 1942

I’m jotting down a simple reflection. In the short time since April 19^th at St-Sulpice, three pieces of gossip have reached me that have an air of being attacks on goodwill. Two of these bits of gossip reached me indirectly, the other directly. Jean-Jacques Grunenwald’s name was spoken with force, ensuring that I knew that “the student is every bit as good as the master,” and that “it’s he who is the assistant organist at St-Sulpice.” I am certain (as certain as one can be after weighing everything) that my first foe has thus been identified.

 

[117] Tuesday 9 June 1942

News came to me yesterday of the death of [the violoncellist] Gérard Hekking. Today I attended the service at St-Pierre-de-Monceau. I was at his last concert this season and will never forget this illustrious yet humble artist’s visit to my gallery.

 

Sunday 14 June 1942

Marcel Dupré played at the Palais de Chaillot: Bach’s Passacaglia and Fugue [as well as] the Intermezzo and Toccata from his [Dupré’s] Second Symphony.^[118] Improvisation. A mixed audience, owing, in part, to the popular character of the concert (choral). The hall was packed. We noticed that the organ, usually so dry in effect, sounded rich for the first time, with the usual exception of the tutti. T[hat was t]he general opinion. Of note: Dupré had the moveable console three-quarters turned, and [positioned] on the right side, for the first time. It was a trial for the sake of our project; he asked my opinion. One gets a much livelier view of the performer and misses nothing of his technique. [When it came time to leave,] they asked us to accompany them.^[119]

 

Friday 19 June 1942

Lesson at Marcel Dupré’s.^[120]I completed all of Franck and the Alkan études today; two sets of scales at maximum speed, after which Dupré said: “That’s unrivalled.” Having not been entirely [118] satisfied with the first playing (learned too quickly), I played the [Dupré] Prelude and Fugue in E minor again for the master, who was very enthusiastic.

MD: “What a joy for me to see you ascend! No one has ever seen something like this. Audiences will be floored. I haven’t the time, and I’m too old, to push my technique any further. It’s a piece of Life Eternal to launch a person’s future: you are my continuation. You have already begun the ascent that will surpass me. I’m telling you. It’s a pleasure to be surpassed by those you are fond of.

“Should it be my destiny that a part of my material work be destroyed… that’s something heaven will decide.” (This for fear of bombings.) Speaking again of my future:

“Succession is a matter of natural order; you will surpass me. Only a man of integrity, one without any low or evil thoughts, can speak this way. A mean-spirited man decides to keep his secrets. I have no frantic yearning to rework my virtuosity. I am philosophical enough to be content with what I still have.”

I’d like to have the honour and joy of repeating such words, later, [119] to a successor.

I had just finished playing the Prelude and Fugue in E [minor] when M^me Dupré came to tell us of an inspection by the occupying authorities. I remained for the visit: it involved a practical matter that I needn’t mention. The lesson having been interrupted, Dupré wanted to reserve another morning for me. I left, feeling uncertain.

To be noted: concerning my pedal technique, Dupré says that ideal pedaling must be done with absolute precision and accuracy, to within a half millimeter.

 

Monday 22 June 1942

Morning spent at Meudon to continue the lesson interrupted on Friday. Franck’s 1^st and 2^nd Chorals. (Luckily, Friday’s difficult situation has been favourably worked out.) Here is what Dupré said to me today:

“Last Friday was staggering for me. You know, I can say that at present, no one in the world is our equal, nor even comparable to us.”

“Master, no one can compare to you.”

“I’ve told you this a hundred times…”

I played Franck.

MD: “Ah! That’s grand, noble; it’s wonderful.” (I am reporting these words and others for honesty’s sake; they [120] will, perhaps, be instructive for my personal memoirs.)

MD: “Your interpretation is equal to that of a man in full maturity. The purity of your soul, I tell you, is the reason. (It’s generally admitted that angels, who are pure spirits, are more intelligent than men.) You will always be striking in this respect, in life and in art.”

Turning toward this subject, I asked the master whether he conceives the opposition between a feminine mentality and a masculine one as absolute, in all that relates to intellect [dans tout ce qui tient de l’intellect]; or, whether he sees equality as possible.

MD: “The higher one rises in the spiritual domain, the more the difference disappears. There, innocence and knowledge merge.”

I had spoken to Dupré about my limited knowledge of organ building; today he said to me:

“As for organ building, don’t worry: I will not leave you uncertain. We will work on it in due time. I will tell you everything I know.”

The question of the Conservatory arose and Dupré told me again:

“I believe that it was time for you to leave.^[121] [121] And, knowing life as I do, I believe that you are in the happiest time of your life.”

Busser visited Dupré recently and told him his plan of asking me to take part in the playing of Rolande Falcinelli’s work for organ and orchestra at the composition competition.

MD: “Don’t ask that of Jeanne Demessieux; she will categorically refuse.”

B: “Why?”

MD: “She appears to be very busy.”

B: “With what?”

MD: “I don’t know. All I can tell you is that she has several activities.”

B: “Ask her.”

MD: “No thank you; I’m not looking for a terse refusal.”

We corrected the printing errors that I had noticed in the Prelude and Fugue in E [minor]. We debated the printed text of Franck’s Trois Chorals. Dupré has no confidence in the expression marks indicated. He has seen, at Durand, the copies marked “Ready to print,” signed, not in Franck’s hand, but Gigout’s. The manuscripts are lost.^[122]

[On] Friday, Dupré said to me: “The organ class is weighing heavily on me…” Jean Gallon despairs over the way things are going.

[In parting,] I kissed M^me Dupré on both cheeks. The master [122] walked me back to the train. Dupré also said:

“Interpretation can be summed up in two words: respect and sincerity.”

 

Monday 29 June 1942^[123]

I attended the organ competition. Rolande Falcinelli received her First Prize in her first year [in the organ class], after an external competition, aiming, as she is, for the same goal as Grunenwald in his last concert.^[124] She has fine technique.

Jean Gallon conversed with me for a long time; he was asking about Mireille Auxiètre. He has noticed her in his harmony class and said to me:

“That child has a fine future ahead of her! Do you want me to accept her into my class in October?”^[125]

Me: “Master, I would never have hoped…”

JG: “Yes, it’s not what I usually do… If you say yes, I’ll take her. She has your support, I know. She’ll follow in your footsteps. For that matter, I am counting on you! You know the class’s teaching assistants, but she will be all yours. She is so intelligent, so enthusiastic. She’s always ready to give ‘whatever it takes!’ and even when she doesn’t, it’s still good.”

Me: “She is worried about her piano class for next year and is thinking of not doing [123] two classes. I will speak to her. As for me, I leave the matter in your hands.”

JG: “Persuade her. We’ll make a special plan for her. My compliments to your sister for having taught both of you. What a credit to your family.”

 

Monday 13 July 1942

Rehearsal at Marcel Dupré’s for two trial concerts devoted to Franck. I was in Meudon from 2:30 to 7:30 PM. After having set up the organ registrations, I played all of César Franck, from memory, for the master.^[126]

Apart from work, we chatted. Dupré talked about his compositional œuvre as a whole, by which he is more and more preoccupied. With respect to organ building, his advanced ideas are making him enemies.

MD: “Everything falls on the shoulders, if not the head, of the one who leads the way” he said to me. “I dearly hope I shall see built, one day, somewhere, the organ I’m dreaming of; just a small instrument with octave transpositions.”

Me: “An organ that will go beyond this one?”

“Yes, for the breaks [that allow a keyboard to be divided between two stops]. A break at three octaves on the keyboard itself. It needs two rows of tablets for each keyboard (superimposed tablets). If you need the entire stop, you [124] use both your tablets. I’m also thinking of individual boxes: one for each stop. The piston system: you register from your control boxes (planchettes).”

“From that point on, it’s a matter of orchestration?”

“Of course; that’s my idea. It’s the future of the organ.”

When I had played all of César Franck, Dupré said to me:

“My little one, we alone know all of Franck by heart, all of Liszt, and the Six [Trio] Sonatas [of Bach].” And he added: “How could all of this be in the mind of a woman, with a child’s face; my God, is it possible?”

As I was leaving, Dupré said to Madame Dupré:

“She is like [Pablo] Casals, who plays the [Cello] Suites [by Bach] as if there’s nothing to them. One gets the feeling, watching her play Franck, that this isn’t even difficult for her. One forgets her technique: it disappears.”

The master accompanied me back to the station and stayed, speaking to me of his projects, until my train left.

 

Wednesday 15 July 1942

Third and fourth trial concerts at Dupré’s home in Meudon, for my usual audience. We arrived by road at 3:00 PM. (M^me Dupré watched out for us and alerted the [125] master, who came to meet us.)

First recital: [César Franck’s] Six Pièces. Second recital: [Franck’s] Trois Pièces and Trois Chorals.

I experimented joyfully with the richness and flexibility of the organ. I was in good form and only felt tired after the second recital.

We took a break after the Six Pièces and had tea. Dupré said, to my embarrassment, “My friends, this child is a master of the organ.” We spoke of the Études, whose composition Dupré has not yet been able to pursue, because he is so inundated with other work.

MD: “I hope to be able to return to them soon. I’ll have finished with my textbooks and my editions by the beginning of August, I think.” To me:

“We will have finished these together. If I had told you one year ago that you would play me all of Franck; all of Liszt; Bach’s [Trio] Sonatas; Alkan’s Douze Études; my Évocation, two [of my] preludes and fugues and the Étude; as well as technical exercises, along with, for amusement, the Anthology [of early organ works] and the Handel [edition]…! You would have thought ‘Marcel Dupré has gone mad.’”

After the second recital, we chatted for a long time in the parlour again.

MD: “The very great geniuses were carried to glory by snobs…[126] Continuing on this subject, “Just perform the Iliad and the Odyssey in Greek, and they’ll attend.”

We decided that the next trial concert would be devoted to Dupré’s works. The master is thinking that the ideal program includes Le Chemin de la Croix followed by the Symphonie-Passion (to conclude with “Resurrection”); [I] must remember this.

MD: “For the time being, it’s important to do standard repertoire. We must be ready.”

About composing, Dupré exhorted me to be patient since I cannot get to work on this before having finished the repertoire.

MD: “I make no secret of the fact that you, above all, have the best chance of following in my footsteps in the succession of composers for the organ… think about it.”

We brought the conversation around to [Dupré’s] five years of teaching at Troyes.^[127] Dupré, seeing the interest that I was taking, showed me his entire cycle of [text]books, including those that have not yet been published. We itemized them.^[128] I took with me, for consultation, the orchestration text and the analysis text.

The master spontaneously accepted my parents’ invitation for the 21^st of August, [127] the anniversary of our collaboration, or for soon after, as the dates of his tour in Switzerland are still uncertain. Dupré also said: “I hope that the good Lord will forget about me for some time yet: I’ve not finished my work…”

He passed the last proofs of the Handel concertos on to me, saying, “It’s a bit of a chore, but it’s the last! Is it even worth the trouble of my leaving you the manuscript? I would ask you not to look at it and trust your instincts; that’s what I prefer. You will pick up any errors.”

These are some fragments related to our collaboration, taken from the general conversation. At the close of this instructive day, further enriched by this extraordinary friendship, the master and Madame Dupré accompanied us as far as the station, at around 8:00 PM.

 

Saturday 18 July 1942

Today I finished correcting the last proofs of Handel’s posthumous concertos, a final reading. Since Marcel Dupré entrusted me with the preparation of the Anthology, he has [also] accepted my help with Handel, and all my work has been wrapped up today.^[129] [128]

Today, also, the finishing touches have been added to the last proofs of Marcel Dupré’s textbooks.^[130]

 

Sunday 26 July 1942

At his request, I replaced Marcel Dupré at St-Sulpice for High Mass and the 11:15 AM Mass.

At High Mass, the usual liturgy. Offertory: Liszt’s B-A-C-H (cut at the Fugue just before the pedal trill). Recessional: a toccata improvised on the Introit.

11:15, anniversary of Bach’s death:^[131] four chorales, including the magnificent six-voice De Profundis [BWV 686]. As Dupré wished, beginning with the Communion, I improvised a five-voice fugue on [the notes] B-A-C-H. In very good form.

Many people in the gallery, where my presence was not expected. It was there that I made the acquaintance of M^me S[imone] Plé-Caussade, professor of fugue at the Conservatory. She herself came to find me in the library, apologizing for asking my name:

“I thought so…” she said to me. “My warmest wishes to you; I’m so happy to have made your acquaintance. My young student Yvette Grimaud has been ardently singing your praises; but you are greater still than this flattery.”

I was asked to demonstrate the organ. [129] In my fugue, I experimented with huge crescendos and diminuendos using combination pistons and couplers. My student, Marthe Dramez, had been eager to be there.

The master was playing in Rouen today.^[132]

 

Sunday 2 August 1942

My parents spent the morning at St-Sulpice, and I myself also attended High Mass. When it was over, I chatted with Dupré, who said to me: “St-Esprit needs a supply organist; your parish priest finally understands this.”

J. [Jean] Guerner, an engineer (who procured for Dupré a copy of Liszt’s own piano arrangement of the “Weinen, Klagen” Variations) approached us, [saying]:

“This young lady, master, improvises admirably.”

MD: “I told you so…”

G: “Yes. Her modesty is disconcerting. She improvised a free fugue on B-A-C-H of such richness and scope!… That’s not at a woman’s level, you know; it’s the brain of a man, of more than a man.”

MD: “You think so?…”

G: “It’s very strange…”

MD: “Tell me more about her fugue!” Dupré was not doing a good job of hiding his elation.

Me: “One feels carried by the instrument…”

MD: “It’s true that it carries you along.”

G: “It doesn’t carry all your supply organists. I’ve never heard [130] Lanquetuit say to me that ‘it’ carried him.”

I wanted to take my leave, but the master intervened. “Stay here, Jeannette.”

M^r [Jean] Berveiller asked M^me Dupré to introduce me to [Maurice] Robineau (the choir organist). M^me Dupré took me aside:

“You see, everyone thinks it was splendid. Robineau came to tell me that the clergy are enthused. Grunenwald, too, thinks it was great…”

Me: “Grunenwald heard me?”

“Yes. He didn’t come up? Well, he heard everything from below. That’s very good.” (I felt as though I’d fallen to the ground.)

Before I left, Dupré asked to speak to me in the lounge. An important conversation that, as always, I am chronicling here, simply word-by-word, as well as I can recall it.

MD: “Rolande Falcinelli and her parents paid me a visit in Meudon. They are disgusted with Busser. Rolande wants to drop everything; she asked me to work with her, saying to me that only the organ interests her.”

Me: “I was sure of it… Master, there is one thing that occurred to me when we began working together a year ago. I said to myself: your teacher has chosen you as his only disciple, capable of following him. You are the only one. If, one day, someone more gifted or just as gifted as you appears, [131] this would be terrible for your teacher, or for you.”

MD: “What you have just said to me is sublime. Here is how I responded. I said to Rolande that she should first wait and see how her interests develop; I advised her to continue pursuing Rome. That gives us more time. And I will have even less hesitation, less of a weight on my conscience, to find that she has gained a certain dramatic sense, that she has made progress in [artistic] sensibility. At the organ, she is capable of becoming a fine artist, if she perseveres. For the time being, I have steered her toward the Rome Prize.

Me: “Master, I am very touched. But I beg you, consider Rolande and me according to what is in your best interest. She is talented. If you believe…”

MD: “She has not given me the proof that you have given me.”

Me: “You haven’t known her for as long as you have known me. She stayed one year in the class, whereas I was there three.”

MD: “All the more reason. No. It’s you I have chosen; that is where my work lies. My feelings are not even those of a father towards his daughter: we are two collaborators. I have put my faith in you; I have not given it to anyone else. And in all this, my wife agrees with me; I must act according to my conscience.”

M^r and M^me Dupré [132] spoke with my parents concerning the same question after my departure; my parents shared with them their fear that they would see, underneath it all, one of Busser’s machinations.

 

Monday 3 August 1942

I was delegated to go to Meudon with flowers to express again to M^r and M^me Dupré my parents’ confidence in them. I was expected around 5:30 PM. M^me Dupré had prepared the Anthology, which we wished to bind. She welcomed me; “Your teacher is in the organ room: he is working on his Études! Go on up: I’ve prepared everything.”

Some words [of] M^me D: “M^r Dupré knows Busser, and we know what dark deeds he is capable of.”

Me: “I admit I am very astonished that Rolande has taken so long to get to know him. Everyone knows what he’s like.”

Mme D: “You know M^r Dupré, his uprightness. He will not give up without a fight. You won’t see him pitting you one against the other: that would be foolish; it would be the undoing of both of you. And anyway, she plays like a student. Her improvisation at the competition was empty, just effects. She does not have what you have. Come, child, it is you and always you.”

I wanted to leave without disturbing the master.

Mme D: “No, no! He would not be happy; he is waiting for you.”

We found Dupré deep in work, tired.

MD: “This is my second Étude: thirds in the pedals.” From the [133] conversation, I recall:

“My parents fear they did not express themselves very well yesterday; they wish to restate their unshakeable confidence in you.”

MD: “I know. I well saw that they were moved. Tell them that they should be fully reassured. This is between friends.”

Dupré told me that he was aware of Rolande F.’s wishes three months ago, and that his decision dated back to that moment.

MD: “I want to make one star, not two. Of all my students, you are the only one that I have trained who has worked only with me. Yolande started you off (she had certain rights over you, I think!). For art’s sake, it must be you. For France, it must be you. You alone. Has your mother fully understood that we will consider composition when it is time? Just for peace of mind, we must take another year to finish up here. Anyway, the organ is still the more difficult of the two.”

Me: “Yes… And above all, it’s the more responsible choice.”

I changed the subject to one that M^me Dupré has sometimes discussed with me: Dupré’s having been asked to accept a composition class. “He has never wished to accept!” said M^me Dupré.

MD: “I see nothing there to interest me, apart from having two morning classes.

Me: “And the teaching?”

MD: “I have my ideas on teaching; [134] I would not teach composition as it has been taught.”

Me: “Exactly: we’re talking about reform; you are needed.”

MD: “Busser talked to me about it. I told him, no. Delvincourt said to me: ‘It’s Stravinsky or you.’ No; [teaching a Conservatory composition class] is the last step before the Institute and that shall never be! I’ve been backstage at the Institute…!^[133] I know all the caretakers. [Teaching] organ, when I make a remark to a student, he has nothing to say and has only to remember it. With composition, I would be asked, where are my ballets, my most recent operetta? Widor left the organ class for composition, where he followed Lenepveu.^[134]

Me: “Master, I’ve taken the liberty of speaking to you about composition because I know your teaching: I’ve read your Troyes [text]books….”

MD: “That’s true: I’ve been talking to you for 20 minutes without it occurring to me that you have those… And what do you think of them?”

Me: “For analysis, I have never seen so many things in so short a space. As for orchestration, I freely admit I’ve learned a whole lot of things that I never knew. In fact, it’s the first time that I’ve had a composition course to follow…”

MD: “So, it really interests you? But no; I’d rather someone offered me a job as pencil pusher for the Mayor of Meudon.” Speaking of Rolande Falcinelli,

MD: “I heard her play the piano (her parents had invited us); she plays in a dry manner, [135] like a blind organist.”^[135]

Dupré told me again the details of his Paris debut.

At the end of the conversation, we returned to the parlour to rejoin Marguerite, who had just come from visiting someone who was ill.

The master decided to accompany me back and waited until my train left. He said to me on the platform:

“When you have a dilemma weighing on your conscience, always choose according to the better side of your conscience.” The master also said to me:

“When you played [Franck’s] Pièce symphonique (and some big Bach works) in class, I said to my wife and to Marguerite, if Jeanne Demessieux wishes to ‘get cracking,’ she will be an artist such as has never before been seen.”

 

Tuesday 11 August 1942

Organ lesson at Marcel Dupré’s. Preludes and Fugues in F minor, G minor and C major by Dupré.^[136]

The master played his completed Étude for me and, as he had not practiced it, he said,

“I practiced the first [Étude] to see for myself how much work it is. The other eleven, I am not going to practice: I’ll pass them on to you.

“When I play in public, I practice things to show the best of myself. For you, well, you know me; between those who are fond of each other, there is no fear of the other’s judgment. But don’t you worry: in Switzerland, I will have three days to do some good practicing.” Such modesty is astounding.

For the first time Dupré has encouraged me to hasten the pace of my work. [136] He wants me to have finished the repertoire by December [1942], at the same time as he will have finished his Études. In a flash, he made me realize why it is important that I do in a year and a half “what he did in thirty years,” given the height of the springboard from which I am being launched. He talked of composition.

MD: “You have three fields to exploit: orchestra and organ, organ (meaning free composition), and that which we’re calling the organ of the future.”

Dupré wants me to practice on his organ at least once during his absence.

He entrusted me with the manuscript of the Étude that does not carry a number. MD: “I do not yet know in what order I will publish them. The third will be in octaves: octaves in the hands, octaves in the feet. I’ve nothing to complain about: I can see them all… When I arrive home, I will drop everything, and I will write. I will spend the rest of my life here, in my laboratory, sounding out the future.”

To recall: the Prelude and Fugue in F minor should be understood as contemplative, expressive; the tempos indicated ([in the edition by] Leduc) are faster than Dupré’s interpretation. Prelude and Fugue in G minor: brilliant (heavy legato for the fugue, light for the prelude). Prelude in C major (Bornemann): slower than the indicated tempo.^[137]

Arrived at 9:30 AM and left around 1:00 PM.

 

[137] Sunday 16 August 1942

Visit to Jean Gallon at St-Philippe-du-Roule. We chatted about Mireille.

JG: “It’s agreed: you will take her in hand? I’m counting on it. Don’t worry: my brother has always mentioned her when talking about you. I will tell him. I will take little Auxiètre only on this condition.”

We chatted for half an hour in the library of St-Philippe-du-Roule.

 

Tuesday 18 August 1942^[138]

I was affectionately welcomed at Marcel Dupré’s by M^me Dupré and Marguerite, and I practiced from 2:00 to 7:00 PM on the great organ. During breaks we ate together in the garden. Gorgeous weather.

 

Sunday 23 August 1942

I replaced Marcel Dupré at St-Sulpice for the 9:00 and 11:15 AM Masses.

At 9:00, Dupré’s Prelude in F minor, [Widor’s] Toccata as the Recessional.

[At] 11:15, Bach’s 5^th Trio Sonata, [an improvised] Adagio (introduction) and Allegro in symphonic form on a single theme, perfect pacing, well developed, and expanding near the end (based on the Introit). In very good form. Friends of Dupré in the gallery.

Upon descending after the 11:15 Mass, we found to our surprise Madame Dupré and Marguerite, who were waiting for us and embraced me [138] several times. “You were there!” I stammered.

Mme D: “We were late arriving, so we didn’t want to go up. We didn’t want to bother you. It was a magnificent mass. The improvisation had such force! The beginning was very striking. The sonata: beautiful sonority; it was very clear. Are you happy? It was masterful!”

Me: “And the tempo?”

[Mme D:] “The finale was a bit fast for St-Sulpice.” Marguerite, who generally has little to say, appeared enthusiastic.

At the High Mass, Papa saw Grunenwald among those in attendance, in the church.

 

Monday, 24 August 1942

At M^me Dupré’s insistence, I spent another entire afternoon practicing on Dupré’s Meudon organ. During breaks, we took refreshments in Marguerite’s studio.

Mme D: “Do you enjoy playing at St-Sulpice?”

Me: “Oh…I cannot tell you how much. I consider myself fortunate… unworthy, even.”

Mme D: “How so? I was sure you were about to say something silly.”

 

Sunday 31 August 1942

At St-Sulpice at 11:15 AM, my parents were in the gallery. Maman turned pages for Dupré, who is back from his trip to Switzerland (International Music Week at Lucerne, concerts in Zürich and area).^[139]

 

[139] Saturday 5 September 1942

My parents had Marcel Dupré, M^me Dupré, and Marguerite over (anniversary of the harmonium). Not the least bit formal.

It would be impossible for me to reproduce the conversation, which was very lively and carried on from 3:30 until 9:00 PM. But I’ve retained the essentials of what was discussed:

Dupré recounted his trip to Switzerland and his impressions (he met Gieseking, Cortot, Backhaus, and others there). E. R. Blanchet, away on an excursion, sent him a message and the manuscript of a piano prelude written in a contrapuntal system that Dupré explained to me.

Extraordinary anecdotes from his American tours.

Literature: 18^th century (which I’ve worked on a lot). I also mentioned my interest in Montaigne, of whom Dupré and I have the same opinion.

We returned to our discussion of organ building, going back over a 1914 book I’d been given.

Then the atmosphere turned to all-out gaiety; conversation ensued and, returning to art, we edged towards the discussion to which they appeared to be leading me: piano technique. I let loose, assessing Lazare-Lévy, then Philipp, culminating in Magda Tagliaferro’s ease of execution.^[140] Having been asked my opinion, I chose these three. Dupré spoke of Diémer and of Busoni. [140] Marguerite asked me a lot of questions. Intellectual interest rose at this point. I asked the master his opinion of the musical cultures of certain countries in terms of their composers and their virtuosi.

MD: “My generation produced a lot of virtuosi; composition here has been sterile: the past 45 years have yielded nothing. In Russia, for composers, you have [Alexander] Glazunov and a very promising composer who has toured, [Igor] Stravinsky. In Germany: R. Strauss; [but] after Salambo,^[141] Salomé, Tod und Verklärung… he too has been unfruitful. In France, we’re certainly not interested in Schmitt, Darius [Milhaud], Poulenc or Honegger, nor ‘La Jeune France’: we’re speaking about composition, not public opinion.^[142] I don’t know what your generation will yield.

“As for virtuosi, France has produced the greatest number, especially at the organ, where we both hold first place… of course. The city where you can meet more of them than anywhere in the world is New York, where in the street one can run across Horowitz, Toscanini, Kreisler (who died recently in an accident), and so on.”

We speculated as to why composition is sterile. Dupré sees as the cause “amateurism,” which continues to spread. M^me Dupré [141] thinks it’s a lack of faith, a coldness of the heart; she made a comparison to Berlioz, who rose above his ignorance by means of his ardor. Dupré said of Berlioz: “He was a great musician who did not know music.” Marguerite, speaking of our time: “One would be hard pressed to attain any greater degree of foolishness.”

Dupré was induced to talk about himself: “I don’t consider myself a composer…(!) I have specialized in the organ, and so I don’t have the reputation of a composer.”

Me: “Master, a moment ago you said that public opinion is not what we’re interested in… Right now, we are speaking, absolutely, on the level of composition.”

Mme Dupré: “When your works become better known…”

MD: “Yes, Jeanne will play them.”

Mme D: “… People will realize that the Symphonie-Passion revolutionized organ technique, for example.”

MD: “Yes, but I sense that I have not yet even begun to be a composer.”

M^me Dupré said to us, with an air of resignation, “He really means it; that’s what he’s always saying to me.”

So, I mentioned Évocation, of which Dupré is still, unwittingly, sensitive. We were unanimous, and Marguerite said to me: “I believe that I have a weakness for Évocation.”

My parents praised Dupré’s work as a composer, and [142] he, then, spoke of his Études.

MD: “I know that what I say to you will not leave this room.” He explained to me his overall plan for the twelve [Études] (he had made, right from the start, a classification, in order, of the difficulties in the études of Chopin, Liszt, and Blanchet, which served as his point of departure, from a theoretical point of view). Then we ended up talking about his free time, so rare.

MD: “I can admit to you, all three of you, that since I started helping Jeanne in her work, I have become weary of the rest of my teaching. I’ve tried everything, teaching two three-hour classes… It does nothing more for me. I like these youngsters a lot, but I have six of them… really!… Duruflé would do as well with them as I do; he knows them.^[143] But I’m obliged to keep my class until the end of the war. Fortunately, Delvincourt is good to me: he always says to me, ‘My little Marcel, I don’t want you to be unhappy.’”

Dupré talked about our future tour to Montpellier.

He denounced Berlioz for not having understood Cavaillé-Coll and for having rejected mixtures. He forgave him for not having believed in the fusion of organ and orchestra, given what was being written during his time.

Dupré will play in the south of France in October and looks forward to meeting Yolande by making a [143] detour, if necessary.^[144]

Friendly conversation after that. Maman recounted my performance as a toddler of Eurydice’s death scene from Gluck’s Orpheus,^[145] and I played on the piano the song “J’ai perdu mon Eurydice,” which I used to sing, around seventeen years ago, for Papa as he lounged on the parlour carpet. Dupré asked ([but] I’ve neither heard nor read [the score of] Orpheus since that time.)

At intervals, I chatted mostly with the master, who asked my opinion of the technical side of the Étude in F; manuscript and copy in hand, we studied it together. Bornemann is having trouble getting paper; will he be able to print the Études? He must first put out the Handel edition, the transcription of Dupré’s concerto, and the out-of-print Bach [works].^[146]

Without prompting, Dupré said to me: “I’ve full confidence in you as a composer.” And also:

“I wasted time in Switzerland. [Rather than composing,] I was only able to work on a little technique. Anyway, when I have finished the Études, I will practice them because that will do some good for my technical progress.”

Dupré said to me that in order to do the composing and the scientific experiments in organ building that he has planned as he wished, “it will be necessary to decline everything and make everyone unhappy. Only at this price will I be able to work. I must stay put in Meudon.”

 

[144] Tuesday 8 September 1942

I paid a visit to Bornemann, upon agreement with M^me Dupré, so that he could return the [copy of the] Anthology destined for the master, which my parents want to have bound.

 

Thursday 17 September 1942

Organ lesson at Marcel Dupré’s. By heart: Chopin’s Étude in F minor;^[147] Dupré’s second Étude (in F major), [Dupré’s] six Preludes and Fugues, and [his] Variations on a Noël [Op. 20]. The Chopin Étude, which I hadn’t worked on since the two afternoons spent in Meudon, went well, to be honest. Dupré’s brilliant Étude: playing it gives me a feeling of security, of pleasure.

Dupré was moved and ran to find M^me Dupré, who listened to me play it again and exclaimed, “That’s dazzling.” During the morning, I saw a very animated Marguerite, who kissed me on both cheeks.

Dupré adjusted the tempos of all his pieces. The establishment of each of their characters is perfected. Dupré says, “I believe that in order to have them… accepted by people in general, it will be necessary to present them at somewhat more moderate tempos, so that one doesn’t get the impression of a jumble of notes.” For the Prelude in G minor, the one in E minor, and the Variations on a Noël, we’ll keep the fast tempos (the same for the Étude).

Dupré made me play his entire Étude five times, then in sections, in order [145] to experiment with registral timbres. I asked the master to register the Variations himself.

Dupré once more spoke to me about his enemies; me: “They don’t grow weary [of it]?”

MD: “They are worse than ever. There is an organization that’s against me, just as there was one against Liszt, against Chopin and Busoni. I only have half-students; they are being set up against me. In the Chaillot [series of] organ concerts, only the simplest of my works are tolerated: an Élévation… Young colleagues who want to surpass me say: ‘Dupré wrote his best works thirty years ago.’ It’s easy to find among the number and variety of my works something that lowers my status.  Here’s how they defend their territory: after an Élévation, they program a young “modern [work],” which leads people to say: ‘that pretentious old warhorse.’”^[148]

(No doubt, I will inherit this noble army; Dupré seemed to be preparing me for it; he said to me one day: “The day after your success, your best friends will turn their backs on you; I alone will remain with you.”)

Important fact: Dupré announced to me: “I am going to tell you, unofficially, what you will be told ‘officially’ the day you perform here: beginning in October, M^me Dupré will give you a [146] one-hour English lesson per week. She is a very good teacher, you will see! Before or after the lesson you will take advantage of the opportunity to practice on the American pedalboard.^[149] But I have told you nothing; leave to her the pleasure of announcing this to you.” I had not at all expected this decision, so touching.

Dupré showed me some work he did during the holidays: some chorale preludes on liturgical themes and a short toccata entitled “Le Tombeau de Titelouze.”^[150] I immediately said to Dupré: “This is in the spirit of the Seventy-nine Chorales for teaching, is it not?^[151] Very interesting. It will teach people to write.”

MD: “Well, having seen only the cover, you already understand that. Keep this to yourself until we have the first proofs. I would like to be sure that Bornemann has the paper. It wouldn’t bother you to help me with this?…”

At the end of the morning, Dupré said to me: “Another marvellous lesson today. A lesson! It was not so much you as I who had the lesson!”

MD: “It would give me great pleasure to be able to see Yolande there (in the south of France)! I would have so many things to tell her.” We tried to come to an arrangement.

After three good hours of work and conversation, the master accompanied me back to catch my train. Also of note,

MD: “Mutual help [147] between individuals is always the best. People must cooperate.”

 

Saturday 3 October 1942

Fifth trial concert at the home of Marcel Dupré in Meudon; my usual audience. All-Dupré program, in order: the three new Preludes and Fugues [Op. 36], Évocation, the first three Preludes and Fugues [Op. 7], the Variations on a Noël. Emotions ran high.

My parents arrived at 5:00 PM, I at 1:45. Dupré devoted his entire afternoon to me: I rehearsed Évocation and the Variations in his presence; then we chatted while walking in the garden.

MD: “You play my music with such depth! You are a child, yet it is as if you have known suffering as well as joy, like the saints who guard themselves from everything, yet understand everything profoundly. I, too, was like you. I have seen only two children so predestined: myself and you.

“You came into the world at the moment you were needed: my Bach edition, the ‘airplane,’ and nothing on your path.^[152]

“We will have finished the entire repertoire by the end of the academic year. Oh! I’m thinking about your composing. I have as much confidence in that as in your technique! At that time, we’ll start up again [148]

This notebook is the continuation of no. II.

[signed] Jeanne Demessieux

 

the conversation we had one day, near the Montparnasse station (October 20, 1941). Be patient; the hardest part is done.”

During the recital, after the three new Preludes and Fugues, Marguerite said to her father: “I am convinced that no one but you and she could play those.” My parents remonstrated.

MD: “I agree with Marguerite; it’s true.”

Marguerite also said, after the Adagio of Évocation: “The nobility of it… what an interpretation!”

Dupré had chosen to stay on the platform, to the right, during the recital, in order to help me, in case the instrument gave any trouble, because its [electrical] contacts are tremendously uncooperative. His eyes frequently teared up, especially during Évocation, and he talked to himself.

M^me Dupré “announced” to me, with remarkable sensitivity and generosity, her decision that I should work on languages.

The master had gone to collect my parents at the station; [after my recital] he had to leave before we did. We left around 8:00 PM.

 

Wednesday 7 October 1942

Death of my grandmother.^[154] No comment.

 

[149] Friday 9 October 1942

A day of mourning. Grandmother’s burial. No comment.

Of note: Dupré insisted on playing during the [funeral] Mass (at St-Esprit) and, knowing my wishes, played his works (Chemin de la Croix IV and VIII, Lamento [Op. 24]), and improvised. M^me Dupré stayed near Maman. They accompanied us back to the house. Jean Gallon, too, was present at the church. Lots of people: friends, some classmates. D’Argœuves played before and after the Mass.

 

Monday 12 October 1942

Yolande has been with us since Saturday. We hadn’t seen her in a year.

[Scrawled in the margin, different colour of ink, different style of handwriting:] German occupation; demonstration lines.
 

Dupré asked us to come and get him at the Conservatory at 3:30 PM; we remained together until his 5:20 train to Meudon.

 

Tuesday 13 October 1942

Dupré called all four of us together at Meudon to decide, collectively, about the Rome Prize. I neither want to sacrifice anything in my preparation as a virtuoso, nor in my ideas or compositional style. [150] Dupré and M^me Dupré, having foreseen the problem, have considered it carefully. We decided on my subtle withdrawal from the composition class at the Conservatory. The primary goal stands above all; we are in agreement.

For Yolande, I played the Finale of Évocation on the great organ.

Tomorrow, Dupré leaves on a tour of the south of France.^[155]

 

Monday 19 October 1942

Finished reading the first proofs of Dupré’s Le Tombeau de Titelouze. I took them to Bornemann.

 

Friday 16 October 1942

Visited Jean Gallon, at his class. He introduced me to Paul Tortelier, who is currently [a] candidate for [teaching] the violoncello class, to replace G. Hekking.

 

Saturday 24 October 1942

My sister’s departure.

 

Friday 30 October 1942

First lesson with Madame Dupré. I gave her the bound Anthology. Worked with her for an hour and three quarters. Half an hour on the radiating pedal board. We left together for Paris.

 

[151] Friday 6 November 1942

A short explanatory progress report: three weeks ago, I wrote a letter to Busser to ask him to accept my withdrawal from composition, giving as pretext my financial situation, which obliges me to work. No response, but a week ago, I received a note from Beaux-Arts declaring me withdrawn if I do not resume the course on November 3^rd. I immediately consulted M^me Dupré, who brought Dupré up to date upon his return.

Wednesday the 4^th, Dupré paid a visit to J. Chailley, secretary-general of the Conservatory, on this subject. Today, I accompanied the master from Montparnasse to the Conservatory; he recounted the meeting to me. He had proposed my withdrawal on the same pretext, saying that he had taken upon himself the right to act on my behalf, since Busser, in response to my letter, had had an administrative memo sent to me that was not the least bit instructive. (M^me Dupré then told me that he got angry and asked Chailley whether such a distinguished student should be treated in this manner—someone who already has four first prizes, etc.). Chailley, very confused, blamed it on an administrative error. Dupré asked him to allow me the right to later return and try for Rome, to which Chailley responded that it is possible for me to withdraw [152] and to enroll again before age 28. Satisfied, Dupré said to him, to conclude (speaking of me): “You don’t know her? Well, I do. You too will know her in a few years.” And regarding Busser [MD said], “She will return to the composition class, should she want to, only when Busser picks up and leaves.”

“If I had known,” he told me, “we would have done this last year.” But here is the most important thing that Dupré said to me: in Toulouse, during his tour, he met someone (whom I shall not name) with whom he has been connected for 20 years. During their conversation, Dupré was led to speak about his ideas on organ design. Enthused, this person offered to build the ideal organ, and to make it available to him, near Paris. This would be the realization of the hopes that Dupré confided to me on July 13, ’42.

MD: “See how Providence works for you. It gives us what we need when we need it. (This person) knows nothing of our projects, nothing about the role they will play for you.”

On his ideas for design: “it’s [153] a seed that I’ve planted in certain minds.” This project is of huge importance for Dupré and for me.

 

Friday 13 November 1942

At Meudon all afternoon. Towards the evening, Marguerite Dupré played for me the two recital programs that she will give in Nancy and Nantes. Warm, goal-directed playing, and beautiful technique.

Dupré came back, and we chatted. He accompanied me to the train. I took with me the manuscript of the 3^rd Étude (in octaves).

 

Sunday 22 November 1942

I played at St-Sulpice for High Mass and the Mass at 11:15 AM (4^th time), replacing Dupré.^[156] One hitch: there was no one to turn on the motor. Papa approached someone, and it wasn’t until the beginning of the Gospel reading at the 11:15 Mass that I was finally able to play.

Second incident: Someone closed the door to the gallery, keeping all of Dupré’s friends down in the church except for those who came very early. A situation to be cleared up.

Played a part of the chorale “Schmücke dich, O liebe Seele” [BWV 759] and Franck’s Choral No. 1. In very good form for improvisation; very secure in registration. Improvised a symphonic poem on the Gospel text. [My student] Marthe Dramez was very impressed.

 

[154] Friday 27 November 1942

In Meudon from 2:30 to 7:30 PM. M^me Dupré set me up at the organ first, before putting me to work; but then, seeing how caught up I’d become, she decided to leave me at the great organ until Dupré’s arrival, who was to hear me at around 5:00. Ate with Marguerite.

When the master arrived home, I played the entire Chemin de la Croix for him, from memory. Dupré explained to me in detail his concept of the work. Here I will note the changes he made to the indicated metronome marks of the movements: Station II, slower (almost breaking up). Stn. V, slower. Stn. XIII, slower; with a persistent sort of legato. I spent a moment analyzing the work. The master found in my interpretation “profound emotion” and, catching himself liking his own music, he kept repeating: “That’s beautiful.” Some textual errors that we corrected. (In the Chemin de la Croix, as in all of Dupré’s works, I have been intuitively able to detect errors and correct them by means of analysis, which is good for the works and for me.) [155] Dupré judged me to have made progress in my technique and appeared astonished at Station X.

In discussion, the master told me: “The man who is most intelligent is the one who can see the farthest into the future. The higher you rise on the social ladder, the more you will come across this.”

M^me Dupré spoke with the master concerning some irritations [tracasseries] that I’d had with Yves Nat over my students.

MD: “You should not have to put up with the stupidities of some Conservatory professors, with having your students filched: your time is your own.

“My consolation for not being able to practise is that you are practising, and Marguerite is practising. At 21 you are like an industrialist, like a chief executive officer, who works just as hard, sitting in his armchair, as his men do.”

The master accompanied me back to the train station.

 

Friday 4 December 1942

New work at the organ: [Dupré’s] Symphonie-Passion and Deuxième Symphonie.

After my work with M^me Dupré, I rehearsed.

The master arrived home. Tea in the organ hall.

Back to work. I registered the organ, and Dupré pronounced the timbres “perfect.” He was enthused with [156] my technique and said to me:

“Never have I heard the organ played like that! What is so astounding is the grandeur that is neither of your age nor of your sex. It makes one wonder just how high you will rise…”

I shifted the conversation toward the difference between the Chaillot organ played by Marcel Dupré and played by others, and from there towards technique. Me: “Seeing you play, Master, one realizes that, without a doubt, there’s a secret to your technique.”

MD: “You believe, do you, that I have a secret?”

Me: “It’s no longer a secret for me, seeing that you have passed it on to me.”

MD: … In fact, it’s no secret to pianists.”

Me: Begging your pardon, but there is one thing of which pianists have no idea: that’s the ‘extent’ to which a sound can be long. And the secret of your technique, it seems to me, is, fundamentally, to do with the length of each sound.”

MD: “Yes, exactly!” And again, MD: “I find myself (one might say) more than halfway through my life with projects and experiments still before me. It is time I passed on to others what I have not yet [157] done.”

Accompanying me back to the train, MD: “I am writing the fourth Étude, involving thirds and sixths. I’m in a hurry to finish these, my Études, and that we both should know them. I’m in less of a hurry to publish them.”

Me: “Why?”

MD: “Because [other] people don’t need to know them so soon. You must be left in peace.”

Me: But will Bornemann still have paper?”

MD: “Yes, I think so. We don’t need to worry about Bornemann.”

 

Sunday 6 December 1942

Last Sunday [November 29], I went to a Lamoureux concert at the Salle Pleyel:^[157] a huge program. A première by Paule Maurice: Symphony in four parts, which I played in public with Valérie Hamilton 4 years ago.^[158]

I made an aesthetic remark about composition: in general, the moderns do not push an idea to its extreme point; they don’t make use of development [techniques] to arrive at the “synthesis” inherent in the idea. Without this, it is impossible for the idea to triumph; we are not “persuaded.” This explains how I regard these developments involving several tormented-sounding crescendos [158] that, at the moment of arrival, seem to lack the strength do anything other than uselessly repeat. Could Debussy, the impressionist, have been the illustrious model for this sort of emphasis? In contrast, I notice how among the classical-era composers the musical idea is investigated; and how the romantics developed it, by degrees of emotion. To me, an idea, in itself, represents an edifice. By its very substance, it necessitates development. By this, I do not mean that every idea should be submitted to systematic development, but that, by means of amplification and by means of contraction, it must be brought to a logical point of arrival.

This remark seems to me to be the most well-founded that can be used to criticize a composer. He is not entitled to wish to “prove” himself if he is “proving” nothing. Paule Maurice’s symphony lacks interest. The finale is odiously vulgar, the scherzo fairly well done.

A second remark of a personal nature, concerning this concert: the impact of the percussion instruments, especially the timpani, became nearly unbearable to my ears. Third fact: the variety of the [159] program bothered my musical sensibilities. Have I been influenced by the repertoire of the six composers I’ve been working on for nearly a year?^[159] I feel pleasure when I hear a complete work by Wagner.

 

Friday 11 December 1942

Yesterday, Papa fainted, leaving us in anguish for 20 minutes. Saw the doctor.

Monday 14 December 1942

M^r Marcel Dupré, whom I saw yesterday at St-Sulpice, came to our home to get news of Papa. He found him well and us relieved; but he made him promise, insistently, to take it easy and be careful, because of me. He asked them both to watch over their health, “so that,” he said, “my Jeannette can live in peace while she has an enormous amount to accomplish. Yes, she has already done a mountain of work; but another mountain of work remains to be done. If it gratifies her for you to take medicine, you must take it. Mentally, she is in no state to play Friday (at Meudon). I don’t want her to play: she must play in a state of [160] joy.”

We chatted, then worked for a long time. I showed Dupré some registration effects for Meudon that I worked out to replace the mass of strings called for in the Symphonie-Passion and the Deuxième [Symphonie]. Very interested, the master said to me: “I’m going to try that.”

Some days ago, I lamented to the master about being continuously deprived of hearing him. Today, he seemed to respond, by saying to me abruptly, “I must make up my mind to play the organ for you, even without more practice. I wouldn’t do it in front of others; in front of you, I don’t mind.”

I accompanied the master back.^[160]

 

Tuesday 15 December 1942

I no longer have any working affiliation with Yves Nat as [a] coach. It’s been a week now since I managed to rid myself of my second student who worked with him and who created problems for me.

 

Friday 18 December 1942

At Meudon. Lesson with M^me Dupré. Worked on the organ for half an hour. Encountered the master and Marguerite.

 

Christmas [Day] 1942

All three of us at Vespers at St-Sulpice. Chatted in a very [161] friendly manner with M^r and M^me Dupré, their aunt M^lle Chauvière, and Marguerite.

In a hurry to get to my Vespers, I was drawn aside by M^lle Chauvière: “My child, I must thank you. I have not forgotten Évocation, and I know all the satisfaction that your talent has given your teacher! He adores you; you are his joy and his happiness. It is you who will perpetuate his works, by your magnificent talent. I would like to say thank you, on behalf of my Marcel; you are his guardian angel. I know that you have much affection for him and that he is counting on you. You will help him too, you will watch over him. Goodbye, my child.”

M. Dupré asked me to play Vespers quite regularly at St-Sulpice in January [1943]; he said to me: “Jean-Jacques [Grunenwald] is leaving us, taking a break.”

 

Saturday 2 January 1943

Sixth concert in Meudon at Marcel Dupré’s home, for my usual audience. Program: Chemin de la Croix, Symphonie-Passion, Deuxième Symphonie by Marcel Dupré. I was in marvelous form and, in my interpretations and technique, seemed to approach a high point. Mild stage fright [162] before the performance. During the concert, perfect equilibrium. No fatigue. Played the concert without pause.

Arrived at 2:30 PM, my parents at 4:30. The master devoted his time to me, despite my objections. I registered the organ and rehearsed some passages in front of him. After the Allegro of the Deuxième Symphonie, Dupré said to me: “It’s interesting that you have my sound…”

Me: “Your sound…? I have your sound, Master?…”

MD: “Yes. I have Father Guilmant’s sound, and you have mine. It was Guilmant’s sound that made his reputation in America. I came to understand that when he rehearsed at the Trocadéro for the inauguration at the Exposition (I was 14 then).^[161] Since then, I’ve sought to acquire it. My father was beside me and indicated it to me. He [Guilmant] was playing his Sonata in C minor. I’ll play the beginning for you.”

The master added: “It is nevertheless impressive, at your age, to have the authority, the ‘signature’ [sound] of a man! My dream for you is that at 25 you will have nothing left to learn from the repertoire.”

Not wanting me to tire myself playing, the master suggested a moment of rest, and we chatted for a long time. Dupré shared his thoughts randomly, as he is wont to do with me.

MD: “When one gives a [163] series of concerts, one must think only of the first of the series, as if there were no others. Similarly, you must think only of the piece you are playing, from the beginning of a recital. You must always play a piece as if it were the last.

“You are not concerned about feeling fatigued if, before you play, we make an inventory of our repertoire, through to the end? What still remains?”

My portfolio in hand, we studied; Dupré wrote. He spoke of more than 10 recitals (in all), being taken by the idea of my presenting the entire repertoire, with some exceptions from the works of Bach; he envisioned a concert for organ and orchestra for which he wants me to compose a work.

MD: “I think it is good that on New Year’s Day, a year and a half after you began, we have a shared plan for the conclusion of this stage [of your career].”

The 4^th Étude is finished.^[162]

When my parents arrived, we had tea.

Then the concert [took place], with my audience grouped on the stage, around the stove. Mama insisted that the master stay in his favorite spot beside the instrument.

When I had finished, there was huge emotion. Dupré said “What profundity…” and was at a loss for words.

MD: “As God is my witness, though, I truly do know you!…” [164].

We moved back to the parlour, with a feeling of familiar closeness and enthusiasm.

We departed around 8:00 PM. The master accompanied us back as far as the train station and, filled with emotion, said to me, “I am in a state of infinite joy.” M^r and M^me Dupré want me to have a lesson with the master every two weeks from now on. Returning to his idea, Dupré also said to me,

“It will be best to wait until the very last moment before letting Jean Gallon in on the secret; we don’t want to take any risks.” And this amusing comment, when I spoke to the master about Bach’s daring: “Ah! Yes, he certainly was a fearless type!”

Yesterday Marcel Dupré said to me: “From the intellectual perspective as from the religious perspective, one must have faith. Faith in friendship, faith in art.”

 

Friday 8 January 1943

M^me Dupré handed to me the manuscripts of Études 4 and 5 (the 5^th newly completed). She also gave me the second proofs of M. Dupré’s concerto to correct.^[163]

 

Sunday 10 January 1943

Epiphany. I played Vespers at St-Sulpice. Very happy. [165]

 

Friday 15 January 1943

Organ lesson (no lesson with M^me Dupré, not having been able to work). For Dupré, I played four preludes and fugues by Bach, learned since the last concert, and the third Étude (B-flat minor); (I’ve also worked again on the preludes and fugues in G major and A minor, which I did not play for the master). Dupré said to me:

“What an effort you have put in again in so little time! You worry me. Are you not fatigued? This was so fantastic that it made me dizzy. You are faster than I am in learning Bach by heart; I allow three days for a big prelude or a fugue; you toss it off in two days. Slow and steady wins the race, Jeannette…”

When I had played the third Étude, the master, making a gesture of violently pushing an object away, said to me: “I am writing the Études for you so you will do [precisely] ‘that’ with all the ‘others’ when we come to hear you play them.”

After various tries, Dupré decided on the tutti for the entire Étude, thus finding the colour necessary for its stormy character. He asked my opinion concerning the [166] composition of the Étude.

The master escorted me back.

 

Sunday 17 January 1943

I played Vespers at St-Sulpice.

The clergy called on me to organize the ceremony for next Sunday, and I consulted with three priests. The other priests waited for me at the foot of the gallery and asked me whether it was I who would command the organ; one of them:

“Yes, this young lady is M^r Marcel Dupré’s supply organist, if one can put it that way.” Received, on the whole, with great courtesy.

 

Friday 23 January 1943

After my language lesson and upon his return from his class, M^r Dupré played the organ for me, just as M^me Dupré had said he would. A very striking impression. Dupré asked me what I would like. My having left the choice to him, he played from memory the Fantasia and Fugue in G minor and the Prelude and Fugue in A minor [by Bach]. Seated on the bench, I observed his technique very closely, studying the secret of the clarity of the master’s playing.

MD: “I don’t really see how. But if you tell me that it can be useful to you for me to play the organ for you, I will play [167] you everything. I play for you as I do for my wife and Marguerite; it stays between us.” And also,

MD: “One cannot discover anything except if one has faith. Faith is confidence. You have discovered my playing because you have faith in me. In ourselves, we see only what is lacking.” Speaking of me, the master also said some words that I consider tremendous:

“It is not humanly possible to hope to go technically any farther.”

[Squeezed between this last line and the next date heading:] I took the manuscript of the 6^th Étude away with me.

 

Sunday 25 January 1943

I was to have played Vespers at St-Sulpice today, but just before my departure, Marguerite Dupré came to announce that an accident had occurred with the [organ’s] motor, through the fault of the technician, that very morning. She did not want me to bother [coming out]. The master was not able to play [that morning].

[In the] afternoon and evening I worked on the proofs of Marcel Dupré’s concerto, which I finished.

 

Friday 29 January 1943

Organ lesson at Meudon after my language lesson. I practiced for an hour on the great organ, then, the master having arrived, I played for him, from memory, the 4^th [168] Étude and the Preludes and Fugues in E-flat [major, BWV 552], G [major, BWV 541], and A minor [BWV 543] by Bach.

Dupré played for me, from memory, those in C [major, BWV 547], C minor [BWV 546], and B minor [BWV 544], which I had requested. The master’s playing has an incomparable flexibility; its automatic precision is not apparent to the eye. He plays serenely, calmly, searching for his sonorities. It is as if he is constructing something. His rhythm is absolute. I remarked that, like me, he senses the work’s hold over him, always with a point of culmination where one forgets technique and self.

Immediately after the Étude, Dupré said to me: “There’s no doubt that there has been a change in your playing. I wonder how you managed to get something out of what I played for you the other day. The way you play is unbelievable.” Dupré asked me to replay the Étude. “I’m going to figure it out.” He listened from the back of the hall.

MD: “Yes, it’s even more spiritual. I believe I’m right; I know you so very well!” I tried to express some reservations about my performance, but the master exclaimed: “Don’t even think of it! And besides, you mustn’t forget that I am not even aware of them. You are the only person in the whole world [169] to notice these things.

“I’ve written the 7^th [Étude]; it is calm and requires evenness in the pedal, with the subbass. I have only two months before my trip and cannot even hope to have finished the twelve by then… especially as I do not want to hurry. They will be finished for autumn.” Dupré told me again that he expects to modify some details, or make some cuts, when he comes to re-read and practice his Études. I had agreed in advance that I would learn the definitive version [of each] after having learned the first.

As for the Bach, in the E-flat Dupré found “a grandeur,” and he found the connections between the three parts of the fugue “admirable.” After the G major and A minor, he said to me: “What do you want me to say to you? That was perfect. Surely you sensed this yourself? If I did not know you, and I heard you, I would say that you are a master. When I hear you play my music, it seems to me as if it is someone else’s music; I find it more beautiful.” After the master had played some Bach for me, we chatted.

MD: “Would you mind playing [170] Vespers for me once in February? I want to make it up to you for not having been able to play [last] Sunday. It was planned that next Sunday Jean-Jacques would play Vespers.” I objected, not wanting to create friction with Grunenwald.

MD: “No, no. Grunenwald suits us because he keeps his distance. This allows you to quietly take his place. And once there…”

Madame Dupré had heard my program from the office and came to give me a hug.

Accompanying me back, the master spoke to me about the importance of a theme, taking the example of the “little themes” of his Études. I seized the opportunity to speak to him of my thoughts on this topic, without having time to go into depth. We will pursue this further.

The master also confided in me: “I certainly don’t believe I have anything to complain about. My memory has not altered much; my body has aged, but intellectually, I am the same as always.” I also recall:

“After the Paris concerts, it won’t be necessary for you to accept such chores as playing the concerto by P… or others.^[164]It all depends on how one ‘debuts.’ Anyway, we’ll do [171] everything necessary for that. Not that, in your case, ‘they’ would even dare.”^[165]

 

Sunday 7 February 1943

I played Vespers at St-Sulpice. As usual, during the sermon, Robineau appeared in the gallery to chat, telling me the whole time,

“Your versets are magnificent!”

Me: “They sounded good?”

MR: “Oh, very good. You draw such timbres…! You really have Dupré’s colours; really, just like Dupré.” These are dear Robineau’s words, not my own, that I am relating.

 

Sunday 14 February 1943

I played Vespers at St-Sulpice. In the gallery were those who came to St-Esprit this morning.

At 11:30 AM at St-Esprit: M^r and M^me Meunier, who were accompanied by quite a few people. I played Le Signe de la Croix by Neuville for them. Many questions.

 

Monday 15 February 1943

Concert by Marcel Dupré at the Salle Gaveau. Program: Cortège et Litanie, 1^st movement of the Symphonie-Passion, “Berceuse” [and] “Fileuse” [from Suite Bretonne], the Finale of Évocation. In the second half, improvisations: variations on a noël, a symphony in 4 movements: Allegro, Andante, Scherzo, and Finale on seven themes (Duruflé, Litaize, [172] Fleury, Boulnois, Langlais, Grunenwald, Messiaen). As encores: improvisation on a children’s song [un chant d’école] (fugue), Prelude in G minor, Prelude in B major. (Concert organized by the students of the grandes écoles;^[166] private, by invitation only.)

Unforgettable. Dupré drew such unexpected sonorities from such an ordinary organ, pulling, for the Symphonie-Passion, the foundation stops through soft mixtures, and sometimes using the tutti with box closed, a powerful effect. Brilliant technique. In very good form; the same for the improvisations.

In the improvised symphony, an orchestral spirit dominated, as much in the pace of the Allegros as in the details of the Andante. A very symphonic scherzo. Overall character that was quite lively, lyrical. Andante: solemn poetry, scarcely melancholy.

I. Sonata form.

II. On two themes; combined.

III. Classical form. Extended coda.

IV. Cyclic: theme A (1^st mvt.) presented as the second theme. Development. Recapitulation: [theme] A (2^nd mvt.) presented as the second theme. Combined in the final development.

Tonalities related by thirds.

[Improvisation on] the noël in the form of a huge variations set.

Audience was very knowledgeable, intellectual. [173] Each of the two parts of the concert was preceded by a lecture, on a lofty and appropriate concept, given by Pierre Gavoty.^[167] Our seats were on the stage, as per M^me Dupré’s wishes.

In the foyer, lots of people. The master had an air of satisfaction about him, I thought. He asked me, “You’re happy?… We shall talk about this later.”

 

Friday 19 February 1943

At Meudon all afternoon. In the evening, I played the 5^th and 6^th Études for the master (D-flat major, F minor) and Bach Preludes and Fugues in C major, C minor and B minor, from memory. The master played for me, all from memory, the great E minor [BWV 548], G minor [BWV 542], and A major [BWV 536], which I had asked for.

At teatime we spoke about the concert again.

MD: “Were you just being kind to me?… Seriously, now: you did find it instructive in terms of giving a public concert? Good. I was thinking of you the entire time; I was saying to myself: Jeannette is out there, she sees, she understands.”

We talked about improvisation. From there, on to form. I asked Dupré if he doesn’t blame Debussy for having contributed to the destruction of form.

MD: “In part, yes. He created delicious successions [174] of chords, but he caused a musical decline with parallelism. After the great period of Wagner, Liszt, Franck, there have been, reportedly, men who were builders while others were demolishers. Mussorgsky, who found some very moving inflections, degraded music in his desire to imitate common speech. Strauss was the first to deliberately write ugly things to generate a feeling of horror. Fine and well, but no. Music is music. I cannot conceive of music without form.”

Dupré said to me that, nowadays, there are composers who write orchestrally in an approximate way, without concern for the harmonic result. To the instruments, they assign random notes, whose colour becomes the “core of the orchestra.” Having sometimes thought of doing exactly this for a joke, I was scandalized to hear this revelation.

Here are some of the master’s reflections that I noted while we worked. He followed the text of his Études avidly; “I can no longer remember…” he said to me. And, after the 5^th: “There, you’ve played it! Ah, it’s been [175] played very well.” After the 6^th, he had moist eyes; “… that lightness… I have never heard playing like that.” I played the 6^th several times, on the tutti.

MD: “Do they still please you? Do you believe we can leave them as is? You don’t find them muddled or needing cuts?” I’m beginning to get used to this confiding in me and to this unjustified anxiety. As for Bach, Dupré said to me:

“You have incomparable rhythmic authority and fullness. Hearing you, one would never believe that it is a woman who is playing. That’s a man’s brain, a colossal brain. Your technique is colossal, too; and the level of your improvisations and compositions will be equal to your technique.” Dupré’s words were emphatic. I asked him:

“You really have confidence in me as a composer?”

MD: “Yes, I have the greatest confidence.”

On the subject of my technique, I told the master that I am no longer aware of what it is that I’ve attained.

MD: “It is as though it is me playing when I’m in very good form. It’s vibrant.”

We went into raptures [176] over the Prelude and Fugue in B minor; then the master played.

In the afternoon, working on the great organ, I had been able to delve into the beauties of the Études by “orchestrating” them in all manners.

Dupré remarked that it has been exactly eighteen months since we began.

 

Sunday 28 February 1943

X

 

Friday 12 March 1943

Seventh recital at M^r Marcel Dupré’s. My program consisted of ten Preludes and Fugues by Bach: C major (3^rd) [i.e., BWV 547], C minor, D major, E-flat [major], E minor (Great), G major, G minor, A major, A minor (Great), B minor. Perfect balance. I reached my fullest potential in technique and interpretation. I was asked if I wanted to rest, but I preferred to play straight through the entire program, which lasted an hour and fifty minutes. Dupré and Marguerite, from time to time, exchanged brief appraisals.

At the end of the concert, the master said to me: “Come embrace me: I am proud of you!” M^me Dupré, who stands fiercely by her opinion that I play Bach in an inimitable way, said to me: “That was superb! Grand, [177] in such a pure and noble style, filled with simplicity. And what ease…” Marguerite: “I was bowled over by such a feat of memory. I know how much it takes to learn a page of Bach by heart. She played with serenity.”

Noteworthy: the tender charm of the Fugue in A major played on the 8’ flutes, very characteristic of Dupré’s organ. The Fugue in D at a fast tempo, in relation to the acoustic and the lightness of the keyboards (according to Dupré, who pointed out to me, when comparing performance of the Fugue in D on [the organs of] St-Sulpice and Meudon: “Here it’s another thing entirely.”)

A major event also underscored this day. Marcel Dupré now owns a registration system that ought to revolutionize the organ. Over the past ten years, he has had several devices constructed based on his concept, but has never been satisfied with any of them. This one seems perfect to him. He led us to his office to see this “news” that he had been mysteriously hinting at to me for several days. Without having time to explain his [178] plans to us at length, he said to me: “This gives you something to dream about, right?” He mentioned the names of those who had helped him in various important ways over the course of his life (I can only remember their nationalities: an Englishman, an American, a German and, lastly, a Frenchman).

The master gave me the manuscript of his 7^th and 8^th Études (the 8^th finished just the day before). Concerning the 7^th, MD: “I’m not sure if this one is worth much…” (However, M^me Dupré had said to me, over the course of the afternoon: “M^r Dupré finished the 8^th Étude yesterday evening; he played both of them for us this morning. The end of the 7^th is very moving; I believe it’s the most beautiful of all the Études…” In reference to the 8^th, Dupré spoke of “a wild ride.”

MD: “If something doesn’t please you, just tell me, and I’ll remove it. They’ve caused me a lot of trouble, these two!”

At the beginning of the afternoon, I studied the Philadelphia Wanamaker organ with M^me Dupré.^[168]

The master accompanied us back to the train and embraced us. Chatting with him, I was again struck by the seemingly unlimited confidence he has in me.

 

[179] Friday 26 March 1943

At Meudon. (Lesson with M^me Dupré. Practiced on the organ. Ate.)

Lesson with the master. I played for him, from memory, the 8^th Étude (C minor), Fantasia and Fugue in A minor [BWV 561], Toccata, Adagio, and Fugue in C [major, BWV 564], Toccata in F [major, from BWV 540], learned in 7 days.

At the beginning of our conversation, Dupré told me precisely this: “I am announcing to you that you have a new friend in Paris; not someone insignificant, but a man under whose moral protection I have placed you. I have told him everything you are. You’ll never guess; he has something to do with St-Esprit.” Very intrigued, I asked him to give me a hint.

MD: “… he is clothed in red, but he is not the devil… … The Cardinal.”

When my astonishment had passed, the master continued: “I had a meeting with the Cardinal the other day at 5:00 PM. He kept me for three-quarters of an hour. After we’d discussed the main issue,* we chatted about various things. He asked me to tell him what I thought of plainchant; I [180] responded: “setting aside the spiritual, and looking at it the way an artist does: from the point of view of form, some anonymous melodies from the Middle Ages (“Salve Regina,” “Ave maris stella,” “Te Deum”) are as beautiful as the most beautiful melodies of Bach or Beethoven. From a religious point of view, there is no doubt that plainchant is inspired by the Holy Spirit.

“As I have pronounced the Name of the Holy Spirit, permit me, Your Eminence, to shift to another question and draw your paternal attention to a church, of your diocese, that I love because it is the most beautiful of all the churches in which we labour: the church of St-Esprit.” And Marcel Dupré faithfully retraced his appeal for me, which I note here exactly:

MD: “I will tell you about this church’s organist, Your Eminence. A young girl from Montpellier. When she was eleven years old, her parents, witnessing the extraordinary development of this child’s gifts, made the sacrifice of selling everything so they could take their child to Paris. At thirteen years of age, the parish priest of St-Esprit gave her a three-month trial. At the end of the three [181] months, he said to her: ‘I will keep you on, but you are going to accept a salary.’ The little one replied: ‘No, I want to play for the Church.’ Six months later, the priest insisted once again on raising the issue: ‘Your parents are making sacrifices; you are doing a job, I order you to accept…’ This young girl is now twenty-one; I have known her for the eight years she has been my student. She possesses the gifts of the Holy Spirit, even the greatest of these: Intelligence. Knowledge? There is nothing more to teach her; she improvises… like me, Your Eminence. It would seem that in this sanctuary, she is filled with the Holy Spirit. Every Sunday, she receives the breath of inspiration. She is steady, poised, and has self-control…! She has the gift of judgment. As for her as a person, she’s a saint. She practices organ six hours a day; she has an enormous memory. When she is forty (who knows how far she’ll go, Your Eminence?), she will doubtless be a great artist… alone among women, like Schumann’s wife, [182] Clara Schumann. I thought that I, an artiste speaking to my Cardinal, could be allowed to bring up a subject point touching upon the Church.” His Eminence, Cardinal Suhard replied: “Because you have told me this, I will take it into account.”

The master, feeling poorly, asked that I accept that he play the organ for me next Friday only. MD: “In any case, I intend to play for you and, if you are ready, you will play for me.”

He was astonished at the announcement of today’s program, and very happy with the results.

He gave me the dates of all his trips and such up until July [1943], saying, “This way, you know when I am free, so that you can organize your work.”

On the subject of the concert with orchestra on May 28 at Chaillot:** “You must attend; it will be of interest to you.”

After having heard Étude 8, Dupré, as always, asked my opinion, and said to me: “It’s curious; my impression of that composition is quite good; I don’t believe there is much that needs revising.” (A few days ago, the master hastily asked me to return the manuscript of Étude 7 to him, telling me that he had had [183] some new ideas and wanted to change everything.) I left with the manuscript of the 9^th Étude, which, the master told me, is “amusing.”

 

* Concerning the situation of organists and choirmasters in the diocese of Paris, the Cardinal is disposed to provide help.^[169]

** This concert did not take place.

 

Sunday, 28 March 1943

Monsieur le Curé of St-Esprit welcomed Thérèse Vigot, whom, upon the suggestion and recommendation of Marcel Dupré, he has come to accept as my official substitute.

 

Friday 2 April 1943

Afternoon at Meudon. In the evening, for Dupré, I played the Toccata and Fugue in E major and the Fugue of the Toccata in F [major], from memory. For me, the master played the Dorian Toccata and Fugue [BWV 538], Toccata and Fugue in D minor, the Toccata, Adagio and Fugue in C [major], Toccata and Fugue in F [major], Fantasia and Fugue in C minor. One work followed another as if by magic. MD: “I’ll play one more for you: what would you like? Come now, tell me…” Here was the enthusiasm of that unforgettable organ lesson at St-Sulpice.^[170]

MD: “I have finished the 10^th Étude, but it is in draft form: it’s still rough and only I can make sense of it. I’m going to stop there, for the moment… I must, until July 14^th.”

The master entrusted me with the third proof of [184] his concerto (orchestral score), asking me to make corrections based upon intuition, with the help of the reduction if need be.

The immense scale of these grand works by Bach notwithstanding, Dupré’s own sound is rich in detail, from his legato, heavy or light, to his staccato.

 

Sunday 4 April 1943

Bombing of Paris and the suburbs. No news from Meudon.

 

Friday 9 April 1943

After the bits of convoluted, second-hand information that we managed to get during the week, I went to Meudon today. I found M^me Dupré very depressed. She was expecting me. In a mood to share her thoughts, she recounted the anguish they experienced last Sunday. They were not wounded, but were even more afraid than at the last bombing, taking shelter in the basement, scarcely shielded from debris. With tears in her eyes, M^me Dupré said to me: “I held them close to me so that if anyone was killed it would be all three of us…” Despite her energetic temperament, she is feeling the effects [of the attack]. She kept me longer than usual. I did not see [185] the master, who was to return very late.

For the last three days (oh, my word!), an electrician has been secretly working to install the registration system. M^me Dupré had him show me the work. “You can discuss it with Mademoiselle without any misgivings: she is a great artist, a star. She is in on the secret, she alone.” I went inside the organ and asked questions.

I handed in the Étude and proofs for the concerto. (I had noted some troubling differences in harmonies between the reduction and the orchestra, the correction of which I did not want to take upon myself to make. I pointed them out to M^me Dupré who will pass them on to the master.)

 

Sunday 11 April 1943

At St-Sulpice, where Maman was welcomed with sincere affection at 11:15 AM. M^r and M^me Dupré introduced Grunenwald to her. The master said to Grunenwald that I know “the entire” repertoire and told him to contact me during his absence, if needed for St-Sulpice.

 

Tuesday 13 April 1943

Concert by Gieseking at the Opéra, to which I was invited by my student M^lle Marthe Dramez. True enjoyment of perfection. An orchestral authority, so rare among [186] pianists. Poetry. Superior style. Unforgettable shadings.

Beethoven’s Sonata in D minor [“Tempest”, Op. 31, No. 2]. Schumann’s Sonata in F-sharp minor [Op. 11]. Twelve preludes (Book 1) by Debussy. 4 encores.

 

Friday 16 April 1943

At Meudon the entire afternoon. I practiced. At 5:00 PM, a lesson with the master. His first words concerned the registration system.  “What do you think of it?…” I asked questions about it and shared my enthusiasm with him. “This time, I am on the first rung of a new ladder,” he told me. “And when I say that I have not even begun my life as an artist, it’s true. Will ‘it’ work? Despite the assurances of the engineers, I am waiting to see. It has been my practice in life never to let hope seep in until the moment when I have a fait accompli before me. If it works, I will write for it the two works that I have envisioned… whether I go on to publish them or not is unimportant. I will be torn to shreds by my enemies; I don’t care if, after I go, these works remain. If I don’t pull it off… I’ll fall back in line, without revealing a thing. I am within a few days of knowing.”

I detected in Dupré a bitterness that he did not try to hide from me.

MD: “I was eight years old when I took the stage, [187] the age when a kid plays marbles. I’ve reached the age of 57 without having yet attained my goal, which is rest. I have accomplished so much; and all I get are insults, insults. When I was twenty, I discovered a list of Bach’s chorales, annotated by Widor, in the library of St-Sulpice. The subject of the chorales was all around us (in those days); no one could get anything out of Guilmant. Two years later, I managed to procure the texts (Peters was the only edition, flawed); some questions put to a Swiss man, and, with that, I reconstituted the tradition.^[171] No one believed in the electrified organ (we had only junk as electric organs). Only the Barker lever was known. On my first trip to England, I understood and, when I returned, I said that we know nothing in France. It was then that the Association des Amis de l’Orgue was formed, to oppose me.^[172] That has only continued to grow and improve. [Ça ne fait que croître et embellir.) I worked for the benefit of others by updating the tradition, by seeking to make it understood.^[173] My editions, my pedagogical works (I have no misgivings about those from Troyes; Massis was pleased and as a friend, blessed me in [188] his heart for having done that for him). And I would have said I’d wasted 17 years teaching if I had not met you. I forgive the Conservatory because, without it, I would never have known you.”

Me: “Not so, Master. What I wanted, and my parents too, was that I should become your student. I must appear to say that so easily now! I never did join Marchal’s class, for example, or any of the others. Anyway, you have trained students other than me: Litaize, Langlais, Messiaen…”

MD: “I’ve taught a few capable of managing at Paris’s grand churches, nothing more. No, I’m telling you; and I put Messiaen in the same category. He tricks people with false ideas. You and I agree that the fanatics are as dangerous as the puritans. With you, it’s not teaching. I’ve taken you along with me; we walk side by side. In five years (if I’m still alive), we will be coming ashore at the same docks and ports.^[174] To have made you [succeed]: that’s my revenge. And, as it turns out, you are, at twenty years of age, at the same point as I am at 57: that’s how it should be. When you are 28 or 30, [189] and you have already made two grand tours of America or Australia and written your first batch of works that you can live off, you will have made your fortune and can decide to relax or to continue traveling. I would want you to avoid what I did not manage to avoid: teaching.”

The master also spoke these inspiring words: “You are like the labourer at the eleventh hour in the Gospel lesson. Imagine if, in place of those who were protesting, the father of this labourer had happened to be there: he would simply have said to his son, between them, ‘You are lucky.’ My life has been ill-spent; but I could die in peace if I were to write another two first-class works [encore deux œuvres “premières”]. I sense I’ve come close to this with the Études. And, assuming that the war is over, I will leave the door open for you.

“I don’t know how to drop the class. Ah, if only I no longer had this burden to bear! All the same, those kids rouse my pity: they know nothing. After the war, once I am free of the Conservatory, I will be rid of Paris from Monday through Saturday evening: that’s what I need in order to work. I can keep St-Sulpice.”

Knowing that Cardinal [190] Suhard is to come to St-Esprit for Quasimodo [the Second Sunday of Easter], Dupré advised me to relate to my parish priest the conversation that he had with the Cardinal about me.

For the master, I played the pieces that I was reviewing, ones already learned: Passacaglia and Fugue, Fantasia and Fugue in C minor, Fantasia and Fugue in G minor, Dorian Toccata and Fugue, Toccata and Fugue in D minor. “Tell your parents that I am thrilled,” he said to me.

When the last bombing was vaguely referenced, I understood that the master is still very distressed.

Dupré loaned me the manuscript of the 10^th Étude, saying to me, “it’s tumultuous.” He asked me to play at St-Sulpice all day on June 6^th.

Friday 23 April 1943

Afternoon at Meudon. The master saw me first (no class today), then M^me Dupré took me. The first words we exchanged were about the registrateur.

MD: “They’re working on it right now; it’s serious today… Ah! I can’t wait.”

Me: “Neither can I.”

Dupré returned to be with his men while we began the language lesson. A moment later, he was back. “Come and see: we’re going to do an experiment for [191] the little lady.” The master introduced to me the engineers and assistants, who were four in number; he said of me: “… a great artist, my wonderful student who is just as anxious for the registrateur as I am.” I saw numbers corresponding to the combinations appear on a lighted dial. It reminded me of my visit to the Palais de la découverte.^[175]

Then Dupré practiced on the little organ while we continued the [language] lesson in the office.

Around 5:00 PM, there was a lot of movement going on; the work was proceeding by trial and error, and the engineers foresaw leaving very late this evening. They have really taken its final success to heart.

“You think I’m going to succeed?…” Dupré asked me.

Me: “Will you succeed? Of course, Master, as in everything else you construct.”

MD: “If I succeed, I believe I’ll have taken a step forward for the organ.”

Me: “It’s the ideal nature of the organ this time; I don’t think one could wish for anything else.” My enthusiasm did both of them a world of good.

Walking me back, the master said to me: “You will see how the registrateur is going to give you ideas for composing…”

[192] Sunday 2 May 1943

At St-Esprit: High Pontifical Mass with Cardinal Suhard assisted by two bishops and around fifty ministers. Broadcast in its entirety. I played the Toccata and Fugue in D minor [by Bach], Dupré’s Prelude in B major, Widor’s Toccata, and a huge improvisation on Veni creator. Magnificent plainchant by the seminarians of the Order of St-Esprit.

At the conclusion of High Mass, because the occasion permitted it, M^r le Curé introduced me to His Eminence, who greeted me with simplicity and great kindness: “We have heard praise for this child… by the great organist of St-Sulpice, Marcel Dupré.” M^r le Curé, delighted, hastened to say: “Marcel Dupré is her musical father, Your Eminence.” The cardinal continued: “We know that there are the very highest hopes for her. Continue, my child; you glorify God with your talent and for this He will reward you.” The Cardinal proffered his hand in the customary way as soon as I was before him, and I hastened to kiss it. After these few words, he remained until I had distanced myself somewhat, [193] regarding me with a little smile and nodding his head.

Monday 3 May 1943

M^r le Curé told me what the Provincial [i.e., Head] of the Fathers of St-Esprit, who was seated beside him at mealtime yesterday, said to him. He said it to me this way:

“That young girl whom you presented to His Eminence: she is your organist? I would never have believed it. When we entered, I heard a piece I know well start up; I said to myself: ‘well, there he is again.’ But I was astonished, and then I listened to the end. Never have I heard it played like that.”

“What difference did you notice?” asked M^r le Curé. “I don’t know. But I certainly was taken by her.”

Father de la Motte asked me, in turn, “What do you put into your playing to ‘carry’ the listener to such a degree? You play the notes like everyone else, but in your playing, there is life.”

 

Tuesday 4 May 1943

Eighth concert, at Meudon. Bach: Passacaglia, Toccatas, and Fantasias. (Papa was with my sister in Aigues-Mortes.) Marcel Dupré was very happy. He said to Maman:

“The farther we go, the more she [194] advances with lightning speed.”

MD: “At this rate, we are going to begin improvisation and composition in October. We are ahead of schedule in our five-year plan. But we cannot stage our ‘coup’ before the war is finished, owing to our plans for foreign countries. For the time being, I wait and watch; I am preparing the way for you. You have no one standing in your way. Rolande (Falcinelli) will turn to the Opéra, where she has a friend. I steered her [in this direction]. As for Grunenwald… he very much wants to become director of a conservatory in one of the provinces. I’ve already spoken to Cortot about it and told him to pay Cortot a visit; he’s done that. If it works out, then he’ll be all set.”

My performance lasted an hour and three-quarters. “Come, you are a great artist,” the master said to me.

Unforgettable demonstration of the registrateur. Moments after our arrival, Dupré led us to the organ: “Come, see the registrateur…” The installation was complete, and the master had waited for us before trying it out for the first time. Technical explanation; then he played us a transcription of [195] [Borodin’s] In the Steppes of Central Asia that he made with the registrateur in mind. Seeing how I looked, probably stupefied, Dupré said to me:

“You understand what this means, don’t you… finally, its inauguration. I have waited thirteen years for this day. In 1930, I spent 27,000 francs and got nowhere. This here is a gift. Bozeau said to me, ‘Let me give it to you as a birthday present!’ He didn’t get it wrong: yesterday, May 3^rd, it was here.” The registrateur was permanently installed yesterday.

MD: “All that remains, now, is to see whether, with this ‘device’ I shall open a new path for the organ or be the cause of its downfall.” I asked the master to explain what he meant.

MD: “I am forced to create a new style. What will this style be? Will people follow me?…”

Me: “Those who will have understood will follow you; the others will [simply] be incapable of writing [for it].”

MD: “That sketch of a few measures that I made: you were favorably impressed by it?”

Me: “Yes, Master; I remember it: in at least 7 voices, in alto clef, sostenuto, coupures.^[178]

MD: “That’s the style I’m going to write in. I expect to receive a volley of insults! They’ll think I’m crazy. [196] Let’s keep this to ourselves for a while. It’s more peaceful when one does not say anything to anyone, isn’t it? That’s the only way of accomplishing anything.”

Dupré talked a lot about the future, mingling together the projects we have in common. The unveiling of his registration system seems to have increased his own energy. It’s always the same confidence in the future. Again, he said to us: “After the war, I must be the first to leave on a grand tour, so that I can get in touch with all my friends who will open doors. What has become of them?…”

I asked the master for the 7^th Étude, which he had taken back from me.

“I don’t know yet if I will keep it,” he told me.

Me: “What do you mean, Master?”

MD: “When you don’t want to keep something, you destroy it, or throw it in the waste basket. I’ll see if I can keep it.” But M^me Dupré reassured us.

MD: “I have some ideas for the 11^th. I don’t have any for the 12^th.”

Again, Dupré recommended to us that we divert public curiosity away from me.

MD: “… aside from St-Sulpice and St-Esprit. There, the people who listen to her playing a work, or who hear her improvise say to themselves: ‘Of course, she’s [197] a pianist… she composes… she has all the first prizes. And that’s all. They cannot understand, as long as we don’t wake them up to the fact, even when they see you play… magnificently.”

Between two other bits of conversation, the master said to M^me Dupré:

“How well she carries herself, this child! And her technique that takes care of itself! If only Widor heard her…”

On my next program, the orchestral transcriptions, which will have a double ending.^[179] Speaking of his concerto, the master said: “We will arrange it so that you have all the material. You’ll need it for your travels.”

At the end of this memorable day, Dupré accompanied us back to the station [where] he explained to me the organization of one of his tours.^[180]

 

Sunday 16 May 1943

At St-Philippe-du-Roule with Jean Gallon. We had arranged to meet and chatted for a half hour after Vespers. Always the same in his ideas and in his warm and friendly manner.

He questioned me concerning my inactivity. “You’re not giving a concert at St-Esprit one of these days? At Chaillot?”

He talked to me about composition, trying to learn my intentions for the Rome Prize. [198] Knowing nothing, he was, evidently, urging me to get moving, to come out of seclusion. As he is so well acquainted with me, he was astonished.

JG: “You needed a warm atmosphere in the composition class. You were right. Your personality is so strong that it would be better for us if you did not change.

JG: “But ultimately, you’re not going to stay at St-Esprit forever?”

Me: “Yes, I am. Why do you ask…?”

JG: “Well, you need, if I may dare say, to advance as an organist! That’s what’s normally in order when one is a Jeanne Demessieux…”

Me: “The war, you know… and I’m quite attached to St-Esprit.”

JG: “That’s very touching; you began there when you were very young. How old are you?”

Me: “Twenty-two.”

JG: “Yes. Well, I believe that after the war we’re going to be brought up to date on all the hidden talent, of church organists and of women artists just as much as men.”

Seeing Jean Gallon distraught, I confided in him, without any emphasis, that Marcel Dupré sometimes invites me to play at St-Sulpice, and that this is of huge artistic benefit to me.

JG: “Ah, that’s good. Oh, really. Marcel [199] knows what he’s doing! He’s not mistaken.” This, at least, reassured him.

 

Sunday 23 May 1943

Received, on Tuesday, a letter from Grunenwald asking me to play at St-Sulpice today and suggesting Dupré’s program: the [Bach] chorale “Liebster Jesu” [BWV 633], Handel’s 3^rd concerto, an improvisation. He wondered if I had ever played or even heard this concerto. When I telephoned Grunenwald with my acceptance, he asked, in a sickly, sweet voice, “The program won’t bother you too much?” I let him persist in his ignorance while “reassuring” him.

The service: very assured. At 9:00 AM (High Mass), Bach’s Fugue in A minor. A handful of people, including an organist from Angoulême, a student of Dupré, who will be meeting him on June 6^th.* Postlude: Toccata on the Amen of the 3^rd Credo, proposed by him. He said to Papa that my “attack” is the same as Dupré’s.

At 11:15, M^me Dupré came to the gallery (she had promised me this, unsolicited). She was very happy, embraced me, greeted the members of her social circle, and spoke of me, saying, “a very brilliant student of M^r Dupré, who earned her prize two years ago.” [200]

In very good form in the improvisation. The Bach chorale being very short, I improvised, based on it, a few variations (3): 1^st, in 5 voices, with a 3-against-2-rhythm between the Cornet on the Récit and Pedal; 2^nd, trio on soft foundation stops and Nazards; 3^rd, ornamented chorale melody, 4 voices, on the mutations and 4’ Flutes. As the postlude, a 5-voice fugue on the chorale in a form dear to Marcel Dupré, in which, after stretti, the chorale is introduced in apotheosis, leading to the conclusion.

After the service, M^me Dupré appeared very solemn. “I’m so proud…,” she said to me. “Thank you for looking after the organ in such splendid fashion.” She also said to me that she is struck by the richness of my “colour.” I withdrew to the parlour, where, after she had greeted everyone else present, she joined me.

Mme D: “Now that we are alone, I want to tell you what the very musical gentleman said to me (this is someone who hadn’t approached me): “That young girl plays and improvises remarkably. One senses the school of M^r Dupré. Her improvisations have an idea, a sense of direction, and a structure!” And he added: “This isn’t like Grunenwald, [201] whose improvisations lack interest and continuity, and which have no structure.”

Such frankness disconcerted me. I’m discovering that M^me Dupré, as she gets to know me better and better, eschews all shilly-shallying with me. She left in a rush to catch her train.

At Vespers, I chatted with the always complimentary Robineau. Detail: a vicar wanted to know if it was I who was at the organ. One of the priests with whom I had organized a service turned up in the gallery and asked me to show him the organ, this being the first time he had seen the console. I asked him for a theme. This evening, Marthe Dramez.

 

* [Squeezed into the bottom margin:] Dupré has since recounted this interview many times, amusing himself by parodying the organist in question, who said, to his utter silence, “No, but really, I mean really, what in the world do we have here with this artist?” [Mais, qu’est-ce que c’est, non mais qu’est-ce donc que cette artiste?]

 

Monday 24 May 1943

On the telephone, M^me Dupré was of the same mind as yesterday, exuding even more warmth. She said that she had given a long, descriptive letter to Marguerite, who left yesterday to meet her father in Toulouse.

Received a card from the master.

 

Friday 29 May 1943

Like every Friday, afternoon at Meudon with M^me Dupré. In the evening mail, two letters, from the master and from Marguerite. Swearing me to secrecy, [202] M^me Dupré read the letter from the master, who said he had played an entire recital on two keyboards due to a cipher that occurred at the start. With touching simplicity, he said that the listeners around him had been stupefied by his “tour de force.” M^me Dupré is very happy: Marguerite returns tomorrow.

Returning to Paris, I took around to Bornemann’s the proofs of the concertos, which he was urgently requesting.^[181]

 

Sunday 6 June 1943

Played at St-Sulpice. At High Mass, Bach’s Fugue in C minor (Fantasia). Postlude: an improvised Toccata. At 11:15 AM, “An Wasserflüssen Babylon” [BWV 653] and Prelude and Fugue in G major [BWV 541] by Bach. Improvised the Adagio and Allegro of a symphony on the hymn and the chorale.^[182]

Lots of people, including M^r and M^me Descombes, M^r Laurent, M^r Meunier, M^r Guerner, and the engineer M^r [—],^[183] who was passing through Paris and came with M^r Descombes. An unexpected and providential meeting between us. M^r [—], whose name was very familiar to us in Montpellier, was part of a jury for a competition at the [Montpellier] Conservatory, where he adjudicated me. Having since followed me in my studies and having heard my name spoken during his stay in Paris, he wanted [203] to meet me; he chose this day at St-Sulpice. A very distinguished man, on first impression. He asked me some questions and said that he is going to mention me to Le Boucher and in Montpellier (he went down to listen to the organ).

I was very pleased with how the services went and felt in very good form. During the entire recital, everyone around me kept quiet. All the people on chairs around the console had their gaze riveted on me. I managed to remain detached. After the Mass, as I organized the books, M^r Laurent burst out, hardly able to find the words “to express the inexpressible!” Behind him, M^r Guerner was his opposite, gruffer than ever:

“I came expressly to hear you. That was admirable.”

Me: “Thank you.”

“Why? For what? It is we who should thank you. These were unforgettable moments.”

Also present were Marthe Dramez, Mireille Auxiètre and, at Vespers, M^me Meunier (always with people around her).

 

Friday 11 June 1943

M^me Dupré had forgotten that I was to play at St-Sulpice on the 6^th (a date arranged such a long time ago that I hadn’t dared to remind her). She told me she was “furious” [204] with herself for having neglected to come. The master returned yesterday.

 

Sunday 13 June 1943

At Vespers at St-Sulpice. (This morning, my parents beside the master, Maman was received like a “queen.”) I had planned to meet up with M^r and M^me Dupré and, individually, we each made our way on foot to St-Sulpice during an untimely alert.

The master recounted to me his conversation with Casals, who counseled him against accepting any more concert-a-day tours owing to the fatigue caused. Casals heard him play.

 

Thursday 17 June 1943

Organ lesson. Five Handel concertos, the two sinfonias by Bach,^[184] and Dupré’s ninth and tenth Études from memory. Nothing to say about the Études and the [sinfonias from the] cantatas. As for the concertos, he drew out from them the idea of the grandiose, saying to me that “what is written is only a framework.”

MD: “I double, I embellish, I make use of the pedal. As long as one retains the harmonies.”

He spoke to me of a recital of the 10^th concerto at the Crystal Palace with 500 strings and a huge brass section.^[185]The impression he gave me was gripping. He stopped: [205] “I don’t need to tell you anything more; you’re there.”

Dupré played some passages for me that I immediately replayed. We got down to the nitty-gritty of searching out different touches. All his secrets are up to date.

MD: “Here’s what I do. You understand?” I knew right away. He “pushed” me to the maximum, as if testing my limits.

MD: “Not tired?”

The sense of direction and the suppleness of my playing were absolute; my hands were tired by these movements, but I dare say that we, Dupré and I, sensed that no technical secret separated us anymore. I can do nothing more than await that tremendous moment in which it [the technique] really seems to be exclusively mine. The master attempted to give me his opinion: “I’m always saying the same thing to you…? But I cannot do otherwise.”

“I am going to set myself to practicing the organ. (I’ll put together a file folder for myself.) After the [organ] competition, I’ll be as free as the breeze; I’ll finish the Études, and I’ll be able to practice them.” Concerning Handel, Dupré also said to me: “I quite like Handel. I find that he’s the only one within striking distance of [206] Bach. He didn’t always take the trouble to write as much, but his capabilities were solid!” On performing the concertos: “They must be performed as if they are being improvised.”

MD: “When at the organ, always think of yourself as a preacher in the pulpit, teaching the Word. In foreign countries, one has the role of an ambassador.”

Dupré continued to recommend that I stay in isolation, “although there are some intelligent people who are beginning to worry: Berveiller, Guerner… In response, I only say to them, ‘That’s nice’; if I say nothing more, they will say no more…”

The master told me of his visit to Orléans where he was the guest of the bishop (Joseph Bonnet’s uncle). Monsignor Courcoux presided over his concert and, in private, made Dupré somewhat uncomfortable by speaking very freely about his nephew.

At the beginning of the afternoon, I had taken my lesson with M^me Dupré (2 hours), during which the master practiced for the inauguration of the organ at Rouen Cathedral.

In parting, we chatted together: “There are some moments in life that one does not like to recall,” [207] said Dupré.

He also said about me: “You know, when she is 27, she can rest.” M^me Dupré” “Rest? But do you rest?” MD: “She’s moving forward more quickly than I am.”

Me: “There’s no comparison: you didn’t have as much assistance, and I have been greatly assisted. You didn’t have the editions [of the organ repertoire]; I have an instrument at home and the right atmosphere. You have built the repertoire all the way to the registration system.”

MD: “Yes, there’s something to be said for that.”

Me: “In any case, you still have at least two great works to compose.”

Mme Dupré: “And even then, you will go on to invent something else—what, I don’t know, but you won’t leave it at that.”

Mme Dupré: “It’s [Jeanne’s] first Paris concert that I can hardly wait for!”

MD: “For me, it’s America that is especially important! Paris is just for the publicity.” And further, MD: “Your virtuosity is going to be as much a revelation as that of Kempff when he played the Beethoven concertos in Paris, with this difference: he was 50, and you are 20. As for the trips and the commercial aspects, M^me Dupré will take charge of them in due time.”

 

[208] Tuesday 22 June 1943

Concert of works by Messiaen, Salle Gaveau. The Poèmes pour Mi, the grand [Visions de l’] Amen, an excerpt from the Quartet for the End of Time. An introductory lecture. Commentaries on the works almost as lengthy as the works themselves. I was very tired when I left the concert.

I’ve refrained from taking sides, being disgusted with the polemics. (My non-involvement in the “Messiaen case” scandalizes all the hotheads.) I can’t help doubting the sincerity of this music, which is more philosophy than music. And this [kind of] philosophy irritates me; I have my century’s horror of mysticism, which seems false and smacks of paganism.^[186] As I see it, use of an abstract language to preach moral laws or religious dogma is either an outrage or heresy. Anything is possible with abstraction. That’s the totality of Messiaen. As a result, those who would follow him cannot end up with anything other than nothingness. His music? There were two times in this concert in which I thought I perceived musical momentum, beauty, moderation. The large ensemble seemed all the same to me, formulaic (Messiaen’s formulas). [209] The dense, vertical writing absolutely suffocated me; by this, I’m not speaking of his endless melancholy melodies, which have nothing to do anymore with counterpoint. In the last Amen, the high-pitched counterpoint was a relief.

Detail: Messiaen appeared on the stage to play (and this was in the evening) in unusually colourful attire, with a blue shirt with turned down collar(!). They gave him sustained applause.

In summary: too many notes; I miss Mozart.

 

Friday 25 June 1943

At the Trocadéro: Beethoven Festival with Wilhelm Kempff. Polished playing, perfect, full of musicality. Astonishing ease. More “extraordinary” than Gieseking. A show-off personality-wise, but a great virtuoso.

Wednesday 30 June 1943

Telegram from Meudon. Dupré asked me to come and play my recital today instead of tomorrow, having explained his important obstacle. They were expecting me as early as possible. I arrived by road without being sure that my parents would be able to come.^[188] Papa was in the city. Consternation at Meudon. We deliberated. I wanted to play without waiting, but they [210] wouldn’t hear of it. As I was to be at St-Esprit at 8:30 PM, we decided to postpone the recital.

The master said to M^me Dupré: “We are going to talk about future programs. And then I can chat with her; it’s been a long time since we chatted together. What I want to say to her is now crystal clear.” And when I felt some scruples in the face of the many hours the master was planning to devote to me, he said to me: “Talking to you is never a waste of my time.” First Dupré planned some programs, then he asked me what modern composers I would like to play. As I only have faith in Dupré’s works, I responded:

“I will only play you.”

MD: “They all disappoint you that much?”

Me: “Their music all sounds the same…”

MD: “Ah! You think so?… That’s interesting.”

Me: “One has too many colours, another has too many rhythms… I’m not talking about Messiaen, who has a personal style of his own.”

MD: “Have you heard any of his music recently?”

Me: “Yes, I was at the concert eight days ago.”

MD: “So, tell me what you thought.”

Me: “I couldn’t really judge from where I was sitting… I’m critical of his opaque harmonies, his lack of counterpoint, [211] his formulas. His rhythms are obviously creative.”

MD: “Yes, although somewhat unstable.”

Me: “He’s a philosopher, and he uses music like a language to proclaim his theories. That’s all fine and well in philosophy, but not in music, because it’s simply not musical. Wagner was a philosopher, but he made use of poetry; he was both poet and musician. His music on its own is music.”

MD: “His ideas on religion?”

Me: “Mysticism… it’s in fashion now. It’s all people talk about. In fact, it’s all a mask for paganism. Messiaen regards Christ’s passion and bird song as two equal sources of inspiration.”

MD: “One cannot reproach him as not being sincere in his faith; he’s a good fellow.”

Me: “He is certainly sincere, but no one can follow. In other words, is it possible to start with his example and go somewhere else? Can one use his style as a jumping off point?”

MD: “No! Exactly. Yet he has a legion of fans around him. Admitting that Messiaen is Messiaen, those who follow him will drag music along with them. He’s [212] dangerous. He made the big mistake of building a doctrine around himself and, especially, the mistake of proclaiming it. First, it becomes impossible for him to reinvent himself: he’s painted himself into a corner. Second, people who hear him say, ‘St. John the Evangelist and me’ think ‘Here’s a man of the stature of St. John the Evangelist’; he treats him as an equal.”

After we had exchanged viewpoints on various subjects, Dupré brought up the big topic. His plan was to talk to me about composition and to follow up on our conversation of October 20, 1941. I have not been able to retain more than some short, fleeting sentences from this sublime conversation. The master proceeded systematically, searching, every so often, for a sign of agreement. He spurred my intelligence to a higher level than ever before. He chose the strongest figures of speech to convey his emotional meaning.

“Music is a perfume,” he said to me; “To get hold of a perfume, just for a single drop: that’s what composition is like. To discover two beautiful measures is rare; it’s a perfume…” [213] Recalling our discussion of themes, I questioned this with great interest:

“You would find everything of substance in two measures?”

MD: “You’ve said it.” He gave me a dozen, striking examples on the piano.

MD: “There is a mystery in every act of creation that no one truly understands, a mystery as perplexing as the Incarnation and less visible. We are compelled to attribute it to God. Has it happened to you in improvisation that you find under your fingers something ‘different’ than you were intending to play? Something that made you want to write it down?”

Me: “Yes.”

MD: “Me too… This proves that you are a composer.”

As a master and without hesitation, Dupré sketched out the subtleties of [artistic] sensibility. MD: “To write a work, you have to ‘want’ to write it. After some time has passed, sometimes without the least volition, you have the theme. Then there are hesitations and worries, nonstop. The work may present itself in isolated, unconnected fragments. Later you will sense their relationships. It must please you, without you seeking to be pleasing. You must [214] be demanding. As in poetry, there must not be any padding, not even in a hemistich.”^[189] He cited Corneille, Racine, Albert Samain.^[190]

MD: “An emotion can lead you to discovery; [but] it’s no certainty. It is not enough to be in a state of grace; that would be too easy. So, you must ask yourself, ‘What is it?’”

I asked the master permission to pose a question, just between the two of us.

MD: “I’m the one who asks only to enlighten you. [And] you know very well that when we chat it is just between us two.”

Me: “Does it ever happen that you spend hours (or minutes) without finding anything?”

MD: “Not just hours, but entire days! When I’ve written six measures in a day, I am happy. Sometimes I pace around this room!… It is only here that I can write. Here I’m left alone. During these times, I make use of all sorts of stimulants (natural ones!), a book, a score; I take a walk in the garden, or I improvise. You see! The older I get, the more harrowing composition becomes for me (it takes me a fortnight to write one Étude) and the less I [215] feel as if I’m a composer. Perhaps that’s because I am less gifted than others.”

Me: “Master!”

MD: (“It’s you who asked me to talk about myself…) That’s what they all seem to be saying; perhaps they’re right. Let’s return to you.”

After having explained to me how he worked and having told me that no one had ever seen his manuscripts, Dupré further developed his idea of the aesthetics of composition and affirmed that this aesthetic is the only productive one. As the culmination of our conversation, he summed up his point:

“… The only composition lesson that one can possibly teach is this one: see the world with emotion; love; love your music so that others love it; that’s the sum total of it. We are far removed from the composition class…” He gave me some models.

MD: “Here are the composers I love: Handel and Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, Schubert, Mendelssohn, I admit, Schumann, Chopin, whom I adore, Liszt, Wagner, whom I adore. These are the ten gods of Olympus!” And Dupré added [216] (I wouldn’t dare write these lines were it not for the sake of authenticity and guided by absolute trust): “I’m speaking to the composer: I know you have something to say! I can’t wait to see what your approach to composition will be, how you will see the organ…” Dupré seemed moved.

It was 6:30 PM, and I was getting ready to return to Paris, where I had to be at St-Esprit at 8:00. I embraced M^me Dupré and, just as I was leaving accompanied by the master, my parents arrived, having wanted, at the very least, to greet the Duprés. I was compelled to remain so that they could talk some more, and M^me Dupré made me… a delicious dinner. Dupré said to Maman:

“When we converse, I talk to her as I do to a man. I’ve planted a seed in her mind that will develop and grow.”

They accompanied us back as far as the station, and Dupré said to me again: “When it comes right down to it, composition is a matter of [thought] crystallization.”

 

Tuesday 13 July 1943

Ninth recital at Meudon. Five [217] concertos by Handel: Nos. I, II, III, IV, X;^[191] sinfonias from Bach’s Cantatas Nos. 146 and 29. Perfect equilibrium. The technical progress that I spontaneously achieved in front of Dupré on June 17 has now acquired ease, as has a grandiose conception of the concertos. I, myself, was impressed with the tenth. The Gavotte of the 3^rd, transcribed with the counterpoint in the pedal, went just as I wanted (without rehearsal, my having learned it since my last lesson).

Marcel Dupré is infinitely happy. M^me Dupré could not stop repeating, “It’s unbelievable.” “What mastery!” the master said. M^me Dupré and Marguerite embraced me.

I was not tired, but we went into the parlour where I relaxed for a good while. Lively conversation, very friendly, during which the master was at his most natural.

MD: “In my opinion, the best performer (and he doesn’t come close to her) is Litaize.”

“They’re not in the same class,” said M^me Dupré. Dupré spoke again of his friends in foreign countries that he is counting on. Then he said in my direction, in a low voice, this sentence that I scarcely dare to jot down: “This time, you have surpassed me.” Faced with such generosity, [218] I hardly dared to protest.

I asked about the Études; “He’s working on the eleventh,” said M^me Dupré. The master, apologizing for this, spoke of me with great insistence, saying that he holds dear what we have built together, and uniquely so.

Around 8:00 PM, Dupré accompanied us back as far as the train and embraced all of us. “Ah, I am proud of you!” he said to me.

At the beginning of the afternoon, I had my hour-and-a-half-long lesson with M^me Dupré; next we had afternoon tea in the garden, after which I set up my registrations on the organ and chatted with the master. He spoke to me about Rolande Falcinelli, bringing me up to date in his role as “watchman.” Dupré said to me,

“We shall organize a little trip to Rouen so that you may play all the beautiful instruments. We’ll do it by October [1943]. The matter is already arranged with the abbé Delestre of St-Ouen. The same for the [Rouen] Cathedral. We won’t go to St-Godard so as not to raise the alarm with Beaucamp.”

Talking about modern organs, Dupré decided: “You know, I’m going to take Perroux into my confidence, and he’ll do everything I want: when he tunes [219] the organ of the American Church,^[192] I will ask him to take you with him. You will play the instrument for him like any ordinary person, and you can try out the controls, being careful not to improvise anything that would allow someone to recognize you. You’ll dress down so as to attract less attention.”

And, speaking of [other] organists, Dupré again said: “From a technical point of view, no one has either your hands or your ankles… or your memory.”

 

Friday 23 July 1943

Afternoon at Meudon. All happiness, M^me Dupré welcomed me, exclaiming: “All the Études are complete! M^r Dupré finished the 12^th before lunch today! He is in the process of copying it.” We went up to work in the office without disturbing the master, whom we caught sight of sitting at his organ. But, almost immediately, he burst in. “Ah, so you know!” he said to me when I applauded him for the Études. He was happy, entirely without affectation. The three of us chatted for a moment.

Mme Dupré: “She’s done no work for me because she learned 19 [Bach] chorale [prelude]s from memory in seven [220] days… she has done seven hours every day since Monday.”

MD: “What!…” Amazement. (Among these chorales are some that I sight-read at St-Esprit on Sunday.) Then Dupré scolded me:

“Aren’t you afraid of causing yourself a mental breakdown? … with such a regime? I forbade you from doing more than six hours. And all these chorales? I know full well that you are capable of it… But, all the same!!” (I hung my head, just as I used to when Jean Gallon gave me a stern assessment [note carrée] in class.) Parenthetically, the scene was priceless: M^me Dupré, looking delighted, could barely keep from laughing, and the “boss,” sitting there on his desk in his little beret and his slippers, gazed at me as if I were the Egyptian sphinx. I was to play for the master that evening. But, for the moment, the conversation was happy and keen. M^me Dupré finally had to say to the master:

“So, when are you going to let us get down to work?”

MD: “Fine, fine, I’ll leave you…,” but the master returned several times.

Mme D: “You two haven’t finished yet? You still won’t let her go? You will send her to me.”

I played the chorales for Dupré, who commented on them. From the Ten Commandments, we moved on to Moses.^[193]

MD: “Perhaps the greatest man ever to exist. [221]; a legal expert. The king of dictators, in fact!” I cannot reproduce his commentary, on every chorale; it was so full of poetry and truth, and particularly suggestive with regard to the first of the 6 transcriptions.^[194]

MD: “So, why are you in a hurry? To write?…” This question was a mere beginning and Dupré seized upon it. I know the master’s ideas on teaching composition as they relate to his scholastic endeavors, but I have long wondered why he has not shared his teaching plans with me, particularly those that involve me. Today, I asked him about these, insisting that he be candid.

MD: “I’m going to get you a letter that I wrote yesterday (to a young engineer) who asked me to tell him my thoughts on ‘inspiration.’ There you will find the answer to your question.”

I recognized, in this letter, a summation of Dupré’s teaching. In the manner of an epigraph, he quoted: “The spirit blows where and when it will.” Not the response I had fearfully asked for. I remained silent.

Then, Dupré launched into a conversation that touched, once again, on the sublime and that frightened my musical sensibilities [222], just like every time someone draws attention to my gifts.

MD: “I cannot tell you more. I simply don’t know.” The message was frighteningly high-flown. “Look straight ahead. Search yourself; examine yourself in the mirror, metaphorically speaking; thereby, your music will resemble you. Dream harmonically. Write in the light, through a prism; write in the sun! Listen to me carefully: delicate colours are shimmering to the eye; it’s something else again to see them in a watercolour; it’s even more beautiful to see some sweet peas. So, choose the sweet peas. Rossini gets on my nerves, but Mozart is sublime. And Schumann? Chopin can turn inside out the one who knows how to see it.”

The master beckoned to M^me Dupré to come embrace me, then, while accompanying me to the station, he continued.

MD: “When they hear your music, they will say, ‘What? This frail little girl…? just as they do when they hear you [play]. It will be evident to everyone that you have a robust mind. Do you think that the child Mozart worried about writing explanatory remarks? His father and sister said to him, ‘That’s very good,’ and he walked on, [223] his head held high. Were you like that when you were little? I, myself, was searching. Write the way you want and pay attention to no one!”

We were so immersed in the subject that the train arrived in the station… while, still on our way there, Dupré continued: “(To find)… that’s a matter of coincidence. When I speak of drops of condensation falling, one by one, at the moment when one least expects it, that is inspiration.” And, suddenly: “Your train! Do you want to run? No, no! No sprain[ed ankles].”

The master wanted me to return to the house. But for 20 minutes?

MD: “I’ll stay with you. I deserve a break after finishing the Études! Let’s continue.”

Leaning on the parapet of the bridge, I sensed that we reached Beethovian philosophy, higher than Wagnerian ideas on compositional aesthetics. We arrived at this definition: “All is life.”

What I have faithfully reproduced here of this conversation, like for the others, is but a tenth of it. We decided that I will show my work to the master, sketches or works in progress, as [224] I wish.

I left with the manuscript of the 11^th Étude. Concerning the 12^th, so freshly completed, Dupré said to me: “I’m not leaving it with you because I haven’t yet played it for M^me Dupré. I believe I still write with too much haste.” The master also spoke to me about his composition projects, all yet to be defined.

 

Friday 30 July 1943

At Meudon. Afternoon in the garden with M^me Dupré. Intimate and gay; radiant weather. The master was working on the transcription of Balakirev’s Islamey for piano and organ in the organ room. Visits back and forth, eating in the garden together. I did some composing this week. Both of them impatient, they made me promise to bring my sketches on Thursday. Dupré had me talk about my ideas on composition. Talk of the registrateur that Islamey would perhaps reveal.

MD: “I’m only a third of the way through and I’m already up to the 37^th combination!”

As for me, in the Fugue on Bach’s name* that I’m writing, it was indispensable to me, quite unintentionally, to have made a cut in the pedal, to produce what I had really been hearing. Dupré is delighted that I have taken flight. His idea is that the huge advances he has brought to the organ will open the door for me [225] to all kinds of compositional daring. Dupré told me that he had heard R[olande] F[alcincelli], and brought me up to date. He passed the manuscript of the 12^th and 7^th Études on to me and gave me the list of their definitive order.

Did not see Marguerite, who was in Paris.

 

* [Squeezed into the bottom margin:] This was only a sketch I decided to abandon.

 

Thursday 5 August 1943

The entire afternoon at Meudon. The Duprés were all together and when, upon my arrival, they gathered before me, I told them my fear of intruding on their privacy: “This is your home,” the master said to me. It was decided that I would work first with Dupré, who was expecting Berveiller at 6:00 PM, and then with M^me Dupré. I left at 7:30.

Dupré immediately asked me for my sketch. As I played it, he followed avidly and said to me: “It’s rich. It’s more evolved and full of promise. There are some runs that are very fine; it’s expansive. You wanted to experiment with B-A-C-H and have treated it in an interesting fashion. I find, beginning here, something warmer and that ‘takes off.’” With his luminous insight, [226] Dupré put his finger on the first measure of the fragment written over the last fortnight, all the preceding having been written around 8 months ago. I told him this, and his response was: “I sense that you are in the process of discovering. As for me, all I want is to help you become yourself again.”

I played 4 chorales, to which we decided to add the Gloria in G.^[195] Then we chatted. The master opened my portfolio:

“I think very highly of statistics, as I do of everything that is organized. Methods used in industry adapted to artistic concerns give the best results. We must not do ourselves what we can have done for us.” He told me he wanted to complete the documentation that he had jotted down upon questioning me when I was first introduced to him, and he made notes. We scheduled the recital for the 18^th [of August].

MD: “After that, here are my plans: we will go to Rouen during the first few days of September. We usually stay one day, but we’ll stay two and take you with us. M^me Dupré and I have decided on this little trip. You need not worry about anything: our places are reserved; you will take your meals and sleep at the house, [227] where Aunt Jeanne will welcome you with open arms. The abbé Delestre is looking after the organ issue. I am going to bring him completely into our confidence: I have my reasons for doing that. He will be our foremost ally. He’s a priest, and he has proven to me that he knows how to keep a secret. I want him to hear you and, especially, to see you play. You will play one or more Études for him, though it will suffice to hear you play ‘an’ Étude to know who you are. We’ll wait a while yet before bringing Jean Gallon in on the secret: no one in Paris!” He added: “This isn’t a vacation; this trip will be an experience.”

The transcription of Islamey for organ with registrateur and piano is finished. Marcel Dupré has decided to write a work for small orchestra and organ. He is practicing the Études.

 

Friday 13 August 1943

Afternoon at Meudon. Marguerite greeted me in the garden where we chatted a little. “My father is working; enter this way directly.” The room opens onto the garden. I entered, and the master turned around [228] after a moment. He was at the organ, surrounded by his cushions and playing an Étude.

MD: “Ah, you’re here! I have my hands full with my Études, and I almost regret having written them. In the D minor, have you found the fourths in the pedal difficult?”

Me: “Very difficult, but possible.”

MD: “One has no point of support…”

Me: “What I find the most difficult, and lacking any point of support, is the restatement in the B-flat minor Étude; just starting to conquer this caused me a lot of trouble.”

M^me Dupré arrived, and I rushed over to her. They had just received Maman’s invitation to the birthday.^[196] They accepted and are quite pleased.

The trip to Rouen is set for Sept. 2. We talked about it, then talked some more. “The old house” is waiting for me,^[197] and M^me Dupré is planning a tight schedule in order that I might play all the beautiful instruments. Of the abbé Delestre, “It will be a very good thing for him to get to know you.”

I worked with M^me Dupré until nearly 5 PM; then she told me to see the master for a moment. He was composing. Manuscripts everywhere (during the afternoon, we heard two repetitions of a long passage, fast, played on piano, whose sound wafted over to us). The master placed one in front of me. I scarcely dared glance at it, and a phrase came to my mind: [229] “I destroy all my manuscripts.”

MD: “When I get to that point… I feel myself beginning to become ‘Bubu’: I’m as broke as he is.^[198] What have you done this week?”

Me: “A lot of work. And I wrote… 4 measures.”

MD: “Ah! You have them here? Quick, show them to me.” I played them on the organ and played them again. Dupré was very “taken.”

MD: “You know… continue: you are on the right track!” He became pensive.

The tea tray awaited us and M^me Dupré came to get us. We talked technique.

MD: “I’ve tried the restatement in the B-flat minor (Étude); it doesn’t seem too difficult to me, although I find the D minor dreadful. And for you it’s the opposite; that’s funny.”

Dupré believes that the weight of the individual can hinder or facilitate movements to the left and the right on the pedals. I disagreed and told him so. And so will we likely carry on. Concerning the composition of the Études, this is of interest:

MD: “You will excuse me (!), I’ve cut some measures. I believe this will not be too bothersome to memorize. For the piece, I believe it’s all the better if it is concise. The idea is to omit the unnecessary.” Struck by desire to protest and, simultaneously, to yield, I looked at M^me Dupré who, half resigned, said to me:

“What’s essential is that [230] you have the original version.” Before I could speak, the master said to me:

“Do you not find that the other day’s sketch is more flexible? This one is very notated.” He was hesitant. Thinking it best, I asked him to tell me, straight out, what he meant.

MD: “If I appear hesitant to you, lacking in precision, it’s because… I’m hesitating. The only composition lesson that I can give you is to help you search for your own harmony. As for the craft, you know it as well as I.”

I returned to Paris with M^me Dupré, who [in conversation] was very expansive. We got off at Montparnasse due to an alert; then, the alert finished, we parted, and I went on foot as far as St-Sulpice.

 

Wednesday 18 August 1943

My 10^th recital at Meudon.^[199] The anniversary of my beginning being August 21, I have accomplished the ten steps in two years, exactly, with the following averages: 1^st year—4 recitals (1 every three months), 2^nd year—6 recitals (1 every two months). According to Marcel Dupré’s wishes, I still have two recitals to go: one recital of his works, including the concerto; one Mendelssohn recital and some miscellaneous works and works from the Anthology.

Lesson with M^me Dupré; then the master got the [231] organ running, and my parents arrived around 5:00 PM while I was relaxing in the garden chatting with the master and M^me Dupré.

During the concert, I had to change my registration several times because of some malfunctions, which gave me [a sense of] calm. Very pleased.

My audience was enthusiastic.  After the “Our Father,”^[200] Dupré said,

“What a mind!” and at the end of the recital: “There: this child’s tenth recital! And what a recital! You played for an hour and 55 minutes without the least difficulty, and with such authority!…” The master embraced me.

MD: “You are an artist—do you believe…?”

Me: “Yes, I believe!… I believe in God, yes.”

M^me Dupré and Marguerite were very moved and, for whatever reason, wished me to rest. We moved into the parlour, and Dupré drew from my portfolio the statistics for my ten programs, which he announced proudly (the lesson in which I played Évocation was mentioned particularly), and this long list suddenly had a certain effect on me.

We spoke of Rouen. The abbé Delestre is privy to our plans. It has been decided that Dupré would prefer to invite him to Meudon around Sept. 20, [232] to hear me play the Études. After the Paris recital series, he plans to organize a series at Rouen, to double the impact.

We parted in joy, and Dupré walked us back to the station and embraced us. He is full of confidence.

 

Sunday 22 August 1943

In the gallery at St-Esprit, M^r Provost suggested to me that at his house he introduce me to Norbert Dufourcq, asking me to set a day. I accepted in principle, and to buy myself time, I set aside ten days for myself. According to Provost, Norbert Dufourcq is going to invite me to play in Chaillot next year, having already invited Marie-Louise Girod and some others.

Provost is a very enigmatic “man of the world,” who is unable to deliver an outright compliment, and said to me after an improvisation, “What good form you are in, today!”

This afternoon at 3:00, we received M^r and M^me Marcel Dupré and Marguerite. The anniversary of the beginning of our collaboration was just yesterday. Unforgettable day in which our confidence in each other was limitless and matched by the most beautiful friendship.

We met them at the subway.^[201] Upon [233] greeting them, we learned that Dupré had not been able to give his recital at Troyes Cathedral on Friday because of the state of the organ. The bishop and the audience were present. It was the first time ever that Dupré had refused to play. We could tell that he was appalled. The master said to me,

“I triumphed over Norbert Dufourcq yesterday at the Commission for Les Invalides:^[202] it will be Gloton, not Gonzalez. Dufourcq was beside me; he was speechless. It was difficult.”

The general conversation, which lasted until 9:00 PM, was all focused on future projects, which, increasingly, are becoming shared projects for all three of us. No [specific] planning in this conversation; the time flew by. Like my parents, I was struck by Marcel Dupré’s “ferocious” energy concerning tactics and strategies for launching [my career]. He revealed his connections to us, and the reasons for his trust [in them]. He is ready to prevail over every intrigue, to stand up (in a manner of speaking) with all the strength that he didn’t have for himself. “The sleeping lion has awoken,” we said. A few sentences addressed to me:

MD: “There’s the possibility that the first person you will play for will be the . . .”^[203] He had already asked me to continue keeping our current collaboration a [234] secret, to avoid fallouts with his students and leave him free to express his opinion about me—to make it known to them. MD: “I would even ask you to help me get them on my side; they don’t need to know what I’ve done for my favourite student.” And he added, “There is one, who, when you debut, will be the first to turn his back on me, to envy you; that person will have good reason: it’s Jean-Jacques (Grunenwald).

Me: “I would have thought he’d be the last…!”

MD: “No. He’ll be the first.” Dupré’s manner was cold, and he stopped there, the way he always does to make me aware of serious matters.

MD: “I ‘debuted’ one year too early; I had to, even though I wasn’t ready. If you debuted at Easter, you would be ready.” He maintained that it’s no longer a question of my working again on improvisation—that in two conversations we’ll do six months of work, that he has nothing more to teach me, etc. I protested, and he appeared to be on the verge of anger.

“Even so, I want you to show her what must be done” said M^me Dupré.

I spoke about the morning’s Provost-Dufourcq business, without giving my [235] opinion. Dupré thought for a few seconds and then said to me,

“Maybe it’s time that you openly supported me… You are going to write the following to M^r Provost…” He summarized, but M^me Dupré said to us,

“You would do better to write your letter immediately.” They attached some importance to this action. I told them I had the impression that some wanted to force me to reveal myself or to take a stand, for I sense that people are vaguely suspicious of my projects.

From the beginning, the intimacy of this conversation was so intense that my parents undertook to confide in the master the story of our life, our origins, and our rise. This was delicately explained by Maman and solemnly accepted. We talked about the trip to Rouen, which we are looking forward to as a holiday, about Yolande, about the work Dupré is currently writing. In short, we lacked not for subjects of mutual interest, the conversation continuing strong even at 9:00 in the evening. We walked them back.

 

Monday 23 August 1943

I had M^r and M^me Dupré on the telephone. The master was very serious and said to me, “We conversed earnestly yesterday! I was moved. You are going to see [236] what your ‘debut’ will be: just like that, the floodgates will open, unleashing a torrent that submerges everything. Nothing will hold it back.”

 

Friday 27 August 1943

Afternoon at Meudon. M^me Dupré and Marguerite wanted to hear the Études that I was to play for the master. I played five of them, by heart, twice. This was virtually the first time they had heard the Études, the master having only practiced one of the five. They were delighted, and the master surprised even himself by saying, “They aren’t so bad, after all, as compositions.” In a joking mood, he made a pretense of hearing accordion (!!!) [sounds] in his music; in response to the general outcry, he continued his parody of the subject until 7:00 PM.

I feel, more and more, that I am mastering these Études; technique no longer holds me back, and Dupré finds my playing even cleaner. In light of their approval, I became so bold as to reveal some of my poetic impressions of the Études: I find a lively intensity in them, for which the F minor is archetypal. Of this one, I said to the master that one has to have heard the sound of millions of oscillating molecules in a forest to comprehend the independent nature of this writing.

M^me Dupré [237] and Marguerite left us, enthusiastically wishing us a good work session. We remained for two hours, working with fervour. Dupré asked my opinion on everything, [and] noted the tempos that we agreed upon after having experimented. The same for registrations.

Dupré asked me about my working process and confided in me concerning his own: he repeats each measure many times and perfects them one by one, whereas I work the whole with a metronome at a slow tempo.

MD: “From this point forward, our artistic destinies are so closely shared that to work with you or to work alone is the same thing for me. I occasionally find myself in the dark, as much about the organ as about composition.”

He was determined to remove some measures from the Étude in thirds; I dared to intervene:

“Wait, Master, it’s my playing that makes them sound monotonous.” And I replayed it in such a way that Dupré, though still indecisive, put off making the cut. This Étude, for which we have already tried so many things, became the object of new experiments in timbres, leaving us hesitating between the master’s version and mine, which he called a “stroke of inspiration.”

After I had replayed [238] the five Études many times, without the appearance of any physical weariness, Dupré took pity on me. He was extremely “proud.”

Upon my arrival, he’d said, “You are going to have to get used to the idea of being a very great artist.”

And now, “As far as initiation is concerned, you realize that what I can tell you, and you alone, about composition or the organ, would be nothing but gibberish for others. One goes about training a leader differently!  Only… I believe that one cannot be a great artist unless one has been trained by a great artist.” Dupré pronounced this last, significant phrase in an undertone.

Speaking of the Études, the master told me, “You have seen the vibrant side of the Études. I, too, have wished to see the bustling of life; but I fear that it sounds agitated, that everything moves too much at the same time…” Also, “You know the Étude in C?…  well, I wanted to tear it up. I said to myself, I must decide. Two days ago, I’d been looking at it, and then, yesterday… I kept it, all the same.” Dupré is a very bad judge of his own work. (I know this alternation, in creative work, between wild enthusiasm and discouragement.)

Ate together and [239] [worked] with M^me Dupré while the master composed.

Discussed how the Études will be received; Dupré very intrigued by my predictions.

The matter of the organ at Les Invalides was definitively settled yesterday.

 

Trip to Rouen

Thursday 2 September 1943. I met up with M^r and M^me Dupré in the café at St-Lazare train station; Marguerite joined us, and we made our way to the platform, where, to our surprise, Papa and Maman were waiting for us. We hugged and exchanged pre-emptive counsel, with recommendations to “Have a safe trip!” and “Take care of yourselves,” and then I departed on this great voyage of experience.

I was seated beside the master, and a conversation relaying the details of events of recent days began. They are worried about the Provost-Dufourcq business. I told them that Provost had had the audacity to come up to my gallery on Sunday, to invite me quite insistently to meet Norbert Dufourcq, which, once again and with the full approval of my parents, I managed to wiggle out of by [sending] a last-minute [message by] pneumatic [mail]. We made plans and Dupré gave me advice. For his part, the master shared with me that Dufourcq had tried to put a halt to the assigning of the Invalides organ to Gloton by launching an appeal to the archbishop.

“I have been played!” is what he [Dufourcq] said. This word sent us into gales of laughter. “He’s like a wounded tiger,” I said.

MD: “You’ll see the expressions on the faces of [240] all those people when we reveal ourselves; they’re being ‘played,’ that’s a fact!”

Dupré became my tour guide, detailing the trip to me. “I know this line,” he told me; “I did all my harmony and counterpoint while traveling it.”^[204] A delightful trip, during which I was moved by the generosity of all three and the circle of affection they are drawing ever closer around me.

We arrived at the station in Rouen at 7:00 in the evening, just as an alert ended. It was here that I made the acquaintance of Monsieur the abbé Delestre, who had come to meet us. With him were M^lle Chauvière and a young friend of theirs, Jean Yon, who is enamored with organs and organ building and has tuned the organs of St-Ouen and the cathedral in my honour. The abbé Delestre, a fine, imposing and determined man, began by making me understand, in a few words, that he knows his role and that Dupré thinks very highly of me.

They led me like a queen to the house,^[205] on the arm of M^me Dupré, while the master took note of the schedule for the next two days, drawn up by the abbé Delestre. We all entered the room. M^r and M^me Dupré were visibly moved (moreover, during these two days I have come to know them profoundly).

Me: “So much music made here!… How is it that the walls do not sing by themselves?”

“Improvise for us,” the master responded to me. I was [241] in very good form, and could feel the beating of my listeners’ hearts.

MD: “That is beautiful!… Beautiful!… Can you believe it, Father [l’Abbé]?”

Marguerite showed me to our adjoining rooms, our little apartment on the 2^nd floor; mine was the room looking out onto the street.

Then followed our first evening, where we stayed around the table until 11:30 PM: an intimate evening, during which conversation bounced around among us. The master, who appeared quite tired to me, made two or three melancholy statements; but after a signal from M^me Dupré, these were quickly brushed away, and we continued in utter cheerfulness. As always, I was seated to the right of the master, opposite M^me Dupré; to my right were M^lle Chauvière and Marguerite. They showed me photos and all sorts of treasures.

Another air raid alert amounted to nothing.

 

Friday 3 September 1943

I only slept five hours last night, thinking of the St-Ouen organ, and at daybreak I began studying the layout. Dupré had given me a glimpse of the striking impression I would have.

Around 8:30 AM, M^me Dupré popped into my room, gave me a hug, and left us our breakfast; I spent some delicious moments with Marguerite.

Then the master came to wish us a good morning and asked me to play the Études [242] for M^lle Chauvière. From memory, I played the 1^st, 4^th, 6^th, 10^th, and 12^th (referring to their definitive order). Dear Aunt Jeanne wept huge tears:

“Oh! To play Marcel’s music like that! I have never heard playing like that, like your master’s playing… And those little feet, Marcel: it’s as if they don’t even touch the pedals. She uses her ankles as if they were her wrists!” Afterwards, Dupré said to me, “Aunt Jeanne served as the subject of our experiment: you’ve seen the public’s reaction.”

Around 10:00 AM, the abbé Delestre called in for us to go to Saint-Ouen.^[206] Another air raid alert, which obliged us to take a huge detour to get to the church while steering clear of the police.

[Dupré’s student] Jean Yon was waiting for our little procession and had prepared the instrument.^[207] At the foot of the gallery, Dupré stopped:

“Father, what would be better: to show her right now the full power of the organ, in one fell swoop, or to bring it on gradually, in a long crescendo?… And you?”

Me: “I think I prefer the crescendo.”

JY: “Then let’s go; the honour is all yours, Mademoiselle!”

Me: “I can’t be the first to enter, Master… I am deeply moved.”

MD: “I want you to be the first to enter.” The master convinced me by giving me a little push; he was at least [243] as moved as I was.

It was a given that I must visit the inside of the organ, which immediately posed a problem: it necessitates climbing a ladder to the level of the next floor, and I suffer from vertigo. “I could never!” I said.

MD: “Then you won’t see the organ…” Some moments of inner turmoil, then,

“… All right, I’ll go up.” We conferred quickly, and Dupré decided he would climb behind me, Jean Yon in front.

The inside of the organ, with its windows, looked like a collection of rare museum items. The master explained everything to me in detail. His technical knowledge, and even his practical knowledge, concerning organ building are unbeatable. (With regard to Les Invalides, he told me, in confidence, of having discovered Beuchet’s ignorance. He [Dupré], himself, had to teach him the set-up of a cornet [stop] and dictate the combination to him. This fact had left him unpleasantly surprised.)

Dupré likes the interior arrangement of [the] St-Ouen [organ]. When the visit was over, we did the expedition again, in reverse; I wanted Jean Yon to go first and the master after me.

Then came the solemn moment for which we had been waiting so long; M^me Dupré, Marguerite, M^lle Chauvière, and the abbé Delestre were all present.

MD: “Take a seat on the bench, that’s [244] your place!” He seated himself at my left, the abbé at my right, and I began to improvise using quiet stops and solo stops (among the latter I found the lower register of the clarinet of the [–] to be particularly beautiful).^[208] During the dramatic rise of a crescendo, at the moment when I drew the chamades, the master and M^me Dupré did not fail to catch the reaction on my face. What Dupré had predicted to me had happened: dominated by the chamades, the tutti struck me; it was most certainly the wash of sonority, the dizzying sensation of which the master had spoken to me. Beneath my fingers, I rediscovered the warm lyricism of St-Sulpice and the fulfilment of the burning desire to sing [along] with full voice, which is, perhaps, [at] the core of my musical being. I concluded the grand final moment quite breathlessly, so to speak. I remember the silence that followed, which I was loathe to interrupt, and the scene around me: M^me Dupré, her eyes moist, the master, bowed, an indefinable expression on his face; the abbé Delestre, serene.

“It’s beautiful,” I said;

MD: “Ah! Yes, it’s beautiful!

Me: “And yet, you told me what to expect.”

Dupré wanted me to improvise some more and, with a kind of unwavering joy: “Father, [245] look how flexible and expansive her hands are on the manuals; she has Liszt’s hands, don’t you think? I’m reminded of a spider with long, fine legs, you know…?”

“There is but one thing I can tell you,” said the abbé Delestre to me. “You are a credit to your master.”

Improvising anew, I did some technical acrobatics, aiming for dialogue between the manuals, rapid chatter between timbres. I managed to play legato on two distant manuals and produced broken octaves between the Récit and the Bombard manual over pizzicato in the pedal. Starting with the abbé Delestre, everyone burst into laughter. MD: “Try everything you’d want; we have the time.”

I asked for permission to play the last movement of Évocation. The three of us registered it. At the first measures, Dupré sat up with a start and, profoundly touched, let slip: “Ah! It’s beautiful!” It felt exhilarating to exert power over the organ, at my very first opportunity, with this sublime composition.

MD: “Wonderful, my dear; wonderful… Do you believe [now] that she is my interpreter, Father?”

M^me Dupré drew me towards her and embraced me; M^lle Chauvière, in tears again, took my hands. These were unforgettable moments.^[209] I tried also some long

 

[246] fragments of Liszt’s great Fantasia [on “Ad nos, ad salutarem undam”], of Widor’s 6^th Symphony, of the toccata from Dupré’s 2^ème Symphonie, of Widor’s Toccata, in accordance with Dupré’s requests.ssssss

MD: “Do you remember that little thing of mine that you had worked on: F-G-A-B-flat-A-D…? Play it.” It was the Étude in B-flat [major] of which Dupré made many versions, because of his student Jean Yon.^[211] It has a dazzling clarity on the St-Ouen mutation stops. Amazement. The master’s student asked him the title, but Dupré kept this a secret from everyone. Before leaving the organ, I played Évocation again, then Dupré fulfilled the promise he had made to me that he would improvise. M^me Dupré and I positioned ourselves in the nave. It was infinitely moving; Dupré was sublime. So, that was my first contact with the organ of St-Ouen in Rouen.*

 

* Marcel Dupré speaking of the great organ of St-Ouen in Rouen: “I was a raised on the St-Ouen organ; St-Ouen ‘made’ me.”

 

We left the church around 1:00. Then a small incident occurred that it amuses me to record here. Our group dispersed, and we noticed that Dupré was hanging back with Jean Yon, as if they were in discussion. He caught up with us.

MD: “There is yet another who is beginning to understand!” and he imitated for us the Normandy dialect of his student, whose astonishment had not dulled his perceptiveness, and who had gone so far as to speak to Dupré about organizing [247] a concert [to be played by Demessieux]. Dupré had stopped him. “Come now! Allow me the pleasure of insisting that you hold your tongue and mind your business… Don’t speak too soon! I permitted you to come, you have seen her play, and now keep it to yourself: understood?… I do want her to debut, but she’ll debut when I want!” (I should say here that Jean Yon is one of the types of people who are devoted to Dupré, body and soul.) “They are pestering us, all of them!” said the master, secretly pleased; we had fun with this all the way back to the house.

A cheerful time at luncheon. Immediately afterwards, we were back on our way, heading for Bonsecours and calling in [on the way] for the abbé Delestre at the archbishop’s palace. They pointed out to me the beautiful but dilapidated Gothic [architectural] grouping, the old outer walls, and the archiepiscopal chapel. The abbé proposed that I should have a private tour of this chapel, and that we go on further. MD: “No… no. There’ll be no lack of occasions for her to be presented to the archbishop.”

A tram took us up to Bonsecours.^[212] We spent a moment in contemplation. Then, for more than an hour, I had the time of my life on the beautiful Cavaillé-Coll, setting it topsy-turvy [248], using the special effects of stops in their extreme registers. The master, seated beside me, gave rein to my experiments with paternal understanding. M^me Dupré had slipped away for a short time; she returned, placing in my hands a beautiful souvenir of Bonsecours, to my great bewilderment. The master descended with the abbé Delestre at one point, followed by M^me Dupré, who joined them. I could see the group of them, on the other side of the façade pipes, in serious conversation, and I decided to disturb them with a little impromptu recital. First, a scherzo of very fleeting character on my own theme. Then the great De Profundis so dear to Dupré, and the “Jordan” so dear to M^me Dupré.^[213] They ceased [their conversation], it would seem. Dupré cried, “Bravo,” and M^me Dupré, “Thank you.” The abbé Delestre paid me his compliments when I had descended.

After that, we went to the far end of the cemetery, to an escarpment, for which the panorama extends as far as one can see between the valleys; on the right, Rouen.^[214] We remained there in contemplation for a long while. We had forgotten the character of place; it was a part of the countryside. MD: “Don’t sprain [your ankle].” Me: “No Master, nor you.” The abbé led us to Heredia’s tomb.^[215] Then we met up with dear M^lle Chauvière at the church, and Dupré paid a visit to the parish priest.

We got back to Rouen at about 7:00. [249] M^me Dupré claimed that my eyelids were drooping [les yeux au milieu de la figure], and that I should lie down until dinner. Three-quarters of an hour later, she came to my room to fetch me, embracing me as she said that I was sweet and did a good job of listening to her.

The abbé Delestre dined with us that evening. We learned that Paris had been bombed that morning: great consternation. From afar, this sort of event is doubly frightening. The Duprés were thinking more of me than of themselves and surrounded me with affection. During dinner, the master kept the conversation [focused] on the subject of our collaboration, and M^me Dupré and Marguerite maintained this focus. Dupré sang my praises, going so far as to reveal to the abbé my personal qualities and telling everything he thought of me. His favorite anecdote was to repeat what Jean Gallon had said to him: “Marcel, I tell you, she’s an angel!” MD: “In the entire world, there are only two great artists at the organ, her and myself.” He added, “Presently, we are working in collaboration, which is to say that I hold no secrets for her, and she holds none for me. It happens to be the case that she knows the Études, and I am working on them.”

The abbé [250] Delestre, dumbfounded, interrupted Dupré. “Master, pardon me… I’m not following you…” MD: “It’s because the Études are so difficult. You will understand when she plays them for you. We have worked together to develop the technique that will revolutionize organ[-playing].” The abbé commented that, after Dupré, organ works will of necessity be written according to the modern aesthetic. Dupré replied: “And for that, too, I’m counting on Jeanne Demessieux!” I know that as a composer she will carry the organ forward.”

Knowing Dupré, I contented myself with remaining silent when he carried on talking about me in such terms (and this is more difficult than deflecting a compliment). He only speaks in the most elevated way and, knowing myself I’ll dare say it, forces me to fully accept these compliments, even in public. The abbé Delestre, despite having been forewarned by Dupré, appeared to be in the surprised state of someone who can’t bring himself to believe in [such] a phenomenon.

Around 9:00 [PM], we all departed for [Notre Dame] Cathedral. We entered via the archbishop’s palace where the principal of the [choir] school received us.^[216] Introductions, then we found our way to the gallery [in the dark]; upon arriving there, we turned on the light over the console, and, as always, this brightness had me feeling “in fine form.” [251] While I was quickly getting my bearings at the organ, Monsieur the archpriest arrived. He and the principal are both very imposing men. Great bowing and scraping. Dupré said of me, “My best first-prize holder in organ.” Considering the tone that the meeting was taking, the master whispered to me:

“You must play something…” and, still whispering, the following dialogue was exchanged:

Me: “You told me not to practice, so I have nothing.”

MD: “Too bad. Play anyway! Something by Handel or one of the big pieces by Bach.”

Me: “So, I should go for it?”

MD: “Yes, I would do it… You can do it: go on.”

Me: “Handel’s Concerto in D minor, the opening Allegro.”

MD: “No! All of it.”

Me: “Oh! The Adagio seems so long ago… still, if I make a mistake, you will be there.”

Dupré announced the concerto, and no one suspected that for me this was an “experiment.” (After Bonsecours, when I told Dupré that I had played the “De Profundis” and the “Jordan” without having reviewed them since August 18 [1943], and that they worked out, Dupré responded, “When I heard you begin the ‘De Profundis,’ I thought: Jeanne is experimenting. You will see: you’ll be doing it as if it were nothing.”)

I found the concerto still to be all there, under my fingers, and my sense of equilibrium, my fieriness, filled me with joy. I felt as if I finally understood. My playing really carried. [252] Dupré had helped me with the registration. He appeared extremely satisfied and asked me if I would like to “give them the pleasure of an improvisation.”

MD: “With your permission, I would dare to ask you to improvise a fugue.”

Me: “Yes, Master and, for my part, you would give me great pleasure by proposing the theme.” The master’s face lit up: “B-A-C-H!” He played the four notes [B-flat-A-C-B], and the subject pleased me infinitely. I immediately conceived my plan for the piece and for my countersubject. I completed the subject exactly like the one I had improvised at St-Sulpice, and so I drew my inspiration from the character of that piece. Plenty of stretti. In very good form.

When I had finished, my listeners were electrified. Eight voices burst out at the same time. Deeply moved, Dupré shook his head, murmuring, “That was splendid… splendid, you know…” The archpriest put it in a way that became immediately famous: “As anyone can see, she works for the Holy Spirit!” Dupré asked me to improvise again, on the “Salve Regina.” I drew the voix célestes and the flutes, and played a lullaby.

It was 11:30 when I finished playing, and we needed to think of returning before the curfew. The archpriest, as we took leave of him, said to me, “The cathedral [253] is at your disposal, Mademoiselle! If, one day Saint-Esprit should lose you, your place will be here, if you like.” Dupré responded that it was not impossible that I would have occasion to return to Rouen and that, if and when that happened, it would be a pleasure to meet the archpriest again.

Detail: we traversed the cathedral in procession, equipped with candles, and M^lle Chauvière nearly fainted at the noise of a chair knocked over by Dupré; she cried, “Where is Marcel?” We reassured her, and it was all very funny. We exchanged compliments as far as the street. “Mademoiselle, you have my admiration!” the abbé Delestre said to me.

M^me Dupré had thrown a cape over the master’s shoulders, insisting that he keep it on. MD: “And the little one? She’ll not get cold…?”

Mme D.: “Do not worry; I’ve taken care of her.”

MD: “And Mimi?…”^[217]

Mme D.: “Mimi, too.” So, we set out into the black night.

In our little apartment, embracing Marguerite, I was very moved:

“How you improvise!” she said to me, “Other than my father, no one can improvise like you. I know what it is to perform, but to create, spontaneously, with such perfection, to have such a brain… Ah! Thank you. If you knew how much you are our joy… My [254] father is so happy! And, on top of that, you are so unpretentious, and so endearing…” She had tears in her eyes, and we embraced lovingly.

 

Rouen

Saturday 4 September 1943

At 8:30, M^r and M^me Dupré came to our apartment to say good morning. They were leaving, as agreed, for the cemetery. I went down to work a little on the organ.

Around 10:00, an alert. Some minutes later, the master and M^me Dupré arrived, then the abbé Delestre, then one, then another, of Dupré’s students. We heard the cannon, the noise of a raid, and some bombs. The abbé quickly opened the windows while speaking calmly, and M^me Dupré pressed me to her while Dupré kept his eyes on us. All this, along with the cries of the poor charwoman, of M^lle Chauvière on the first floor with Marguerite, and the blasts of the explosions.

The storm past, Dupré gave a short lesson to a student who had arrived two hours early out of fear of not arriving at all, and I left with the abbé and Marguerite to play at St-Ouen again. We worked on Évocation; I improvised for the abbé, then all the family and students joined us. [With] Marguerite and the abbé doing the manoeuvres I had indicated to them, we managed once again to play the finale without the help of the [255] master—the better for him to enjoy his composition. Again, he was very moved by the impression it created, and I wanted to leave the manuals after that.

At dinner, we were anxious: some deaths in Rouen (twenty already in the first hour), even in the centre of Paris (how many?), and around Meudon. We wanted to telephone, but we were returning that evening. M^me Dupré was frightfully worried, the master stoic (perhaps determinedly so). My last visit was to St-Vivien, where Dupré was nominated organist when he was 12.^[218] The whole family set out with the abbé Delestre.

It pleases me to jot down here how we looked: on each foray, M^me Dupré took my arm in hers; she did the same on her other side with the master, while M^lle Chauvière gave her arm to Marguerite or to Dupré, and the abbé stayed at my side. We took up the whole width of Rouen’s narrow streets.

At St-Vivien, I was amazed at the richness of the organ façade, by the roodscreen and stained-glass windows.

The abbé went to fetch the parish priest, who arrived, followed by his curate, greatly disconcerted that Marcel Dupré should be paying him a visit. In the gallery, the master whispered to me, “I’ll begin; that’s necessary, I think…” ([Previously] he had never agreed to take the bench before [256] me.) He improvised, inspired entirely by his youthful memories.

Then he offered me his place, without helping me with the setup of the organ, while saying to the parish priest: “She doesn’t need to look at an organ for any length of time before she knows it.” I took Dupré’s theme and developed it with the same idea and in the same manner as he had. (This came back to him during the day and, in speaking of it to M^me Dupré, he said that I had acted “with intelligence” in front of the priest.)

The abbé spoke with the priest about organizing a concert in five years’ time for Dupré’s “golden anniversary”;^[219] everyone jovially agreed on this. MD: “So you want to see me give a concert on crutches!”

Back home, I was presented with a charming spectacle. Dupré had had Jean Yon set up the miniature theatre housed under the organ. It’s impossible to describe, so close to perfection is it: a dream theatre. Albert Dupré built it all by hand for his son, and they “gave” all of Wagner there, with a phonograph. Sometimes, the family sang.^[220]

MD: “Ah, the dreams I have dreamt in here! Lohengrin, so handsome! And Elsa’s dress!” The master, M^me Dupré, and M^lle Chauvière sang excerpts from Wagner’s works. Delightful stage sets. Dupré explained [257] the mechanism to me himself, setting up a great number of scenes before me and having me visit the “foyer des artistes,”^[221] where one sees the heroes.

Packing our suitcases had to be done quickly. We dined early. Before I left, M^lle Chauvière bestowed upon me a personal keepsake: a little jeweled object, very old, very beautiful, that was dear to her. She begged me to hold on to her keepsake and to always be my teacher’s joy. She accompanied us to the station, but the abbé was not able to be there. We embraced, and then the four of us were back on the train to Paris.

M^me Dupré again had me sit beside the master, and our conversation revolved around organ design. Dupré saw my curiosity and offered to recount the history of the modern organ. Lasting for the greater part of the journey, this was my first major lesson in organ design. An impromptu but brilliant lesson.

MD: “With your love of the subject, two or three discussions will suffice for you to become first-rate on the subject.” Dupré has this curious and interesting idea that the decline of the eighteenth-century organ was the result of the contemporaneous introduction, by Haydn, of the string chamber orchestra—the dryness of the organ of that era [258] having been incapable of contending with the emotional vibrato of the strings.

In discussing the subject of the Philadelphia Wanamaker organ, I asked Dupré about the first movement of the Symphonie-Passion that he improvised on it.^[222] He told me that although it was certainly there that the improvisation came to be, the composition, in the end, was different. When he came to write down the Symphonie, he found the end of the first movement by improvising for himself on the organ of St-Ouen in Rouen; he had been searching greatly, and the solution came to him all at once.

Again, just some bits of the conversation. MD: “While still a kid, I sensed I would have St-Sulpice, and the organ class, and that I would go to America. You know, Jeanne, rightful pride is a necessary factor in accomplishing anything.”

I spoke to the master about an idea concerning form that I am currently developing. He fully approved of it; I asked him if he could imagine that one can have a vision of the form of a work, and of its character, without yet having thought of all the themes; he told me, yes, and wanted me to write this form down.

At St-Lazare train station, we were joyfully reunited with my parents. Papa had rushed to Meudon, and he reassured M^me Dupré and us all regarding the bombing. M^me Dupré said to Maman: [259] “I have two daughters!” and the master said to Papa that I am proof that a young girl can have a male brain and engage with the highest subjects, yet still be an angel. He said that my expertise had created a sensation in Rouen. After embracing everyone in turn, we parted. My parents were very moved to see so much affection showered upon me. The master said to me, “You are happy?… Me too.”

 

Friday 17 September 1943

In Meudon. The master and M^me Dupré were waiting for me at the station.

MD: “It’s a big day today… The engineers have brought me the perforateur.^[223]

They worked on checking the registrateur until 1:30. I played The Steppes of Central Asia^[224] to thank them. [MD:] “Finally… it’s done, and you know how happy I am!” Dupré gave me the builder’s name, M^r Solima, whose intelligence he admires. He told me the story behind his [M^r Solima’s] registrateur. At the house, he showed me the little apparatus and, wishing to fully satisfy my eagerness, he also showed me the archives he had made and had me closely examine the details of the construction.

Work with M^me Dupré. We all ate together.

At 5:00 I played the 12 Études, in order, for the master. He was as moved [260] as he had been when he heard me play Évocation for the first time. He was speechless, wiped tears from his eyes several times, and then said to me simply, “No longer do I say that no woman has played the organ like you; I say: no one plays the organ like you.” And, escorting me back to the station: “You will remember that it was the day of the registrateur that you played the 12 Études for me.”

He told me that tomorrow, September 18, is the anniversary of the day he buried his father in Rouen.^[225]

 

23 September 1943

Played the 12 Études at Meudon for the abbé Delestre and my usual audience, except for Maman (who is in Aigues-Mortes). The abbé spoke of revelation, and said he recognizes that there is no comparison between present-day organists and me. “I see only you and her,” he said to Dupré. The master, who knows the smallest details of my technique, indicated these in advance to the abbé. The Études strongly impressed the abbé who believes that upon first hearing them audiences will be bowled over by the pieces and by my performance of them. Dupré doesn’t know yet [261] whether there would be an advantage to my giving their première, so that I create the surprise effect, or if it would be better that I play them after he has, to prove that I measure up to what he can do. The abbé said that Dupré represents a “turning point” and a further development in the evolution of the organ; but he [the abbé] believes I will have no possible successor for at least the next 30 years, given the originality of my playing. Dupré himself maintains that I, too, in my own right, represent a turning point. He acknowledges that the distance between my generation and me is so great that, for a good while, I will be an isolated case, as was he.

MD: “This may sound conceited… but there’s no doubt that we are, the two of us, in a superior ‘class.’” The abbé said to the master, “… And what a performer you have!” The way in which I get inside the Études had won over my audience. Dupré was happy; that says so much.

In the parlour, M^me Dupré served wine. “To our ‘class’!…” the master said to me, and I responded, “To your glory.” The abbé continues to grow in awe of Dupré’s attitude toward me. He heard Marguerite yesterday. His trip has a specific aim: [262] organization, plans for the future; he spent nearly the whole week “working” with Dupré on my debut.* We spoke about this.

Finally, as had become customary, Dupré walked us back, inviting the abbé to come too. At the station, he embraced me and said to me, “Thank you… thank you!…” Then he waited on the path with the abbé Delestre to see us leave. When the train was approaching, the master cupped his hands to his mouth, and we distinctly heard: “Queen!… Queen of the organ!…” We waved and waved.

Dupré has said to me that he and the abbé Delestre both have an eye on the young Bernard Flavigny as a pianist. “I would like to help him and want to entrust his gifts to a great pianist.” I have met B. Flavigny through Madga Tagliaferro; he is 12 years old.

 

* Together they made plans for an organ to be built after the war, in Rouen, in a hall in the archbishop’s palace and according to Dupré’s ideal conception of the organ. The master’s idea is that there, before the archbishop, I should rehearse my entire concert series to be given in Paris.

 

Saturday 1 October 1943

At Meudon, the afternoon divided in two: first with the master, then with M^me Dupré.

For Dupré, I played a sketch [I had] composed this week. He said that it’s the best, full of “lovely things”; the last measures captivated him: “That’s really beautiful.”

MD: “It’s always seemed to me that in composition I have to help you (and I do not mean lead you) in a very different way from others. You need [263] specialized instruction. There are three points to explore: theme, including rhythm and accentuation; harmony, with colour as one of its accessories; form. I believe that, for the moment, you have to explore one or the other of these at a time, exclusively. Continue making sketches: sometimes sketch a harmonic fragment in which you are searching for the emotion in a chord progression; sometimes contemplate form; sometimes think only about searching for a theme. A theme… it’s a world; it’s a people. [Take] the theme of Cossacks of the Don:[226]^[226] how one can sense that these are men freezing in the North… It’s different from German themes, and one can say that no French or Italian person would ever have thought it up.

“My own theory is to compare music to nature. Like nature, it has the power to disseminate and to grow: a theme contains the seed of an entire work. Nowadays we are asking if a cell and the germ it contains live forever; no one really knows. You remember the grain of wheat found after 6,000 years in the Pyramids: they planted it; it sprouted. [264] Write a theme. Go back to it after twenty years; it will always have a composition inside it.”

In seeking to understand my nature, Dupré seemed to respond to every problem with composition I’ve created for myself.

MD: “One does not search for a theme any more than one can find it: it’s a sudden ‘light’ shone on a detail that has long been maturing.”

MD: “You are saturated by our conversations on composition. Have the courage to refrain from beginning any definitive work until March [1944]; promise?”

We decided that I am going to apply myself again to repertoire, but the master didn’t want to impose his choices on me: “One can’t tell an artist like you: do this, don’t do that.” I managed to push past these qualms [j’arrive à forcer de tels scrupules].^[227] Speaking of the Études:

MD: “There’re done, you know. My intention was that you have a break, during which you could sometimes amuse yourself with the Études.” He suggested that, after Mendelssohn, I work on the Sept Pièces, saying that this could be “restful,” and that I would know them in a month.^[228] He foresees two months for Mendelssohn and two months for the “leftover bits” of the repertoire.” Then, at the beginning of March, composition and improvisation while, at the same time, review of one program every two weeks. I told the master that I plan, [265] to carefully rework his three new Preludes and Fugues [Op. 36], which I find comparable to the Études in technique, wanting to get as close as possible to my ideal [interpretation]. Dupré responded, “You are telling me your plans; here are mine.” Upon my arrival, he had announced to me that his work for organ and orchestra was complete.* He is beginning to orchestrate it, then he’ll make a transcription for organ and registrateur, a reduction for organ and piano, and correct the proofs (where I’ll do my part again). That will take him to the end of December. He told me he wants to take a rest from composition for a while. In January, he will begin working on the organ, the Études and Islamey (with Marguerite), his new work.^[229] He wants to do a program for organ and registrateur and will rework the three last Preludes and Fugues [Op. 36].

MD: “All that will take me, also, to March. As you can see, our plans are merging; it’s true the last preludes and fugues are difficult. In the end, we will have finished all our projects at the same time. Composition and improvisation will come after that. Then all that will be left for us is to wait. This year could bring us the end of the [266] war, and we’ll both be ready.” I replayed four of Dupré’s Études, chosen at random. We spoke of Rouen, of the abbé Delestre.

Worked with M^me Dupré in the office while the master sat there, too, attending to his mail. Orchestral manuscripts everywhere (the master had asked my opinion on a graphic system for transposing instruments on which he is working). Then he left to pay a long visit to [Henri] Etlin.

On his return, he spotted me on the station platform and came over to chat for a moment again, so impressed by my performance of his Études. I give great importance to the following sentence of Marcel Dupré: “As far as I’m concerned, the decadence of twentieth-century music stems from the absence of ‘themes’.”

 

* Résonances.^[230]

 

Monday 19 October 1943

Marcel Dupré took me to Pleyel (at 4:30), where he had to rehearse and to see the organ that he had not played since the [Salle Pleyel] ceiling was opened up.^[231] I had called in for him at his [organ] class at 3:30. The first time I’ve seen and heard this organ. Taken by the sonority. A clear console layout that Dupré had explained to me in advance in a few words. He rehearsed the second movement of the concerto.^[232] Surrounded since [267] our arrival; but the master was prepared with his “plan” and introduced me in different ways, or not at all. He always managed to quietly let me know what he thought of this person or the other. He went up to Kiesgen, his impresario who is very attached to him and, his plan being to introduce me to him, called me over.

MD: “I entrust to you that which is still a secret to the entire world: this child is an admirable artist, a major figure, I tell you. She will debut when the right moment comes. Until that time, silence. Do you understand?”

K: “I understand, and you can count on me!”

Also present was the director of the Pleyel. Dupré chatted more than he worked and subtly created an ambiance of respect around me, involving me in all his viewpoints. Taking advantage of the occasion, he asked me to improvise a well-developed toccata. In very good form.

Substantial discussion regarding placement of the organ. MD: “If you were to decide to move your organ down I would support that. There is a group of people associated with me that would support it too.” He was standing firm. As soon as we departed, he asked me,

“Would it please you to give your programs here? With the organ lowered?”

Me: “Yes, very much.”

MD: “Good.”

We stayed until around 7:00 at Place des Ternes^[233] chatting about Pleyel, with which Dupré is completely taken up. [268]

We talked themes: [it was] a composition lesson. I showed the theme that had recently come to me in a spontaneous fashion; the master was struck by it, analyzed it, and we discussed our ideas.

Leaving his class,^[234] Dupré had spoken to me about his students, how weak they were and how they had not worked since the competition; it’s become intolerable [la mesure est pleine]. MD: “They cry before and after the competition! And they don’t work. They dishonour me. Ah! Do you realize just how much farther along you are, how much farther ahead you were!”

Speaking of my period of “[thought] crystallization,” as he calls it, Dupré said, “What I want is that when you do decide to compose, to write a work, you will have a sufficient harvest to draw upon.”

 

Tuesday 20 October 1943

A recording session for the second movement of Marcel Dupré’s Concerto [in E minor, Op. 31, performed] by Dupré and the Orchestre Lamoureux under Eugène Bigot at Pleyel.^[235] I met with Dupré and Marguerite prior to the session; the master’s intention was to introduce me to E. Bigot and then invite me to be present during the recording. Many people present again; the same as yesterday with the addition of M^r Florizone and M^r Georges Dandelot. Before playing, [269] Dupré called me over to Bigot.

MD: “Listen well to what I am going to say and remember it: I am trusting you with a secret, do you understand? Here is a child who has all the First Prizes you could want, all of them unanimously. She is preparing for a prominent career. For the moment, and, with her permission, I am intentionally keeping her in the shadows.”

EB: “As a pianist?”

MD: “No: as an organist!”

!^[236]

MD: “Don’t concern yourself with this and say nothing. But the day she is to debut, I will give you a sign, and you can lend a hand, agreed?”

EB: “Perfect. You can count on me. You’ve got it under control? You want it to be you alone that launches this child; I understand.”

MD: “Yes. Her memory equals mine; she improvises just as well as I do.”

Me: “Master…”

MD: “Hush! She is organist at St-Esprit; she practices the organ six hours a day. She’s an angel, do you understand?” [He understood] so well that Bigot referred to “your children” when speaking to Dupré about Marguerite and me. All this occurred on the stage, in front of the entire orchestra.

Upon arriving, having encountered M^r Florizone, Dupré introduced me to him as “the pearl” among his students. Over the course of the morning, [270] he discretely drew us aside and said to Florizone: “You have, before you, a very great artist, an immense intelligence, a star of the organ capable of becoming my successor. She will be—I’m sure of this—one of France’s greatest glories. She knows all of Bach by heart, all of Mendelssohn, in short, everything… Once the war is finished, nothing will prevent this child from pursuing her marvelous destiny.” Florizone said, calmly, “Mademoiselle, we shall send you on a world tour.” This reply pleased Dupré, who referred to it again later.

The session lasted over three hours.^[237] There was a dramatic turn of events. Dupré had asked in advance that there be a microphone [placed] inside the organ, a condition that he always insists upon, and that had been promised to him. Today, the takes having begun, Marguerite, delegated to her listening post, came to tell us that the organ could barely be heard in comparison to the orchestra. The master called his engineers. “Is there a microphone in the organ?” An embarrassed-sounding reply, to which Dupré responded with such icy anger that everyone trembled: “They promised me a microphone in the organ; I will not record if I don’t have my microphone; that’s final!” Still, the engineers [271] tried to discuss the matter. Dupré stuck inexorably to what he had been promised. MD: “It’s always the same question: if you think that I am going to allow my work to be massacred, think again!” Bigot, who had been leaning on his desk, stood up straight: “I agree with him!” and Kiesgen rushed up from the back of the hall saying, “My poor friend!” He offered to telephone his office. MD: “Yes… you are very kind; thank you, my friend. “I can’t bear this,” Marguerite said to me. After a long interval, Dupré had his microphone.

He kept me beside him constantly, playing, listening, and saying to Florizone: “I’ve brought her with me so that she can familiarize herself with things associated with our occupation.”

 

Friday 23 October 1943

Afternoon at Meudon. Played Mendelssohn’s three Preludes and Fugues for Dupré.

Chatted for a long time with the master about Aristotle’s ideas concerning different forms of government. Concerning the three human ideals: truth, justice, and beauty. Concerning the wars.

After my performance, MD: “You have everything; you have insight, intelligence.”

 

Friday 5 November 1943

At Meudon. Played Mendelssohn’s first three Sonatas. Saw all three [Duprés]; friendly intimacy. Left late.

Regarding [272] Mendelssohn, MD observed: “You said to Marguerite, I believe, that you find some of Mendelssohn’s ‘endings’ quite ordinary sounding?” Dupré asked me to elaborate. I told him that I liked Mendelssohn, but I had to fault the man who composed the first phrase of the Adagio of the 2^nd Sonata for having written the last measures of the same Sonata. The master simply said, “Yes.” I told him how I viewed Mendelssohn: as a first-rank “writer” who treats his subjects with the authority of genius, always effectively leading them to the appropriate climactic moment; yet, once the subject has been exhausted, concluding in a spirit of whatever is easiest, which points to that exhaustion. I confessed to Dupré that my sense of structure is different: the “conclusion” is part of the whole, as necessary as the cascading effect of the development, and can even open up another world after a subject was thought to have been spent. The master allowed me to “let loose” and endorsed my ideas.

 

Monday 15 November 1943

César Franck Festival at Pleyel: Les Béatitudes, the Symphony; the 2nd Choral played by Marcel Dupré.^[238] Dupré’s playing was breathtaking. Beautiful concert. Spoke to the Duprés.

 

[273] Saturday 20 November 1943

At Meudon for the afternoon. Played Mendelssohn’s three last Sonatas for the master.

M^me Dupré fell down a flight of stairs yesterday. Spent a little time with her. She listened to me play as she reclined in the office. She does not seem well.

 

Monday 22 November 1943

M^me Dupré has seen a doctor. She is getting better.

 

Friday 26 November 1943

With M^me Dupré at Meudon, late afternoon. She is doing well. Saw the master; he walked me back to the train.

 

Wednesday 1 December 1943

Today I record the fact that Mireille Auxiètre, after having been expelled from the Conservatory (Yves Nat’s studio) for lack of prizes, has newly returned to Yves Nat’s studio by means of competitive examinations. She had come to beg me to take charge of her progress as a pianist again. She passed the two exams under my supervision; now, finally, I have complete control over the development of her difficult but rich temperament.

 

Friday 3 December 1943

Yesterday, a concert at Pleyel by the Orchestre national and Marcel Dupré (broadcast), under the direction of [Désiré Émile] Inghelbrecht. Dupré’s Concerto [for Organ and Orchestra in E minor, Op. 31]; an improvisation.^[239] The organ, [274] due to its ridiculous placement, could barely be heard in comparison to the orchestra. Beautiful, but less so than with Bigot and [the Orchestre] Lamoureux. (By invitation only. A splendid audience.)

We (my parents and I) left with the Duprés. Duruflé walked with them for a while, too. The master chatted with me and asked my opinion on several points. He believes that an organ work (whether solo or with orchestra) cannot be satisfactory on just any instrument but that, rather, the true spirit intended by the creator depends upon writing for a particular type of instrument (Évocation: St-Ouen, the chamades; Symphonie-Passion: Philadelphia, the strings). I responded that this is Wagner’s aesthetic of the theatre and that I, too, can conceive of this notion transferred to the organ. Dupré asked me what I think of Berlioz. I said that Berlioz always surprises me, that he has the breadth of, and is of the same calibre as, Wagner; he is either sustained by inspiration alone or slips into nothingness, with no middle ground. Dupré agreed with me and said that this is the curious case of a man who “improved” over his entire life.

The concerto performance was very instructive for me. Masterfully played by Dupré. In the foyer, the master introduced me to Inghelbrecht, who was utterly flabbergasted at his use of such laudatory terms.

The broadcast of the concerto by TSF was excellent and balanced.^[240] Father de la Motte was very [275] enthusiastic about the work.

 

Friday 10 December 1943

Eleventh recital at Meudon. My usual audience. All of Mendelssohn, in order. Tremendous mastery. I realized that, speaking strictly in artistic terms, no more unknowns lay before me. Conviction that my talent is a reality. This, perhaps, is what explains my desire to stretch myself, for an audience, and the boredom of inaction I’m experiencing now. From the start of our collaboration, Dupré had said to me: “Your talent will weigh on you.”

After the recital everyone embraced me warmly, and we chatted away happily about our mutual interests. Around 8:00, the master walked us back and told me again how proud he is of me.

 

Thursday 24 December 1943

I attended Midnight Mass at St-Sulpice with my parents. The Duprés had decided that I would be beside the master to turn pages. Dupré had been asked to play the complete Symphonie-Passion before the Mass. Very moving.

Marthe Dramez and Mireille Auxiètre were with us.

 

Saturday 25 December 1943

Vespers at St-Sulpice. When we arrived M^me Dupré was “guarding” my place beside the master.

Dupré had, [276] close by, two seminarians.^[241] He attached great importance to this and passed me his notebook of noëls: “Choose from in here; you are going to improvise. I know what I’m doing; leave me to it. I want these two seminarians to hear you.” I took over the manuals from my teacher. Very excited, but in good form. Dupré picked up on my ideas as they went by, [declaring]: “That’s adorable…” I made a few bold choices and, while M^me Dupré rushed to embrace me and my little audience was quite moved, the master said,

“What a future this child has!”

“With her ideas, couldn’t she go to Rome?” someone asked.

“She’ll do better than that,” Dupré responded, and this [comment] spread like wildfire.

 

Monday 27 December 1943

Wrote the last notes of a “Nativité” for organ,^[242] my first composition since the Adagio of my symphony.

 

Friday 31 December 1943

Grief in Paris. Terrible bombing in the region, cannons all day. I had a meeting with the Duprés at Meudon, but M^me Dupré had rushed to her sister’s place.

When I arrived in Meudon, English airplanes were sweeping over the hills. No bombs, but [277] deafening gunfire, which did not stop me from heading to the house at a full run, however. Dupré burst out upon hearing the bell, uttering loud cries. He immediately asked me if I had my “Nativité.”

We urged along Perroux who finished adjusting the pedals while chatting with us for a half hour (the old wizard, astonishingly, adjusts a pedalboard with curling tongs). The master asked him to stay and listen to me for a few minutes. Every now and again, the house shook. I played. After having devoured my manuscript, Dupré said,

“It’s extraordinarily interesting. Daring, very daring… but infinitely delightful… and driving, goal oriented.”

Me: “An attempt…”

MD “No… not just an attempt. This is original and personal!” He turned to Perroux. “Her harmonic language is at least as daring as that of Messiaen; but it’s richer and more personal. It’s full of charm. This is music we’ve never heard before.”

I was absolutely appalled that Dupré spoke like this in front of someone else. He was very serious. (Perroux declared, “That is really something,” and that Messiaen “gives him colic.”)

Perroux having left, Dupré [278] asked me to play it again.

MD: “There: your first completed composition for organ… It’s indisputably new, both as writing for the organ and musically speaking.

Me: “One thing is for sure: I could not have written this if it had not been for your Études.

MD: “Ah! You think so!…”

Me: “You told me you were leaving the door open for me; all this so that I might see clearly.”

MD: “You’ve got it. You’ll produce a clean copy—clear, easy to practise from—because, like me, I want you to make a collection of your manuscripts.”

Me: “But, shouldn’t I be doing some polishing?”

MD: “No, no! Don’t touch a thing. Leave it as it is. Not a note needs changing. It’s catalogued, it’s done. It has a very original sound.”

I told Dupré that after seeing the shivering, miserable, and tender nativity scene, my idea had been to do something light. The master told me that this is well-realized and “captivating.”

I played Mozart’s two Fantasias for him. He gave me a score of Mozart’s Fugue.^[243]

I left when the Baroness de Séverac arrived for her lesson. Dupré introduced me to her and spoke to me at length about my “Nativité” in front of her, insisting on the word “personal.” MD: “The “Nativité” is difficult. You have written for [279] your own technique, for good reason.”

 

Saturday 1 January 1944

The morning at St-Sulpice. Messieurs Guerner, Berveiller, Perroux, Monet, Matigot, my parents. Boulnois, M^me Tallon, among others. A friendly atmosphere. Ten years ago today, Dupré became titular organist of St-Sulpice.

The master seated me on his right. Good wishes were exchanged. Dupré spoke enthusiastically about my “Nativité,” described it, emphasized it. All this was very well received, and my parents and I remarked that the master’s entourage seems more and more to divine what’s in store for me.

Guerner: “My wish for 1944 is to see the end of the war, and your triumph.”

Berveiller to M^me Dupré: “What more can one wish for her? She has everything before her, and everything within her.”

 

Thursday 5 January 1944

At Meudon. Bénet’s [sculpture of] Beethoven, bequeathed by his widow to the Duprés, was installed this afternoon.^[244] The master loves this work, but fretted because, to him, they were “demolishing” his room.

He, M^me Dupré, and I spent the afternoon in the office, after which I played a little from the Anthology for the master. We chatted. I asked him if he thinks that there is such a thing as progress in art, over the course of history, from the [280] emotive point of view.

MD: “Progress has been made in art from the technical point of view. But as for inspiration, there has been no progress; there’s been a decline. Art comes to us from heaven! It draws its inspiration first from the divine source and it descends towards the abyss. The art of antiquity—it was God. In music, after Bach, Beethoven loved humanity. The Romantics loved the [ideal of the] feminine; someone who understood this with astounding nobility and profundity was Schumann. Wagner, too. Afterwards, with the Impressionists, it was sensualism and then—it gets muddy. The moderns—that’s objectivism.”

The master brought me his work—still in manuscript form—on organ building and entrusted it to me.

 

Sunday 9 January 1944

Played my “Nativité” at St-Esprit. I had these specific visitors: M^r and M^me Descombes, M^me Meunier. The latter invited me to tea on the 29^th.

 

Friday 14 January 1944

At Meudon. Upon arriving at the house, I found M^me Dupré with a worried look on her face: “Monsieur Dupré is sick: he’s in bed. It’s bronchitis; he’s coughing a lot. You are to go see him immediately; he requested it.” On entering the master’s room,

MD: “Ah! You’ve brought me our girl!” And, almost immediately: “I [281] have called for you to tell you my final wishes.” We winced at this serious tone.

Mme D: “What are you talking about?…” And Dupré, calmly exclaimed:

“Surely, she should know how important she is?”

Mme D: “If you summoned her just so you can talk to her like that, I shall take her away with me!”

MD: “No! Widor, too, told me his thoughts before his death.”

Mme D: “Oh! Why?”

MD: “Well… one must think of these things.” (To me:) “I want to tell you again that you are my successor. After me, I am passing the torch to you! You happen to be a woman instead of being a man. So be it; the world will have to get used to it… Now, tell me about your work. How far along is the copy of the “Nativité”? And how is the practising going?”

M^me Dupré held me to her, and I attempted to free us from all this anguish. I recounted how the organizers for the January 21 [Pontifical Mass] at St-Esprit had, with exaggerated insistence, tried to make me play a work by M^r de Saint-Martin and that, after a meeting, I put my refusal in writing.

MD: “You realize that anyone who has written something is looking for a fine virtuoso to show it off. Saint-Martin knew [282] to go to you!”

Me: “There are others in Paris who are as good as I am…”

MD: “Not so!”

Me: “But there are, in the eyes of M^r de Saint-Martin.”

MD: “Ah, but that’s because you haven’t ‘debuted’ yet. But perhaps it’s not wise to become overly exclusive because of my works. Perhaps allow yourself to be championed by others, like… anyone. It wouldn’t do if, because of me . . .”^[245]

Me: “I don’t need to play anyone else’s works. I play what I like. And it’s not out of regard for you!… When you decide I should debut—if you give me permission to play your works—it’s ‘you’ that I will play, Master.”

MD: “Permission!”

Me: “I did, in fact, want to ask if you would permit me to play the finale of your Deuxième Symphonie on the 21^st.” The faces of the master and M^me Dupré lit up.

MD: “Yes, of course, my dear. Whatever you like!”

“You are talking too much!” M^me Dupré declared. “We are going now. Jeanne will come back to say goodbye in a while.”

MD: “Ah, yes! You’ll send her to me.”

M^me Dupré was insistent that I must get down to work, so we set ourselves up in Marguerite’s room, from where the master could hear us. Siren, airplanes, cannons.

Around 4:00 M^me Dupré sent me [283] back to the master and went down to prepare something to eat because “I must” eat. Dupré told me that the assistant engineer in charge of construction had come to check the registrateur and had brought him a detailed plan. He was quite happy to show it to me and explain it. We talked about his manuscript on organ design, and he wanted to know what matters I had previously found unclear. I told him and Dupré gave me a very clear explication of the subject. After that, a bite to eat with Marguerite and a look in on the master before leaving. I found him burning [with impatience]. “Till Friday! You will play the organ for me.” He asked me to play the High Mass at St-Sulpice on Sunday.

[Squeezed between entries, as if an afterthought:] M^me Dupré told me that the master has a touch of congestion. If I understand correctly, he is choosing to ignore this.

 

Sunday 16 January 1944

Played St-Sulpice at 9:00 AM. Went very well. Fugue in C.^[246] Since yesterday evening, Dupré has been feeling better. Have been telephoning twice a day. Everyone spent two very worried days.

 

Friday 21 January 1944

Arrived at Meudon around 4:30 after walking five kilometres during an air raid siren. After this walk, which got me as far as Montparnasse, I reassured the Duprés by telephone.^[247]

[Once I arrived,] M^me Dupré told me the master wished to hear me at all costs and ordered me to have a hot drink before my train [back to Paris] left. She [284] served it to me despite my demurral—a small but touching detail.

The master is better. Has been able to get out of bed a bit these last two days and went outside for a few minutes today (Papa paid him a visit on Monday); not very strong. I told them how disappointed I was by the breakdown of my organ during a Pontifical Mass that took place this morning at St-Esprit (X had cut an organ relay). Dupré, like me, suspects someone did it out of spite, but told me not to give it a second thought.

I played eight pieces from the Anthology for the master.^[248] He followed my playing enthusiastically, saying that I play with “automatic and supple precision” and that I play “with spirit.” We chatted.

MD: “You will have “everything” finished by the end of February!…” I tried to convey to the master my gratitude and to tell him how extraordinarily important his support has been to me.

MD: “Without me, you are and remain ‘you.’ But with a nature like yours, someone had to say, lean on me, have no fears, just go forward! Besides, I want to remove from your path every risk that might make you anxious. I don’t yet know where you will give your recital series. I’m waiting. But it is I who will be occupied with organizing everything, taking care of all the steps. [285] During all this, you will remain unencumbered. And, I tell you, there will be ‘surveillance’ on the organ! It’s too easy to cut the power cable to prevent Jeanne Demessieux from playing and anyone from hearing her!”

MD: “I’m going to bring you up to date on an important reversal regarding the Études. You would never have suspected it. But I assure you, the harmonies, the music remain unchanged. I have two reasons.” He said that Leduc has exclusive rights to his pedagogical works, which is now against his wishes. With Dupré’s agreement, Bornemann asked Leduc whether he considers the “Études” for organ as pedagogical works. Leduc responded yes. Dupré, wanting to give his Études to Bornemann, decided to change the title and present them in three sets (with different opus numbers). He is giving them a purely musical slant, and they will become: a “Suite”; two “Tales” [Contes]; Dupré did not tell me the other titles. MD: “The second reason has to do with you. The word ‘Études’ will prompt others to reform their technique too soon. Rather, the two of us must keep our exclusive command of [286] transcendent pedal technique. That Grunenwald, young [Jean-Claude] Touche, the little Falcinelli are doing what they can—very well, that’s their right. But I will always keep everyone away from having the means of following us. ‘We’ means just us [Nous, c’est nous]. With us, no one!”

I spoke with the master concerning his work on organ design, which I’d read, and asked him, discretely, why it is not published.

MD: “It bothers me to give it to Leduc. Moreover, there’s something missing from my treatise that I want to have.

Me: “Well, what, Master?”

MD: “The exact dimensions and proportions of pipes. I will get them.”

 

Sunday 23 January 1944

Met for an hour with the St-Sulpice clergy to organize the ceremony for next Sunday. I was happy to learn that Dupré would be playing for Vespers today at St-Sulpice. Both [Marcel and M^me Dupré] were waiting for me, being sure that I would come if I knew they would be present. (Yesterday, the doctor gave permission for the master to play). Splendid improvisations.

 

Wednesday 26 January 1944

Made a visit to the laboratory of M^r Matigot, upon his invitation. Papa was with me. Matigot kept us [there for] three hours.

He is presently doing experiments with [287] the oscillophone and has managed to convert light, colours, and sounds into light, and to measure the frequency of their vibrations. At the end of February, he is to carry out some definitive experiments at St-Sulpice to measure the purity of sounds. I know that Dupré follows Matigot’s research with enthusiasm. M^r Matigot told me of his fear: he doubts that with the oscillophone he can simultaneously capture vibrations that derive from sources other than sound.* He fears not being able to sufficiently detect the difference by ear. I told him that he has in his hands the possibility of capturing everything in the universe that is “rhythm.” He agreed. He asked me to think about his research and share my ideas with him. Regarding his worries mentioned above, “Right now, I am afraid,” he told me simply. “It’s there that I will need your help, if you’re willing. The ears of a musician are required. What I’d also like, if I may be so bold, is to notify you shortly when I present my experiments to a small group, without journalists, and when we perform them at St-Sulpice with the master.” The idea came to me, which I shared with Matigot, [288] of the importance of being able to measure sounds scientifically in relation to the partials of a series of pipes in organ building. He replied that I am in agreement with Dupré.

 

* Parasitic vibrations that he named “envelope” when searching to make this comprehensible to me.

Saturday 29 January 1944

Tea at the home of M^me Meunier. Around twenty people. Select society. Some young people. I died of boredom chatting about rubbish.

 

Sunday 30 January 1944

Played Vespers and Procession at St-Sulpice. Perpetual Adoration [of the Blessed Sacrament]. Went very well. Improvised, most notably a toccata on a theme given at the last moment, orally, by an abbé.

In the gallery: Marthe Dramez and her brother, two seminarians, the abbé who is choirmaster of the seminary, M^r Matigot, and a relative of his.

The clergy had anticipated that I would begin playing only at 4:30, a decision that was thwarted by the Duprés. The master, wishing me the pleasure of playing Vespers, had forewarned Robineau a week ago and Matigot this morning. Matigot rearranged his day and was there by 3:30. The astonished clergyman, having enquired and finding everything organized, let me play. He [289] congratulated me after the service.

 

Monday 31 January 1944

Surprise: an unexpected visit by M^me Dupré (in the neighborhood to see a relative of M^me Benet). She presented me with a hyacinth and stayed at our house for two hours.

She told us that they think of me constantly and that the master works on his projects incessantly. (He says that “people like Grunenwald” will shut their mouths when I “appear.”) Talked about “Resonances.”

M^me Dupré vehemently opened fire against Grunenwald, saying, “he’s like a musical demagogue” and compared him to Borchard. They were not at G[runenwald]’s concert yesterday.

 

Friday 4 February 1944

At Meudon. Worked and talked until late with the master. Showed them a card received from the abbé Huard.^[249] M^me Dupré was thrilled with the complimentary language; the master was indifferent.

At supper Dupré spoke of Grunenwald:

“That devil is a show-off; I’ve had a number of reports from friends: it was horrible yesterday. The most terrible of all is that he is implicating me. People say, ‘That’s the Dupré tradition, since Grunenwald is [290] his student, and he plays at St-Sulpice.’ And I can’t even get angry with him. If I say nothing, my reputation is tarnished; if I get angry, they’ll say, ‘Dupré is jealous of Grunenwald’…”

“It’s terrible,” M^me Dupré said to me.

MD: “In any case, one thing is certain: my ‘successor’ is you. Unfortunately, I cannot say the same for St-Sulpice, despite what I think. They will never accept a woman. It’s idiotic.”

This was the first time that Dupré had spoken to me concerning his successor at St-Sulpice and, as far as I’m concerned, I have never allowed him to suspect that I’m capable of imagining this.

Played three of the Sept Pièces for the master: “Souvenir,” “Marche,” “Final.” The published metronome mark for the march is too slow. He played it for me. He remarked that I had understood “Souvenir” very well and played the “Final” “with fire.” Very enthusiastic. Also played Dupré’s version of Daquin’s noëls in D minor and G [major]. He told me that I am too strict in these two pieces, which he regards as exceptions in the repertoire. He played them for me and had me play them “as fast as possible” and with panache; trills [291] in the style of Liszt.

MD: “It doesn’t work otherwise; you can have fun with it, do what you want. That’s where I find fault with Jean-Jacques [Grunenwald], trying to make it sound like grand music.

“I can’t wait to see you on a stage, you know. If only this war would finish…” I discretely questioned the master concerning the plan to lower the Pleyel organ.

MD: “It’s become out of the question. There is no money. I felt hopeful on the day when we were both there. Kiesgen told me on the telephone the other day: they’re imbeciles; they’re afraid to do anything.”

 

Friday 18 February 1944

At Meudon. The master is in Lyon, where he is playing for Widor’s birthday.^[250]

In conversation, M^me Dupré spoke to me once again concerning my Paris concerts and told me that it will be necessary to play a little of all the moderns. She applied gentle pressure. I told her that I wish neither to “grovel” nor be like “those who play this to get that.” She said that I will not be playing at their behest, but these [works] must be played “to shut their mouths” and so that no one will say that Dupré stops me from playing them, or that [292] I don’t know all the repertoire (for those who insist that these works are a part of it).

I told her that it’s not for myself that I don’t want to “grovel” and that if I did not have “them” [the Duprés] I would be in the same situation as everyone else.

Me: “I tend to be self-sufficient and to break [with convention] at the risk of breaking myself. You are right to insist. In any case, I will always do what you wish.”

Mme D: “I told M^r Dupré; he did not want to force you. It is necessary, in your own best interest.” She went about it marvellously with me.

And also, M^me D: “One more thing needs doing, regarding composition. But Monsieur Dupré will speak to you about that. I know nothing more of it.”

 

Friday 25 February 1944

Yesterday, an organ recital at St-Sulpice organized by M. Dupré in honor of the centenary of Widor’s birth. He invited five of Widor’s students: Jacob, Cellier, Panel, de Valombrosa, Mignan.^[251] He himself played the Variations from the Symphonie-Gothique and the first movement of the Sixth Symphony. In front of everyone, Dupré embraced Maman, and M^me Dupré embraced me.

Today at Meudon. A memorable day in which I continued to be astounded at Marcel Dupré’s nobility of spirit [293] and by his attachment to me, shared in all respects by his wife. Here are some precise excerpts from the master’s conversation with me that are so eloquent that I can add nothing:

MD: “I’ve a little story that will amuse you. As you know, I’ve decided to modify the presentation of the Études. There are some in which I need make no great change in order to turn them into… what I want. As for the others, I cannot bring myself to transform them in such a way; it must… it must be something else. Ultimately, in this way, Leduc is sidestepped; fine.^[252] But, as I very much regret that no grand études for organ have been written, it’s been decided, with Bornemann, that you are going to write six that he will publish.”

Me: “What!…”

MD: “Yes. I had a conversation with Bornemann; we have studied the question thoroughly. I went to see him one Friday and I told him, ‘Think about it.’ Sunday morning, I found him beneath my gallery; he said to me, ‘I’m leaving on a trip, and I wanted to give you my answer [294] beforehand. For the young lady, it’s agreed.’ M^me Dupré had said to me: ‘Above all, do not speak to her of this before you are sure, so that she does not get her hopes up for nothing’.”

Dupré’s plan was so sublime that I did not dare believe it could be true. Me: “Master, it’s impossible that I write any études after you!”

“No, it’s not. You will search for ideas that are yours. This will reflect your personality. You must do one in thirds, one in sixths…”

Me: “But, Master, I don’t want to! The idea of writing a set of études is yours; the idea belongs to you. That is something which should mark this era.”

MD: “Exactly. And that’s why it needs to be you who writes them. You are young; this will be your point of departure. I would not ask this of anyone else. I tell you, you must write them for art and for France.”

Me: “But wait… what about yours?”

MD: “Those that lend themselves to being arranged I will publish with other titles.”

Me: “And the others?”

MD: “The others will be written by you. You will do one in thirds, one in sixths, one for alternating toes; one in triplets if you like. Take [295] only the formula and use a different principle.”

Me: “Find a title [for yours] and publish them as they are.”^[253]

MD: “No; ‘they’ will remain unpublished.”

Me: “Master, you are not publishing them so as to allow me to write their equivalent…”

MD: “… That’s right.” I was speechless.

MD: “I wrote them for you. If Bornemann had not held a knife to my throat, I would have published them as late as possible. I’m keeping the manuscript for Marguerite. They will be posthumous. And then… when the time comes, you may, if you wish, give them a kiss before they are locked away where they belong.” Tears rose to our eyes; Dupré seemed happy.

Me: “Master… I don’t know what to say.”

MD: “I know how scrupulous you are. Allow yourself to do this.”

Me: “You are advancing my cause with Bornemann?”

MD: “Yes.”

Me: “I should throw myself into your arms like the father that you are to me; but… your études, they are so beautiful… Oh, I cannot!”

MD: “This evening, when you’ve returned home, this will sink in better for you.” The master gave me in writing the list of études he is sacrificing.

MD: “Try to forget that these were written; like everything else, they must be kept a strict [296] secret. They no longer exist except for you and for me.” I bowed to his wishes and posed one last question to the master:

Me: “Are you sure I can write them?”

MD: “Goodness! When you played your “Nativité” for me I realized this!” A sudden idea came to me:

“Allow me a question, Master: is your contract with Leduc a lengthy one?”

MD: “Forty years.”

Me: “And there remain…?”

MD: “Twenty… twenty-five years.”

Me: “Well then, wait until then to publish your Études!”

MD: “Well, I never! There’s an idea to mull over now! That I publish them! At age 75, when I can no longer play the pieces! What a thought!” An unexpected question.^[254]

Played five of the Sept Pièces for the master. He was enthusiastic. I wanted to return his score and the manuscript of his work on organ design to him.

MD: “Why? If you can use them, keep them.”

Me: “I dare not.”

MD: “I know! What’s mine is yours. When my manuscripts are with you, I rest easy. You see, I would never entrust all that to anyone else.” And straight away:

MD: “To see Jean Gallon’s face when I tell him all about this! I will say to him, you ‘gave me an angel,’ what can I give you in return? This frail child, a master? A star, a [297] sun? What surpasses a star or a sun?… Don’t you think that, from the point of view of the divine, an angel is higher than a star?”

As we chatted, we came upon M^me Dupré.

MD: “We are having a major discussion. Can you imagine that she had it in her head that she would be stealing the monopoly on études from me.” M^me Dupré laughed. MD: “She wants me to publish them when I’m 75.” I attempted, in vain, to escape from the notion that Dupré had sacrificed his Études.

Mme D: “Say nothing, nothing!”

MD: “She can’t believe it, you know.” I embraced them; they fondly returned the gesture, the master removing his hat. I will never forget their eyes riveted on me, their two loving gazes.

In the afternoon, [I had] worked with M^me Dupré, [and I did] radiant pedal work. Listened to the master on the radio for half an hour.^[255] Splendid. He’d left with Marguerite in the morning and returned, quite tired, at 5:00 PM. A bite to eat together. I left them quite late.

 

Monday 28 February 1944

Yesterday, Maman paid a visit to Dupré at St-Sulpice to thank him. All three embraced her, gathered around her.

A hundred people in the gallery, including Litaize [298] and his wife. Litaize took a beating in a discussion with M^r Guerner about Widor.

Maman chatted a long time with M^me Dupré, then with the master, who came to see her. He said that “we had done battle on Friday, and that my études should be ‘dazzling.’”^[256] M^me Dupré said that “I am worthy of what they are doing.” They were so happy.

After Mass, as Maman was discretely taking her leave, M^me Dupré ran to catch her on the square and, in front of Litaize and others, the master then chatted only with her [Maman] until they parted.

Today I went to thank the master at the end of his class; M^me Dupré knew about this in advance. The three Duprés were to take a tour and had planned to meet [there, too].^[257] They welcomed me warmly, their attitude sweeping me along with them. Curious glances. People came over to greet them, kiss a hand. “Let’s go; we are taking this child away,” said Dupré, while M^me Dupré ignored all the hangers-on, attending only to me. (It took me back to Rouen.)

Traversing the foyer [of the Conservatory], the master had a piquant word to say about a new statue that the students had defaced. Marguerite, delighted to see her father laugh: “What does it represent?”

MD: “It’s a likeness of Madame [Marguerite] Long. Come and see; it’s from this side that it’s a good representation.”

“Oh…” went M^me Dupré, [299] afraid someone might have overheard. “Let’s go; come quickly.” Marguerite laughed under her breath, and I was bursting to do the same.

We took the train to St-Augustin and chatted about the “études.”

MD: “You alone can write them.”

Me: “No, Master. You’re the only one.”

MD: “It’s you, I tell you; or, since it must be so: for you to do it would be the same as if it were I.” M^me Dupré strongly advised me to make two of them less difficult than the others, so that people will buy them; that way Bornemann will commission from me another six in which I can be freer. The master told me that if he returns to America, he will put my études on his program. He also mentioned that with [H. W.] Gray being the [American] agent for Bornemann, he has only to say the word for their publication to spread across America.

Papa is with Yolande in Aigues-Mortes.

 

Friday 10 March 1944

Ever since Tuesday, a severe pain in my left hand has prevented me from practising. The Duprés have been alerted. At Meudon, M^me Dupré made me wear a bandage that she herself made for me. She told me to wait for the master who wanted to see me when he returned. Very anxious.

 

[300] Wednesday 15 March 1944

Today I went to see Doctor Dramez, a radiologist, who took a photo of my hands. The X-ray revealed nothing abnormal. The doctor said that, while practicing, I must have used too much “effort,” and that it has nothing to do with rheumatism. He advised another week’s rest and treatment.

 

Sunday 19 March 1944

My parish priest having given me a vacation because of my hand, I went to St-Sulpice, where I was expected. Today was the inauguration of the automatic starter that Matigot had installed. The master and Matigot invited me to the “baptism” of the apparatus. Perroux and the abbé Champenois were there, too.^[258] (I noticed that Dupré invited no one else, although, among others [at St-Sulpice today] were Rolande Falcinelli and Boulnois.) They kept me there to the end.

I must emphasize Dupré’s generosity towards the young: two groups of young people had appointments to hear him. They had asked for the Toccata and Fugue in D minor [by Bach] as postlude to High Mass, but he preferred to improvise a fugue. He gave them a quarter-of-an-hour-long introductory course on organ design and came down personally to ask for “permission” to play at the 10:30 Mass [301] (as a bonus). He played the Toccata and Fugue in D minor and his own Fugue in F minor [from Op. 7].

 

Friday 25 March 1944

At Meudon. Upon my arrival, I met M^r Beuchet in conversation with M^me Dupré and Marguerite. M^me Dupré, whose manner towards me was especially amicable, came to greet me and drew me into the conversation, which she turned to the subject of my future organ at St-Esprit.^[259]

The master had his class going on in his quarters, so we worked in Marguerite’s to prevent the students seeing me. At teatime, free at last, the master joined us. I’m jotting down here some short pieces of dialogue that, like snapshots, can assist in getting to know him.

MD: “I’m disgusted… They play terribly! They stomp their feet on my organ! They make me… absolutely furious. Do you know what Thérèse [Vigot] came out with? She had made a mistake, really botched it, and then she said to me: ‘It’s your organ’s fault.’ I said to her, ‘That’s not fair; how do you expect the poor instrument to respond?’”

Me: “It responds with the wrong notes that she played.”

Mme D: “What do you expect when they are so weak?”

MD: “They don’t like my organ; I see that very well.”

Me: “But they do, Master; they speak very enthusiastically about it to me.”

MD: “Ah! … But they’re [302] stuck in their routines: 4’ flute in the pedal, etc.”

Mme D: “In a moment, when Jeanne has played the organ for you, it will all be better, you’ll see.”

MD: “You are going to play the organ for me?… This evening?”

Me: “If you wish, Master.”

MD: “Oh, yes! You’re sure it won’t tire your hand?… After a three-hour class, I need to relax. You will soothe me.” The master said that he would “relax all the better for listening to me,” and we descended immediately.

Prelude and Fugue in B minor and Fugue in G minor by Bach. Cortège et Litanie [Op. 19/2], and “Fileuse” [Op. 28/2] by Dupré. Fugue in C minor by Mozart. Concerning the Cortège et Litanie, Dupré said to me:

“I’m so tired of this work… just as everyone else is tired of it.^[260] I may even be tiring of my entire body of work.”

Me: “Master…”

MD: “It varies from day to day; tomorrow I may think otherwise.”

Me: “Well, look at it this way: if it can be said that I have a particular fondness for any ‘one’ of your works,” then it is for Cortège et Litanie.” Dupré smiled; then:

“Medtner, too, shared this fondness: he made Glazunov come to Meudon expressly to hear me play that work.”^[261]

He gave me his fingering for the “Fileuse.” In [the works by] Bach, he again found the required “grandeur” and said that my playing is “expressive” and flexible. Speaking [303] of the Fugue in E minor [from BWV 533],

MD: “It’s considered easy, but it’s one of his masterpieces. It must be played as if it were night. It’s the nighttime calm, a fugue that one hears at night.”

We were also ecstatic about the Mozart fugue. I said that every entrance of the subject is astonishingly striking.

MD: “Yes.”

Me: “What is so extraordinary in Mozart is the way his pieces and masterpieces are tossed off with seeming casualness: here’s a fugue, there’s a symphony, a quartet… and we come across these pieces the way one finds an eagle’s feather, and we think: could this feather have possibly been part of a living creature?”

MD: “What you say is very true. He and Bach are the two musical Goliaths. The two titans are Beethoven and Wagner.” He thought for a moment and then summed it up this way:

“There are great geniuses, geniuses, men of ingenuity, great musicians and, after that, there’s nothing.” This conclusion pleased me immensely, as Dupré himself sensed. Spying some manuscripts in amongst my music,

MD: “Sketches?”

Me: “Yes, Master.”

MD: “Show me.” These were some sketches for my 1^st Étude.” I played [304] them through once, with their timbres.

MD: “That’s interesting… that seems very interesting to me; play it again.” Afterwards, again, MD: “Play this another time… and then here, quickly.” This “quickly” was anxious.

MD: “There’s something here… a certain atmosphere, without doubt.” He repeated it several times.

MD: “It’s something stormy that you want?”

Me: “Yes, and orchestral.”

MD: “I see. With a melody that rises out of the hands and climbs to the end?…”

Me: “Yes.”

MD: “I don’t know… but… something like this…?” Attracted irresistibly to the keys, Dupré improvised a fragment of a gesture that gushed forth, then stopped suddenly.

MD: “Is that what you want?”

Me: “Yes.”

MD: “That, or something like it, naturally, but it captured the spirit, didn’t it?”

Me: “Yes! You’ve found it.” Ever since Dupré put his finger on my nature, it is there that our sensibilities have their closest contact. What a strange phenomenon to be able to share reciprocally with each other both mold and inspiration. Dupré was affirmative and said that I have there the “point of departure” for my Études. I told him that I think I’ve caught a glimpse of the six, sometimes even hear them, and that, when I take paper, I cannot write a measure without trouble and without [305] feeling discouraged.

MD: “We’re going to ask M^me Dupré to read you a passage about Chopin. This will console you. Come now.”

M^me Dupré came down and read, and there followed a broad discussion concerning the physiology of musical creation. I shared with them my idea that composition, properly speaking, would be, above all, a tangible reconstitution of what inspiration leaves behind; and this reconstitution would be the cause of anguish because it would seem to the composer that it would never conform closely enough to the vision. It seems to me that this is what explains the stubbornness of perseverance, diluted by despair. Dupré agreed with me and said to M^me Dupré:

“A composition teacher cannot accomplish with a student what the two of us are doing. One must ‘see’ the work before it is written.” To me: “You have to be able to discuss your ideas so that you don’t feel alone.”

Marguerite came down to read me a passage about Wagner. An atmosphere at once invigorating and sweet, intimate.

 

Good Friday 7 April 1944

At Meudon. I began by working with M^me Dupré while the master finished a lesson.

At 3:30, [306] Marguerite, the master, and the student joined us in the dining room where we listened on the radio to Dupré’s concert, recorded last evening: two Bach chorales, four of Dupré’s stations [from Le Chemin de la Croix]. Bad recording: the soft stops were “forced” sounding, the loud ones weakened by the sound engineer (this is how it appeared to me from the first notes, and I’m familiar with the “cooking” style of these “sound engineers”—what they call “well-modulated,” according to a colleague). Given how nervous Dupré was, I dared to advise him to assert himself henceforth before recording again.

During this concert, we were all gathered around the table; the master had beckoned me to his right. At the start, Dupré made some odd comments that had the effect of imposing silence. Then, in spite of himself, he listened to his piece, and, in the middle of the 14^th station, he distractedly removed his glasses, placed his hands on his eyes, and I clearly heard him stifle some tears he was attempting to hide. My distress communicated itself to Marguerite and M^me Dupré, and we sat in anguish, not daring to say anything, while the student, some distance away, noticed nothing. A moment later, in an effort to make a joke, the master said to me, “Did you hear? The second wrong note.” Immediately after the broadcast, [307] MD: “Well, if that’s how I play the organ―drat―I know why my enemies criticize me behind my back. That was a mess.” M^me Dupré turned this into banter; the student excused himself, and I went up to Marguerite’s room for a while.

When I quietly came back down, M^me Dupré said to me, “You see, he is still angry. It is getting no better” (the student had unwittingly mentioned Busser). Then, as the only remaining way out, M^me Dupré sent us to the organ [and said,] “Go, do some work. I’ll see you shortly, my dear.”

MD: “In a little while, Marguerite and I will play Islamey for you.” The master calmed down while we worked. I played the Suite Bretonne [Op. 21 and the] the Scherzo [Op. 16]; I showed him a plan for a [set of] variations that he had asked me to make. After the Scherzo, the master repeated his favorite sentence: “I’ve never heard such playing.” He said that I had again made progress in expertise.

MD: “As a matter of fact, the Scherzo was composed for an organ with registrateur.”

Me: “Seeing that you have been thinking about the registrateur for a long time ago, why not transcribe these works? You have the right to, Master.”

MD: “Yes, that’s true. I could certainly imagine it with registrateur.”

Dupré gave me [308] a noël theme on which to improvise variations. We worked together in dogged and relentless fashion, with enthusiasm, relinquishing the manuals, rivaling each other in perfection, seizing upon one another’s ideas, treating the theme in a thousand ways; in the end, I dare to say, each searching out our utmost. For me, this was emulation on a glorious scale [émulation illustre], of which I, alone, have the privilege. This went on for a good three-quarters of an hour, after which the master spoke to me enthusiastically about improvisation. I spoke to him of the impressionability, the hypersensitivity of the improviser. We are in agreement.

After that, I heard the Islamey transcription played by the master and Marguerite. I was moved by their efforts and the “conquest” of the modern organ. I listened from the back of the hall with M^me Dupré; then the master came to us, saying to me, “I wanted you to be the first to hear it. Now tell me what you think: you are in the best position of anyone.” After Islamey, these word[s] on the registrateur system, “everything is possible,” ignited my imagination.

When I left, the master said of me, “She is full of ideas for improvisation and composition.”

 

[309] Friday 14 April, 1944

Afternoon at Meudon. Saw all three [Duprés], ate with Marguerite.

Spent a half-hour with the master; talked improvisation; religion, also—the latter on a personal level, without debate.

Accompanying me back to the station, Dupré said, “The registrateur opens up infinite paths that I cannot explore to the fullest. I am standing at the door, whereas you, who are so closely involved in this birth, will discover everything.”

The master is waiting avidly for my Étude: our last words were about the Étude.

Friday 21 April 1944

A horrible week. Paris was bombed twice―the suburbs several times.^[262] What is in store for tomorrow? Spent two nights in the cellar hearing bombs whistling and houses collapsing. Not far from us, the neighbourhood of the little Bercy church, where I worked so hard for my organ prize, has been devastated.^[263] Four student victims of fire; one wounded. From my balcony, two fires can be seen, one near Meudon. Impossible in the early hours to reach the Duprés on the telephone.

This afternoon, [310] I went to Meudon. I fell into M^me Dupré’s arms: “How are the three of you?” She told me that for them, too, last night had been frightening. The fire is smoldering a hundred metres away. Dupré has left to teach his class (!). I saw Marguerite.

M^me Dupré and I chatted until 5:00. This dear, energetic woman has a very big heart, which she opens to me more and more, sharing in confidence some of the stories of her life. She told me that she cried all day long yesterday, without showing it; but all the same, she was shaken. Our conversation soothed her, and she became more cheerful. We ate together and welcomed the master, who had returned, sad yet calm. He embraced his wife.

Mme D: “It didn’t go well?”

MD: “‘They’ played like swine.”

Mme D: “I can see that instantly; don’t worry.” Dupré came over to me:

MD: “This child’s hands are frozen; you were afraid last night.” Dupré asked whether “the little one had eaten,” and the three of us chatted for a while. “And Rouen…” Dupré began, without being able to continue. Then, he immediately said that he had just seen Grunenwald and turned towards me.

MD: “Keep this to yourself: I’m trying to send Grunenwald to Toulouse, where the post of director of the conservatory [311] is vacant. St-Sernin, too. I told him, at St-Sernin you will have ten thousand francs. Do you know what he replied to me? ‘Per month?’ I don’t know what that one has in his head.” Grunenwald put up some resistance; Dupré became impatient and threatened him [MD to Grunenwald]: “I have put you in Cortot’s hands.^[264] If you refuse, you will end up with nothing.”

MD: “I want him gone, you understand?” Dupré said to me. M^me Dupré left us and, making our way to the organ, the master continued:

“It would suit us well if Jean-Jacques went away…” I dared not say anything.

For Dupré, I played my Étude, composed as far as the recapitulation. He immediately said to me: “Ah, that pleases me, you know. It has grandeur.” I played it again.

MD: “Magnificent; you’ve got it on the first try. Isn’t it strange: you, who are the only one to rely on me, have discovered your own harmonic language. My Études opened the way to you, but they were only the roots; yours will blossom. Ah, when they hear you play that!… Your enemies and mine will say, ‘That’s not music; it’s only technique [312]; it’s unplayable.’ Were there only one voice to the contrary in the press, this would suffice. But don’t think about them when [you are] writing. Moreover, they’ll say all kinds of things about you, in any which way. You must simply shrug it off. You will see: it’s not so difficult to disregard oneself.” Returning to the Étude: “We are closely aligned in everything; from an intellectual point of view, you issue from me, and [yet] you are different: you are you. I have followed the path; you are ‘discovering’ [it]. I repeat: someone had to surpass me. That’s all I want for you.” And again,

MD: “All my students, I believe, have confidence in me. They all like me, especially the men; the women, not all. But you alone see me and have always seen me in the position you have given me. Even as a child, you knew you were destined for [work with] me. I knew you in the infancy of your career. As for them, they think they will preserve their own personality by distancing themselves from me; they prefer to be independent of Marcel Dupré. They don’t have your courage. Messiaen is an artist, all the same; he refused. I had some hope for Grunenwald: I was very quickly set straight.” [313]

The master said that he could “see” the end of my Étude and was considering the details. I explained to him how I compose and what my alternatives had been for the Étude. He listened to me with great interest, discussing and, as always, seeking a peer rapport up to his standards, as though to teach me dignity and modesty by example, such as,

MD: “Beethoven said, ‘To retouch the details is to alter the character of the work’…^[265] He was right. He could say that. For us, this is somewhat frightening.”

I asked the master for permission not to improvise on some noëls. He didn’t insist, saying, “Don’t worry.”

He questioned me and became terribly pale when I described to him the suffering at the beginning of the week. He said to me, in such a muffled voice that I believe he is seized by a fear that I will falter, “You know… that your work is the most important…” I responded that nothing can deter me, that I hold to this goal above all, and that my determination has not weakened.

The master told me that M^me Dupré and he would like to see me more often; speaking of a recent [314] improvisation session given at Meudon, MD: “… M^me Dupré told me, ‘You know very well that Saturdays are when she teaches… if you were to say it, she would drop everything for you.’” And speaking of recent events:

MD: “They wearied you, they wore you out, certainly. But this will make you ‘tough as steel’.” That’s his motto. We chatted with friendly intimacy.

MD: “When you need to hear our voices, telephone, often. We would like to have you come to Meudon for everything.” And, finally, MD: “Above all, confide in me. You have a friend in me, you know.” We chatted a moment longer with M^me Dupré, who accompanied us as far as the garden gate, whereas the master carried on as far as the station.

 

Monday 24 April 1944

This evening, finished my Étude No. 1 in E minor for organ. Immediately telephoned Meudon. M^me Dupré ran to inform the master; both of them congratulated me.

 

Thursday 27 April 1944

First thing in the morning, received a pneumatic message from Perroux who asked me to see him at the American Church, Quai d’Orsay. He was inside the organ [chamber] when I arrived [315], a young student of Dupré [being] at the manuals. “M’sieur Perroux, it’s Mademoiselle Demessieux!”

I quickly examined the organ. Perroux came down, and I asked him for the details of the Écho [division], because this was my first opportunity to play an organ with an Écho. A feeling of “knowing” while on this organ, and I secretly savoured this mastery of an organ [with] electric [action]. Improvised, then played Dupré’s “Final” [from Sept Pieces, Op. 27], Widor’s Toccata, thinking myself alone except for the presence of Perroux and his acolyte. Perroux hovered over my playing as he followed it, and I perceived, when I stopped, that five or six other people were listening to me, including Perroux’s daughter. They kept insisting that I play other works. I got out of it by asking Perroux to explain the specification of the organ to me. We went into the nave, but they joined us, still insisting that I play some more, questioning me.

Just then, an alert saved me. I left alone, on foot, though they tried to accompany me. Cannon. Some shrapnel ended up at my feet… how many times before it’s my turn?

 

Friday 28 April 1944

A concert of works by Jehan Alain at the Salle des [316] Agriculteurs.^[266] I met M^me Dupré and Marguerite (the master is on tour).^[267] In the intermission, chatted with them for a long time, familiarly, as always. Papa was with me.

Since she had to leave before the end, M^me Dupré offered us their seats near Florent Schmitt. Seven years ago, at the Conservatory, I publicly played a work for two pianos by Florent Schmitt. He had been enthused with my talent as a pianist, and I was in a position of favour with this unique character. Today, he recognized me, and we engaged in conversation. We exited together. Questioning me, he was very intrigued by my vague responses. Schmitt: “Come see me in St-Cloud some Thursday.”

[In attendance] at this concert: Serge Lifar, Honegger, etc. From M^me Dupré’s seat, I could see Grunenwald, and when our looks crossed, sparks flew.

 

Friday 12 May 1944

At Meudon. The master was working in his office, M^me Dupré and I in the dining room. At 4:00, M^me D: “When M^r Dupré has finished the measure he’s working on, he will come eat with you.” So then, I chatted with the master.

MD: “I was copying out the “Suite.”^[268] I absolutely must make up my mind to give it to Bornemann, or he’ll never stop saying to me, ‘I won’t publish the young lady, if you don’t give me anything.’ Only, first, I want [317] the two of us to be in agreement. You will tell me what you think; I’ll give nothing to Bornemann without having your opinion. We’ll do this together.”

Me: “Master, you know that you could reverse your decision―I beg you―you are free.”

MD: “That’s not the point! The ‘Études’ are yours. I don’t know yet what I’ll take from the Adagio: the little six-voice ricercare is not too bad, or even the C major [section], doing away with the triplets, naturally. You have the list of Études I’m abandoning. In terms of what I’m keeping from the others, I want to discuss that with you; I insist on this.” And while chatting,

MD: “How strange is this story of the Études… I decided to write twelve, for you, with the idea that you would première them. Later, the Études are refused by Leduc, accepted by Bornemann, and we decide that you instead of I will compose them. If I dare say, Providence has made use of the last of those b—  to achieve its ends!” Brusquely,

MD: “That’s the Étude in thirds, right?”

Me: “No, it’s not written yet.”

MD: “Oh! So much the better. I’ll let you know.”

Me: “You keep yours, Master!”

MD: “But, no. Come now!” [318]

Dupré explained himself by means of a huge digression. He recounted his engagement for eighteen concerts in [blank]^[269] contracted just before the war (ten Bach recitals and the entire repertoire), and his voluntary return home to France. Ever since, he has thought of going again, has made approaches on his own; but, surmising that he could never return, he abandoned this plan. His contract is still valid.

MD: “In one of these eighteen concerts, I will play two of your Études, certainly your Étude in thirds. Then, I want to ask you to do a technical exercise for me, toes and heels in parallel motion. If it isn’t parallel [motion], I can’t do it fast enough.” As that is, in effect, impossible, I stammered, flabbergasted in the face of this humility, and ended up laughing. Dupré opened his eyes in an honest gesture. Then,

MD: “That way, when I play them, you will become known. People will be astonished.” And, simply: “If we see the end of the war, and if we come out alive, the grand tour that I must make before yours will be a tour to promote you.” At work,

MD: “Begin with the Étude: I’m looking forward to it.” I played it four times, quickly and slowly. Dupré was nearly speechless (occasionally he would remain dumbfounded, [319] as though turned to stone. It was only later that he revealed to me what he was thinking at that moment. And so it goes).

MD: “That’s wonderful.” He avidly paged through my manuscript: I asked him for criticism, but in vain. MD: “Of course, I’ll tell you what I think. When one has an old friend like me, one can rely on him. One cannot see clearly for oneself; I’m certainly like that. I myself was alone at your age. Your colossal ‘strength’ derives from your confidence in me.”

We spoke of personality and, with sensitivity, we were able to profess our faith; we probed the limits of sincerity, of loyalty; we countered each other with conviction. It is I who posed the question, bravely, and Dupré who enthusiastically discussed, proud of me and of himself. Without meaning to compare levels, as far as I’m concerned, I maintain that what separates Nietzsche from Wagner, Wagner from Liszt, Brahms from Schumann, will draw together ever more tightly the reciprocal confidence Marcel Dupré and I have in each other. To conclude, the master returned to my Étude: “It’s good, my little one, it’s good!” and emphasized each word.

Dupré followed this with a strange account. “I have spoken to you of conversations with canon Merret regarding women [320] in official roles?…

Me: “No, Master.”

MD: “We discussed whether official posts could be held by women as well as by men or whether, on the contrary, they should be excluded. Fine. He said to me that he didn’t see any reasons to disallow these [posts] to equally cultivated women. I said to him, ‘Why is the organist post in a church forbidden to them? In my class, I have six women as students as compared to three men. I don’t wish to cause your priestly heart pain, but it must be stated that in our time, particularly, women are more religious than men. Why disallow women taking the organist’s post in a church when they come there of their own accord to pray?’ He responded, ‘I think you’re right; I think the same way.’ I continued, ‘I understand that one cannot nominate a woman to a seminary; those young [men] must be left in peace. But do you believe that the Cardinal would oppose naming a woman to Ste-Clotilde, the Madeleine, Sacré-Cœur, the Cathedral, St-Sulpice, if the woman were a universally hallowed artist?’ He said to me, [321] ‘The Cardinal would not oppose this.’ Then I said this to him, ‘Suppose there were a competition for the post at St-Sulpice… Just suppose that someone came along, unlike anyone ever seen, who crushed (excuse the term) all other contenders; suppose I put that someone there, and this someone were a woman? Between you and me, what would the Cardinal do? And you―would you accept her?’ He responded to me, ‘The Cardinal would accept her, and I would support this.’ There, my little one.” We kept a long silence.

MD: “The more I [think about it], the more convinced I become that my successor is you. My ‘scepter’ must go only to you; you are the crown prince, and we are collaborators.”

Then the master gave me a choice of themes on which to improvise variations or a passacaglia. I chose the variations. In extraordinarily good form. Dupré rose and cried out after each variation. He repeated “That was lovely” or “That was wonderful,” over and over. Between two variations, I asked him if I may go right to the limit. MD: “Oh, yes!” When I stopped after a toccata of chords from the wrist, [322] the master had very moist eyes.

MD: “You’re going to do for improvisation and composition the same as you’ve done for performance. Ah! It’s no longer a matter of searching for the true stretto, is it now? It was necessary, of course, but now…”

I mentioned the scherzos and symphonies that Dupré asked of us in class.

MD: “I assigned them because of you. Before you, they thought of them as some kind of monstrosity. Since you, I’ve never assigned them again; they couldn’t do them.”

We chatted some more. The master pulled some documents from my portfolio. MD: “Here. I worked on your behalf during my tour.^[270] You will be amused by this. Also, here is the plan for the variations I improvised for the polytechnical [school]; I thought it would please you.”

He talked to me about his tour and wanted to put me to work again―next Friday. When I protested because of the time involved for him, MD: “I’m working as much for my own sake as for yours.”

M^me Dupré welcomed us, beaming, asking, as usual, how the lesson went. But, without swearing to it, I’d say her face seemed to let on that she had heard me play. [323]

 

Thursday 1 June 1944

All morning spent at Meudon. When, as planned, I telephoned M^r and M^me Dupré yesterday (they were back from a trip), the master had asked me to spend this morning at Meudon, working and chatting, “to get in touch again” before the next departure. I found all three very sad. M^me Dupré embraced me several times: “You’re not too tired?”

Me: “No… And you?”

Mme D: “The usual” (they had two alerts and bombardments that night). With emotion, M^me Dupré said to me, “You know, M^r Dupré is not leaving; the concert at Angers has been cancelled; the cathedral was struck. Oh! I was trembling to see him leave, with all that has happened; you see… I am calmer. Isn’t that better?” The master came down. “You see, Jeanne also thinks it’s better that you don’t go.”

MD: “Yes, but one has to do one’s duty.”

Mme D: “It’s not your fault…” With M^me Dupré, I suspected suppressed tears. The master was glum.

They told me about their trip. (They had thought they would never get their train from Paris because of the thousands of panicky people. Eleven and a half hours late, a bombing, four kilometres [324] on foot). For a moment, some sorrowful words concerning Rouen escaped Dupré’s lips. Then, we went to work.

MD: “Well? The Étude ?…” This simple mention had a brightening effect on Dupré, then his mood darkened once again:

MD: “Do you know what Le Boucher’s latest development is?”

Me: “No, Master.”

MD: “He has sold the [Montpellier] Salle de Concerts organ for thirty-three thousand francs.”

I was dumbfounded and sensed Dupré’s anger.

MD: “So that’s it!”

Me: “It was a mediocre organ, but it was better than nothing. Perhaps the intention is to replace it?…”

MD: “No. He sold it, or had it sold. An organist!”

Our project of concerts in honour of Cavaillé-Coll is ruined.^[271] Dupré seems unlikely to forgive Le Boucher for this incident, just as he does not forgive Le Boucher’s lack of understanding about me when Dupré was testing the terrain while considering confiding in him.

Dupré continued in the same way, from memory, filling me in on the detailed specifications of used concert organs sold to new owners, thereby lost from concert halls. Organs in concert halls are [easily] counted, and they are flawed or lamentably deficient. These two facts go against his views and his [325] efforts. He told me that there are good instruments in private households, but that, in France, they invite the artist for no pay, and this fails to achieve the goal since there is no [financial] support.

MD: “To earn a living, an organist is obliged to be employed by funeral directors, or to teach, or to be a virtuoso in foreign countries.” Naturally, we came to the point of using ourselves as examples. I spoke of the war, somber reference, in search of something to console him. The master responded indirectly:

MD: “At your current pace, you will have finished the Études and learned them for October. We will have covered the big improvisational forms. Therefore, in close to three years and two months, you will have accomplished our five-year plan. You will have finished! As for me, I am committed to inactivity until the end of the war, assuming that afterwards, the borders will be open.” Knowing Dupré, this is his way of revealing that more and more courage is needed.

I played the Étude in thirds for the master. In sonority, it seems to me to fulfill the ideal I heard when [326] inspired by the Meudon organ. From the beginning, Dupré appeared surprised, then enthused. He found himself liking the theme, savouring it at each appearance; then, not finding it in its entirety in the conclusion (I had hesitated, fearing monotony), he said to me, unaware that he was reintroducing my first idea: “The theme should be here! We need to hear it at the conclusion. Well! You know… take my word for it, you have here the makings of a masterwork. It [the theme] must be heard again. It’s not complicated. If you would just take that into account… It’s worth it, you know…”

The master asked me to play it again. I drew his attention to a measure in which I was suddenly aware I’d not entirely realized my idea. I played and when I arrived at this passage, Dupré stopped me: “Don’t change anything here, I beg you; the phrase is so beautiful; forget the rest. Above all, don’t change a thing.” Then, the master said, “It’s a jewel, a marvel… What’s fascinating is that we are working along parallel lines. I did my Études, now you are doing yours; mine are as they are, yours reflect your sensibility, your harmonic sense.” The master became [327] particularly solemn: “With your musicality, and your soul, I was certain that you would write music to bring people to their knees!”

Me: “You have more confidence in me than I have in myself…”

MD: “Yes. It’s a good thing I got you away from a certain Busser. You needed more ‘security,’ my little one!” Then, a moment later, revisiting the Étude,

MD: “You have found that nostalgia… the hands dreaming on the manuals while the pedals whisper.” And this restored his smile.

MD: “… Furthermore, it is well-placed for my technique!” When I again thanked the master for wishing to play my Études, he responded, “I certainly owe you this. You learned mine before I did, so it follows that I should learn yours.” He became interested in trying out the left-hand extensions. “Yes, I can do it.”

He spoke to me of Grunenwald, Rolande Falcinelli, Françoise Aubut, J. C. Touche, saying that they are “young upstarts,” and that I have nothing to fear from them; anyway, he is watching [them].”

MD: “There is only one child predestined to be what you are.”

The master also told me that his friend Pierre Bourdon had invited him to lunch [328], with M^me Dupré and Marguerite, too, on the Feast of the Ascension [May 18, 1944].

MD: “He’s a long-time friend with whom I can share my most secret thoughts. I’ve told him your entire story. He said to me, ‘That’s a fairy tale you’ve just told me.’ I responded, ‘When you see this little one and when you hear her, you can tell me whether it’s a fairy tale.’” Chatted even longer.

MD: “It’s a ray of sunshine, you know…” Dupré is visibly suffering the effects of the war and no longer tries to hide it from me, wanting only to conserve his energy.

Walking me back, the master seemed more and more absorbed in my Études. He spoke of them to Marguerite, whom we saw at the station. In theory, we have set my twelfth recital for the 17^th [of June]; the master and Marguerite will play a program of music for the registrateur for my parents.

Upon my return, I finished the Étude in thirds.

Tuesday 6 June 1944

The invasion of Normandy. Rouen has been in flames for some days; the cathedral [is] on fire. General shelling. The war again, cities condemned to destruction. Paris cut off from everything. The end is at hand. Tomorrow…! God save France.

 

[329] Friday 9 June 1944

Over the past week, numerous telephone calls to the Duprés, all three in agony for Rouen. M^me Dupré cried when I told her that we shared their pain and kept repeating, “What you are saying pleases me, we are in the hands of God.” The master turned away from his anguish to study my Études. MD: “You are going to do something very beautiful.”

Today, since M^me Dupré had been determined to receive me, I made my way towards Montparnasse (open only for some suburban lines) and met up with the master, arriving from Meudon. He accompanied me as far as the train, retracing his steps and conversing solemnly. Our first words concerned the war.

MD: “Feeling emotional…?”

Me: “Yes, Master, very emotional.

MD: “Me too.” I avoided speaking the name Rouen.

Dupré turned obstinately towards the future, describing it to me in a few words, seemingly unaware of any other objective. He told me that it’s the final effort, and the hardest. I divined that in this present world, crashing down around us, Dupré is leaning towards the moral value of his work: the vast progress of the organ, represented by himself and me. [330] Amid this current ordeal, his imposing stance is an example for me. He spoke to me for the first time concerning the approaching horizon that is the end of the war. In a flash, I saw the future was imminent; I was moved.

He asked me for news concerning my third Étude, which was born during the fracas, eight hours ago.

At Meudon, M^me Dupré had prepared an enormous bundle of roses and peonies for me. We spent indescribably delightful hours together, imparting mutual confidence, sharing our woes. Chatted with Marguerite.

 

Saturday 17 June 1944

Twelfth recital at Meudon: Cortège et Litanie, Scherzo, Suite Bretonne, the Sept Pièces, all by Dupré. In very good form. Hours of oblivion, of hope; an oasis. The master, as always, very calm, but solemn. A secret sadness is upon all of us.

The master and Marguerite played Islamey (transcription with registrateur). My parents were enthused.

They [the Duprés] accompanied us back to the station and saw us on our way.

Monday 19 June 1944

Unexpected visit from M^me Dupré. The aim of her visit was [331] significant: to renew my parents’ courage and mine. She sensed a shadow of sadness over my parents yesterday at St-Sulpice when we were speaking of Marie-Louise Girod’s debut concert. She had advised me, vaguely, to attend; but today she addressed my parents.

“I don’t want you to be unhappy. We spoke of it yesterday evening. M^r Dupré wished to write to you. If it troubles you in the least, then don’t go. I could see very well that you were upset.”

Then it was our turn to reassure her. We know very well that I must wait until the borders are open. We spoke warmly, and then I accompanied M^me Dupré back [to the subway], while speaking about my Études, a subject she likes and that brings a smile to her face.

Friday 23 June 1944

In Meudon. Upon arriving at the house, I was received by Marguerite, who said to me, tactfully, that her mother had been ill since yesterday evening. She was waiting for me, and I immediately went up to find her weak and tired. Not too feverish, but she felt weak this morning and thought she may have eaten something that made her [332] sick. She embraced me, spoke with difficulty, lamented, very briefly, about not having any strength.

When I spoke of her last visit, she said to me again, “Don’t make yourself unhappy; oh! no. You are not obliged to go (to the Girod concert). If you were to go, I would fret the whole time, saying, ‘this is upsetting them.’”

Then she sent me to the master, to plan the program of modern repertoire and chat, making me promise to come back up [later]. Dupré was taking advantage of having a little electricity again to practice on his organ.

“How does she seem?” he asked me anxiously.

Me: “Not very well. But it’s not serious, is it?…”

MD: “I’m having the doctor come this evening, because… I found out there was typhoid in Paris. I’ve not told her this, or Marguerite.”

Then the master promptly enquired about my work; as I had brought the manuscript of the Étude with me, he asked to see it. I played for him what I had written. He was enthused, questioned me, tried some passages. He told me that Bornemann must publish me again, immediately after the Études.

Next, he launched into speaking to me, with the greatest candour, about the war, telling me that, henceforth, he will keep me [333] up to date on his thoughts on this matter, as with all others, so that, he said, I rely more and more on him. I sensed a sort of reaction in him, a strength.

He announced to me that he has been named Commissioner General of Radio [systems] and that those around him are [Emmanuel] Bondeville, [Émile] Vuillermoz, and Florizone. For the first time I was aware of, I saw him accept an honour with pleasure. He explained to me his personal connections to these men and told me,

“They will assist me with your debut.” And another important piece of news:

MD: “I’ve spoken to you of the Sorbonne?…”

Me: “No, Master.”

MD: “Above the Puvis de Chavannes^[272] fresco, they’re going to put an organ! Of one hundred stops… I’m on the Commission; it’s I who drew up the estimate. It will cost two million, three hundred thousand [francs]; this appears to be [getting it] for a song. [Construction] will begin immediately after the war.”

Me: “Finally, a concert organ that could rival English and American organs! And built according to your ideas!”

MD: “Yes!”

Me: “And presented to an intellectual audience!”

MD: “Dufourcq has Chaillot, and we will have the Sorbonne, my little one!” And he added,

“We [334] have Gavoty in our ranks, now. Do you know what Norbert [Dufourcq] said to someone who spoke of Gavoty to him? ‘Gavoty is a b—; he has gone to the enemy’s side.’ The ‘enemy’ is me.” Dupré sees Providence helping him. When I told him that Gavoty was rising in my estimation and that he was, without doubt, intelligent, he responded, “Above all, he’s an opportunist.”

He also told me that they [the Duprés] were obliged to accept an invitation to eat with the Touche family, yesterday, and recounted to me how M^me Touche took him aside and asked him to “pull some strings” for Jean-Claude [Touche] so he can play at Chaillot.

MD: “I responded, ‘Madame, if you desire that Jean-Claude play at Chaillot, you mustn’t appeal to me; and, if you want to be certain that he’ll play there, you must declare yourself against me.’ She let it go…!”

I told him that I intend to set fixed repertoire for St-Esprit, and I asked for his advice. The master’s face lit up, and he responded, spontaneously, “All the better. It’s not necessary to redo work already done, but rather to help oneself to it! I’ll pass on to you my lists of repertoire for St-Sulpice.” I protested a little but was touched by this.

Dupré [335] laid out the program of modern repertoire, leaving me a choice, and lent me the scores. He mentioned Le Boucher’s [Organ] Symphony and, when I expressed indifference, said he sees no reason to impose it on me.

MD: “He no longer has an organ to which to invite you; you owe him nothing.” We considered the “Suite” formed from four of the Études, and Dupré decided to use the six-voice ricercare as the Adagio.^[273] Finally, Dupré thought through our entire conversation, which had lasted nearly two hours, and said, “I believe I’ve updated you on everything since our last meeting. I have, once more, gotten everything off my chest with you.”

We went up to M^me Dupré, who was still sorrowful. She took my hands, embraced me: “These hands are always cold… I heard the Étude!”

“Ah, that dreadful thing,” I exclaimed; then M^me Dupré turned to the master, and I had the pain of hearing her sigh, “You hear what she says…!”

Marguerite settled me beside her mother. I read [aloud] the program [of modern repertoire] Dupré had made. M^me Dupré gave her advice, then we chatted.

Dupré had to go to Paris, and M^me Dupré decided, “She must simply take your [336] train; you will leave together.” I departed, though it was difficult to leave her.

During our journey, Dupré and I entered into a wide-ranging discussion concerning our technique and, because he insists that I am going to surpass him, and that I am ten years more advanced than he was at my age, I told him that his [technique] is “natural” and mine is “artificial.” This compromise didn’t satisfy him but put us in agreement.

In Paris, the master headed towards St-Sulpice and asked me to accompany him. Relaxed and wide-ranging conversation. Spoke of Rouen and recalled some memories. The abbé Delestre is well.

MD: “I had always searched for a successor, among the men. The first time I had the clear impression that you would be my successor was when you played Franck’s Prière in class. I said to myself, ‘Is it possible that this child will rise to such heights…’ And I thought, ‘Why not her…?’” We passed by St-Sulpice, of which I made mention.

“St-Sulpice” said Dupré, pensive. MD: “Let’s continue,” and the master recalled events and repeated to me that I should count on him for encouragement. He showed me the hotel where Widor lived,^[274] and we parted ways at the doorstep where he entered. I myself was going to St-Sulpice.

 

[337] Saturday 24 June 1944

I reached M^me Dupré on the telephone, up and around and feeling better, and the master, too, delighted and indulging in banter. They kept passing the handset back and forth between them. MD: “Scold her; she has been careless getting up [like this].” We spoke of the Étude, and the master said he never stops thinking about it.

This evening, I completed the third Étude, the one in octaves.^[275] I wrote twenty-five measures in four hours.

 

Friday 30 June 1944

At Meudon. Back to work with M^me Dupré, [who is] feeling better; the four of us dined.

The master had just spent some time with the sculptor [Mateo] Hernandez for whom he had done a great favour. As soon as he returned, he told me a sentence spoken by Hernandez that had struck him: “We artists must work as if we are never going to die.”

Much working and chatting with the master who immediately asked me to play for him the Études in thirds and in octaves, the endings of which he did not yet know. He was immensely moved by the Étude in thirds and said to me, “That’s a very beautiful work. It is nostalgic, immensely moving! It’s sensitive, pure as an angel. This is the first [338] time you found yourself, my little one. You have found yourself! It’s you, right to your core, your portrait, even. Play it for me again.”

Me: “Isn’t it too ‘suspended’?”

MD: “Ah! No! Or rather, yes, it is ‘suspended,’ ethereal, and that’s as it should be. It’s what pulls at the heart strings, like poetry.” It was in this spirit that the master took in the third [Étude], which left him very pensive. MD: “All the same! When one sees you, such a young girl, write with this virility! For you are virile, without being masculine. Your Études are going to be the equivalent of the Transcendental [Études of Liszt].” The master added, “Your music doesn’t resemble mine at all. Your harmonic language is very much you. But you are like me in terms of musical structure, use of themes, and musical effect. We have the same beliefs, yet we are different.” He said that his advice is not to revise it.

Dupré, himself, mentioned Jean Gallon and said, “He will be sworn to secrecy, and so, may be told all,” except, however, the history of the “Études.” [339] Towards September, Dupré will invite him to Meudon.

The serious question of work needed on the [Salle] Pleyel organ came up again.

Worked on improvising a passacaglia.

Finally, walking me back to the station, the master said, with no prompting, that his own composition project is shaping up, becoming clear; he told me about it with the intimate enthusiasm of a creator revealing himself. This work will be for organ with registrateur. It will be in three parts: “Virgo Mater,” “Mater Dolorosa,” “Mediatrix,” in this way taking its inspiration from the Virgin.^[276] In a sublime fashion, Dupré says that the subject is “unique,” more marvellous than the grandest ancient subjects and capable of attracting the soul of even an unbelieving poet. Dupré conceived the germ of the idea during his recent tour of the south of France. They had asked him to improvise on the “Ave Maria de Lourdes,” and he suddenly envisioned a triptych.^[277] Upon his return, he spoke of it to me, without seeming to belabour it. While chatting last Friday, he thought of it, and mentioned it to me; I was speaking about the registrateur [in connection with] his next work. He told me that he would “love” writing a work about the Virgin, and that the idea of writing it for registrateur had occurred to him.

Today, [340] we also spoke of the Litany^[278] (comparing it with Jehan Alain’s Litanies, which has an intentionally exaggerated spirit of supplication).

MD: “I like the poetry of the Litany. It’s understandable that on this awful planet we would say ‘pray for us’ and name the Virgin for all that is beautiful. But I understand the Litany as an opium-based relaxant that puts suffering to rest.”

 

Thursday 13 July 1944

Finished the fourth Étude,^[279] this one in F major.

 

Friday 14 July 1944

At Meudon. Showed the Étude to Dupré, which resulted in a very profound exchange of views. Dupré, with the loyalty of a friend and his wonderful mastery, told me he feared the Étude would not come across well to the audience—that it would “go over their heads” because, harmonically, it is even more advanced than the others. I asked him [to explain] the basis of this thought. He told me that he always uses tactful conventions when critiquing a student’s work, except in my case.

MD: “I’ll tell you the basis of my thought: you are too gifted. You have such an exceptional ear that you [341] hear, at the writing desk, the subtlest harmonies as if it were natural. These harmonies would be sublime in a different work. It’s you, and that’s all. The Études, though, must display you as a virtuoso and be understandable to an audience at first hearing; they have a double purpose.” I pondered [this] and proposed to the master several solutions for this Étude.

MD: “I dare not say anything to you. You’ll get carried away. The idea is moving, the technique very interesting, the design perfect. It’s going to be very beautiful. Do not blame yourself that your excellent ears can hear what to others is inaccessible. I repeat: you are very gifted! Too gifted in aural perception, technique, and reading; too gifted for composition…” I saw quite clearly that Dupré was showing me his deepest feelings. He continued:

“From your earliest days, I was always convinced that you were a composer to your very core. Only the biggest imbecile could fail to perceive this. I dare say you are too scrupulous, you have too great a sense of honour. You will only write what you consider to be the very essence of you. Ah! [342] I know very well that when one composes one has that feeling… of wishing to put a personal touch on every note… I know. On top of all this, we have such a vast age difference that I hardly dare to make these remarks; your conception of music is more advanced than mine.” I understood that we were treating the subject on a very high plane and couldn’t help showing my perpetual anxiety or, better stated, this confused feeling, mixing enthusiasm, eagerness, and fear. He said to me, sincerely,

“For me, it’s the same thing. Of all my compositions, it seems as if I wrote nothing of what I wanted to write. And I still don’t know ‘what it takes’; if I knew it, I’d have written it.” He set me free with the Étude, saying simply that we will speak about it again next Friday, because he plans to give me more of his time.

Now I’ll summarize, in order, the “progress report” for this afternoon. The master came to meet me when I rang; very cheerful, asking me for my news and news of the “Republic,” calling out in the stairwell, “Jeannette! It’s the little one!” and, striking up… the Marseillaise!^[280] Then, suddenly serious:

“There’s a question for you that will be raised in two days. You [343] are going to be discussed.” M^me Dupré joined us, and I learned that Dupré has an appointment with the parish priest of St-Philippe-du-Roule, with Jean Gallon present, to give his opinion concerning a concert series being organized at St-Philippe for which they’ve requested his help.

MD: “They will mention you, even if I don’t… Yes… I believe you could agree to give a concert without any drawbacks.” He told me that, after tomorrow, he will reveal everything to Jean Gallon.

The next matter is my debut, which, in principle, Dupré envisions for the winter. Bondeville will be the first to hear me, at the Duprés’, and he has been advised that I will be the host at Meudon at that time. M^r and M^me Dupré plan primarily to ask Bondeville’s advice. After that, others will hear me, separately, and always at the Dupré home. They are thinking more and more of [the Salle] Pleyel.^[281]

In the meantime, we ate together and at the end of the afternoon, the master walked me back (while I carried flowers picked by Mammy and tied with a beautiful pink bow).^[282] As we waited for the train, the conversation turned again to the Étude. We were randomly sharing our thoughts when it occurred to me:

“Basically, my piece would be

[signed Jeanne Demessieux]

 

[344] balanced if the inspiration were equal to the writing ability and the technical dimension.” The master literally jumped.

MD: “But you are inspired, my dear! You could not have written what you did without inspiration! You are the opposite of Berlioz. For you, desire alone is all you require to write what you think in your language, without being blocked by a harmony. I’m telling you that Providence has given you a gift…!” And he said, “Take Pasteur, that genius of a man: he was inspired for one second of his life—the instant when he found the serum. A child, predestined to be a genius, searches for a lifetime without knowing if, or when, what is sought will be found. Composition is like searching for diamonds.”

 

Friday 21 July 1944

At Meudon. Dupré was enthusiastic about the Étude, minute details of which I’d revised. Improvised very well (passacaglia).

Dupré wanted to apologize to me, having not clearly understood the St-Philippe[-du-Roule] parish priest’s proposal, which turns out to have been ten recitals for him alone. It was on Sunday that he realized his mistake. I quickly reassured the master, who was very sorry. Seeing my relative indifference to the loss of my concert, he said to me, [345]

“Besides, my preference is to hide you entirely from view; that’s what is needed. You have such unshakeable discipline; you coolly observe others perform; this pleases me.” The master told me he consulted M^me Dupré and Marguerite concerning these six concerts [that he agreed to play]. He has decided to perform only Bach, something he’s already done. They’re asking him for one concert per month, but he wishes to play two [per month] and told me the reason.

MD: “Unless the war continues through this winter, my plan is for you to debut in October 1945. That way, you’ll be ready for America the following October. I don’t want my series [at St-Phillipe-du-Roule] to overlap with yours. Besides, I know Marchal was going to play a Bach series again and it amuses me to crowd in on his plans [me mettre dans ses jambes].”

Categorizing, as always, the things he had to say to me, Dupré broached the subject of his meeting with Jean Gallon that had taken place Wednesday at the Conservatory, “on that awful little bench beside the elevator.” ([Last] Sunday, Dupré had asked for a meeting with Jean Gallon.) The master told me he had been quite touched.

MD: “I told him everything, in order, in detail. When I’d finished speaking, he looked twenty years younger… unrecognizable: he who had been a mere a shadow of Jean Gallon… His poor eyes were [346] bright; he blushed red. As we parted, I watched him climb the stairs; he stood to his full height and climbed like a young man.” He [Jean Gallon] listened to Dupré, himself saying scarcely a word; his first words were,

JG: “And it’s Jeanne!”

Dupré responded, “Yes, no one else: it’s Jeanne.” Dupré told him that he wishes to invite him to Meudon when I’m able to play my six Études. He told me that he had “asked his advice” concerning how to have me work on composition and told him how he goes about it, only with me. Jean Gallon approved of this. In person, Dupré told him that I am “his equal,” and that he finally has a “rival” worthy of him (he’s very fond of this idea). Finally, they spoke of the future. That meeting [with Jean Gallon] is my joy. Up until that day, nothing has really brought these two human beings together, so superior in heart and intelligence, except their shared attraction for and, perhaps, their conviction about the direction of the Conservatory. I recently had the audacity to tell Dupré my opinion concerning Jean Gallon’s affection for him, and he appeared quite struck by this.

Yesterday Dupré “did some reconnaissance” at [the Salle] Pleyel. The renovations required to make [347] the organ [console] visible have been decided upon and they will be finished for October. Dupré is discretely “pushing” them.

 

Friday 28 July 1944

Exquisite moments at Meudon. When I arrived, I found the master and M^me Dupré resting in the garden. We chatted, then Dupré decided to get back to his work, which he had scarcely interrupted (he is preparing for the concert at Notre-Dame). But first, I kept them to show them the lovely letter [I had received] from Jean Gallon in reply to mine. Dupré has not stopped thinking of Jean Gallon, so much that he and Mammy fell over each other to see my copy of my letter and Jean’s. Mammy read aloud while Dupré read over her shoulder. We talked and talked again about Father Jean. Dupré said he’d told him “precisely what he wanted, the way he wanted to.”

Then we again took up discussion of the projects dear to them and to me, so thoroughly that—[my] lesson at issue—Mammy gave a despairing look, the master teased, and I consoled her. The usual scene! We respectfully dismissed the master, but he returned several times, thoroughly amused by disturbing us, until work finally held sway again on both sides.

No electricity; we waited, hoping I would be able to play my Étude, but we hoped in vain. Dupré was practicing on the mute organ. We [348] rejoined him before my departure.

The master left his work and declared he would walk me back; he made Mammy laugh wholeheartedly by saying, repeatedly, “Goodbye, Madame Dupré. See you soon, Madame Dupré” and so on. After that, we chatted seriously. When pressed, Dupré admitted that he did indeed know his way around “taming an organ” in a specific way.

Jean Gallon had telephoned them when he had received my letter, saying, “I’ve received a letter from ‘our angel’.”

 

Friday 4 August 1944

Still without electricity. Upon my arrival, Mammy took me to see the master; we chatted. Despite my protestations, it was planned that the master would devote his time to me, and after my language lesson, I spent an hour with him.

At the piano, I played the Étude on repeated notes that I finished yesterday.^[284] Dupré was keen about the idea and said to me of the Étude, “it’s a gem, and equal to the Étude in thirds.” The second theme, which came [to me] all at once and sometimes drove me to despair, pleased him infinitely. He wanted me to replay the beginning of the Étude in chords and said that he found it “charming.” I shared with him my idea for the sixth. [349]

Moving to other subjects, we chatted for a long time. Dupré talked to me about a sociological work he happened to read and about which he proposed to tell me his thoughts. I did not conceal from him how fascinated I am by these discussions.

MD: “I know. There’s nothing wrong with our exchanging our ideas; it plants notions in your brain. I dare speak to you openly because your faith is secure, and you know what I think; you know me.” And, again, MD: “If the atheist says to the believer, why do you believe?―give me proof, the believer will respond, I can tell you nothing more: I believe. For myself, I have the assurance that what I believe is true.” He reviewed and critiqued with me all the theories of atheism, denouncing them for their slightest weaknesses and seeking to avoid bias. He countered every point, responding to all, be it by turning the question around or drawing on the moral basis or the logic, and this in spite of all the tangents I proposed to him.

Then the master brought me up to date on his activities. Tomorrow he must settle the question of the [350] ten concerts for St-Philippe-du-Roule. He doesn’t want them to dazzle so resoundingly that for the audience my debut becomes a continuation of his series; the audience will be carefully prepared for me. The dear master, in vain, is trying to make himself look small so as to create a space for me.

The master called Mammy in, confiding in her what he thought of the Étude. I believe I may say that M^me Dupré could not have received Dupré’s own Études with more joy.

Finally, the master walked me back; we chatted on the platform while waiting for the train (which I nearly missed, having to push through an enormous crowd). The master waved broadly from the road until the train had passed the viaduct.

 

Sunday 6 August 1944

A message by pneumatic dispatch from Mammy. Dupré would perhaps play his recital today instead of next Sunday. We went on foot to Notre-Dame. At the last minute, the German organist was able to play after all.^[285] So be it. Passing in front of Marthe Dramez, I saw the Duprés in attendance. No seats near them, to the chagrin of Mammy and Marguerite. The master rose and came over to greet my parents; he kept me chatting in the central aisle.

Terrible concert. Afterwards, [351] we lingered with the Duprés and some close acquaintances in the church square in an atmosphere of charming gaiety. The master introduced me to de Saint-Martin,^[286] who had come over to greet him and, in a very grand fashion, he introduced him to my parents. De Saint-Martin seemed to think he was obliged to say to me, “Yours is a very great talent, Mademoiselle.”

 

Friday 11 August 1944

I was invited to Dupré’s rehearsal at Notre-Dame. It was only the four of us, with the addition of M^r de Saint-Martin and one of his students, who joined us in the gallery. De Saint-Martin and the student pulled stops. Dupré displayed an incomparable mastery: interpretations that touched on the sublime; technique displaying ease; seamless, so to speak.

The master drew huge attention to me. While we were exchanging polite remarks with de Saint-Martin, Dupré suddenly became serious and, with clear forethought, turned to him and said, “You know that I never say anything carelessly.”

[de Saint-Martin:] “I certainly do.”

MD: “Well then, Jeanne Demessieux is the greatest organist of all time, of either sex, and from all countries.” [352] This literal phrase, unleashed with the most impassive dignity, stunned de Saint-Martin into amazement. There was a silence, during which I pulled myself together, mirroring Dupré, who had neglected to forewarn me. Mammy and Marguerite [were] visibly complicit. Finally, de Saint-Martin stammered and, forgetting all rules of etiquette, asked me for my age.

Then Dupré beckoned me to join him at the console. After his last note, he asked de Saint-Martin if I might be permitted to “put my hands to the keyboards.” He wanted de Saint-Martin to give me a theme, but the latter appeared so helpless and confused that Dupré himself proposed the “Salve Regina” to me and told me I knew the organ because I knew Saint-Sulpice. I devised the first portion of a symphony, beginning on the foundation stops and finishing with the plenum, for a somewhat agitated passage, well-crafted, adding, like a second theme, a sort of military call. [I was] in very good form. To play the organ of the Paris Cathedral next to the master was very moving for me.

The Duprés, delighted, took their leave of de Saint-Martin and kept me for a moment. Then we departed on foot in opposite directions, turning around three times to wave, [353] until we lost sight of each other.

 

Sunday 13 August 1944

Dupré’s concert at Notre-Dame. Unforgettable. I knew from Marguerite that the clergy estimated 6,500 in attendance.

[Bach’s] Fantasia and Fugue in G minor; Mozart’s Fantasia No. 2; [Franck’s Grande] Pièce symphonique; “Crucifixion” [movement III of Dupré’s Symphonie-Passion, Op. 23]; improvisation: prelude and fugue on a subject that Frederic II proposed to Bach.^[287] We were with M^me Dupré and Marguerite in the nave.

Following the last note, the crowd seemed electrified; there was a mad rush, and Mammy ran towards Maman “so as not to lose her.” What happened next was a joy to behold. This enormous mass of people, leaving the cathedral as a single block, turned to the left and rushed towards the gate [grille] from which Dupré calmly exited. The last [people] (ourselves included) were driven back into the depths of the church square. Police officers pushed their way into the middle of the crowd, then turned a blind eye [to what was happening]. We imagined Dupré solicited from every direction; he was signing programs furiously, while photographers climbed up the streetlamps.

Then an ebb and flow occurred, still without our being able to get to the master. Mammy, whom I was following closely, had [354] red eyes and looked at me without being able to say a word. “It’s beautiful―glorious!” I exclaimed, gently shaking her, to which she responded, like a child, “They’re not going to harm him?…”

Finally, we drew near the gate and the master, whom we sought to help escape, immediately fell upon us with, “Ah! There you are!” when he saw Mammy. My parents arrived, too: “My charming friend,” he exclaimed to Maman; to me, “My dear,” and he attempted to keep us near him. But others, less courteous, monopolized him, and he was once again swept away. This insatiable crowd would not give him up!

In the garden behind the gate, [more] people were gathered. They asked me who “this man” was.

Me: “Marcel Dupré.”

[They replied,] “Ah! Oh!” with a knowing air.

Eventually, one of the assembly of canons of Notre-Dame [le Chapitre de Notre-Dame], having been delegated, pushed through the crowd saying, “That’s all. Come with me,” so that the poor master, fatigued by all the excitement, could follow him. They had just been invited to dinner by the archpriest. Mammy rushed towards us to say goodbye, then attempted to rejoin Dupré and Marguerite, while the master was nearly carried in triumph by the crowd that [354b] followed. Mammy turned around, and I blew her a kiss, as did she in return. I heard her anxiously ask the master, “Did you see Jeanne Demessieux?”

We waited until the excited crowd had passed, and only a few of the “faithful” remained in the church square, enjoying the scene. M^r and M^me Laurent chatted with us for quite a while.

 

Friday 18 August 1944

Finished the sixth Étude (the one in sixths) today.

Saturday 19 August 1944

Paris uprising. Fighting in the streets. From the first moments, some of the wounded [were] beneath my windows.

Sunday 20 August 1944

Played my Mass. A hail of bullets all day long. Two killed in front of St-Esprit. By telephone, Marcel Dupré implored me not to go out.

 

Monday 21 August 1944

An anniversary for which we were to have gathered.^[288] The neighborhood was calm. I revised the six Études and begin to practice them. I telephoned Meudon every day. I reassured Dupré, and then went out and about.

Tuesday 22 August 1944

A hail of bullets. Hope and sadness. It won’t be possible [355] to follow through on the master’s decision; he had planned to meet me at the home of Hamm for a complete reading of the six Études, for which each of us would have to walk halfway.

Wednesday 23 August 1944

Barricades all around us. Fighting everywhere. There is talk of fires blazing. The battle rages night and day, all around Paris.

Thursday 24 August 1944

6:00 PM. More than ever, there is fighting. Paris is burning, exploding, covered with blood. Hails of bullets and gunfire in the street. The noise of two battles becomes confused (“inside” and “outside”). Indescribable enthusiasm, unity. On the telephone with Mammy and the master; they are well. The master said to me: “Courage, courage! At every moment, I’m thinking of you, of the future!” Everything blowing up around them.

Evening. The French army re-enters Paris, fighting. The police order gas metres to be shut off, for fear, at every instant, that Paris will blow up.

1:00 AM. Everyone ordered to descend into the basements, some tanks having been reported. The German batteries positioned around Paris are shelling them.^[289]

 

Friday 25 August 1944

The batteries are ceasing fire. The Huns [les boches] are being chased down [sont traqués]; some of them [356] have been trying to flee by subway. Even so, the electricity has been turned back on. Furious battles in the centre of Paris. Ambushes everywhere. Arrests. (In public places, the hair of women spies is being cut off.) In our parish, the crowd is delirious. Some are throwing themselves on cars overloaded with soldiers and embracing them.

By telephone I reached the master. Mammy and Marguerite ran to see American tanks pass by. Dupré is still filled with emotion and enthusiasm. MD: “These events are working towards your future. While ‘they’ are doing their duty, we are doing ours, at our house, on our organ. This is what I do all day. Think of me while you work; I am constantly thinking of you. In a few days, we’ll see each other again. Be happy and light-hearted!” They’d spent half the night in the basement, until three in the morning, when Meudon was liberated.

6:00 PM. People are singing the Marseillaise; young people unfurl the flag overhead. Cries and acclamations without stop. Still, one hears explosions and fusillades. Soldiers pass, saying that the Germans have surrendered. But there are those who are still firing from the rooftops.

Saturday 26 August 1944

The Germans surrendered yesterday. The cannon has grown faint. The Marseillaise is heard continually. It’s the parade of the victorious armies, with de Gaulle, from the Étoile to Notre-Dame. Dupré told me he felt intensely emotional all day long yesterday. As for me, I was constantly fighting back tears.

Telephoned Jean Gallon. He told me that on the way to his church he was caught in a scuffle but managed to “pull” himself out of it; they’re firing from the roof tops all around his home. He spoke to me about the “great man’s” confidences, in words blurring [the line between] enthusiasm and affection. He said he relates current events to my personal life that I am living “in the shadows.”

JG: “I consider what you’ve been doing to be as important as these events.”

Sunday 27 August 1944

[I am writing] after a frightening night. At 1:00 AM the Germans began a bombardment. Indescribable, so immense was the horror. Dive bombings. The sinister howl of the bombs. Phosphorus, multicoloured glow. The odour of soot in one’s throat. Colossal fires in Bercy and everywhere. Scarcely time to go below. I believed I had been orphaned when a [358] most terrible blast threw me from basement stairs, where I nearly passed out. Around 4:00 AM, I telephoned Meudon; nothing had occurred there, but they were terror-stricken. Mammy and the master again pleaded with me not to go out.

The alert over, we went back up, [only to] hear the whistle of shells firing over Paris; they’ve fallen in the 12^th [arrondissement]. A new alert.

Monday 29 August 1944

They’re firing from the roof tops more than ever. Saw someone wounded in our street. At night, it is incessant.

 

Tuesday 29 August 1944

Night of an alert. Shelling over Paris. Meudon, calm. I learned from Dupré that Jean-Claude Touche was wounded in the Place de la Concorde while working as a nurse. They operated on him; his condition is critical. He was administered to yesterday; no more news. Dupré telephoned Jean Gallon.

Wednesday 30 August 1944

Jean-Claude Touche died yesterday. This death distresses me. We have been friends since he was a child; an exceptional servant of music, and the organ, has been lost. Mammy and the master went to see him yesterday, by walking 25 kilometres. The master is feeling very low, Mammy told me.

[359] Friday 1 September 1944

I went to St-Augustin with Papa for Jean-Claude’s service. I planned to meet the Duprés. A sad reunion mixed, in spite of everything, with joy. The master’s feet were injured by the walk, and he was hardly able to bear it. He played [for the service]. Mammy, so loving towards me, insisted that I sit between her and Marguerite; I did not leave her. Dupré[’s playing] was sublime. “How beautiful it is,” the dear woman said to me. The church was packed. I’ve never seen a funeral so beautiful.

I was the only witness of an intimate drama that made me tearful and that I had been expecting. Jean-Claude and Mireille Auxiètre had become very fond of each other, in a way that was so sweet and innocent [toute ingénue], but clear to me; unfortunately, it will never have a chance. She learned the news from me and decided to come. All alone, asking me not to leave her, lovely, discrete, and self-effacing. She sat down behind me. When the procession advanced, I turned around, fearing the worst. The poor child [was] in tears, distraught, wringing her hands, stifling sobs, wanting to flee yet willingly glued to the spot, out of a sense of duty, I would say. “I can’t take it anymore,” she whispered. I took her arm [360] during the recession, saying some discreet words to Mammy. She left me to go to the cemetery.

We saw Jean Gallon and his wife. The first time we’ve met since the secret was revealed. Father Jean, appearing stiff, looked at me at length, with an indefinable emotion, while taking my hand between his two. He said only, “My little Jeanne.” “My dear master,” I responded, and everything was expressed in the exchange of these few words. He led me to M^me J. Gallon, whose demeanor was similar. I chatted also with M^r and M^me Noël Gallon. Noël was agitated, avoiding eye contact, his words trailing off. Jean Gallon then saw Papa and spoke to him about my collaboration with Dupré.

JG: “Tell Jeanne how happy I am because of what was confided to me. I wanted to tell her again but couldn’t.”

We were waiting for Dupré, who descended, as white as a sheet. We chatted; it was a question of my going to Meudon by road. Dupré would like me to go by bicycle, and Mammy has some recommendations for my [identity] papers. I must telephone to say whether I accept. We parted in confidence and hope, while outdoors the Marseillaise burst forth.

[361] Friday 8 September 1944

A restful day, the first oasis for the spirit. Yesterday, Mammy and the master set the itinerary for today, giving me surprise and joy.

I got myself to St-Lazare (without fatigue, thanks to Papa’s devotion). I found the master in the café, where we were to meet, and he and I lunched together. He had suggested I bring the 6^th Étude, the one in sixths.^[290] Soon, we were talking about the Étude.

The conversation became, as usual, a discussion in which each of us analyzed what the other had said. Dupré said to me, “I finished a piece yesterday.” He told me it’s the one of which he had spoken to me, inspired by the Virgin.

MD: “I ask myself whether I’m wrong; I have reservations; tell me what you think.” He recounted the birth of the piece: he was constantly thinking of the triptych idea when a possible transformation of his Études imposed itself. Without his realizing it, the themes were soon haunting him (particularly those of the Études in F and in A minor, “so fresh”), to the point where the two ideas fused, despite his resistance. He knew all [362] the alternatives, but couldn’t make up his mind; then, wearying of the struggle, he wrote the transformation in one go. He is so righteous that he fears the piece, having come into existence thus, is not respectful enough of the Virgin, yet he is also taken by its truth and sincerity of tone. (It’s as if he had created the music twice.) I said that I believe a theme, taken at its conception, has an emotion “expansive” enough to take on diverse forms of thought. This beginning of a justification led him to say, “On the other hand, the Études were written for you; as such, they can be neither published nor performed. (They gave rise to yours, which is all that matters.) Can I make of them a sort of mystical offering, so as to say to the Virgin, ‘would you like them?’” He explained the construction of the piece. The subject caused us to recall the fourth station in the Chemin de la Croix where Dupré depicted the paroxysm of sorrow, the astonishment. Father Samson believed the opposite and saw the Virgin as a heroine. As for me, I see it as Dupré does and told him my personal ideas. He told me that I have contradicted what the archpriest of [363] Rouen said in contradiction of Father Samson. The conversation was very elevated, as is usual with my private conversations with Dupré. This climate seems natural for him and has become normal for me, also.

After eating, we went up to the Conservatory where Dupré requested the organ room. There was no electricity but, on the piano, I played the Étude in sixths, which he did not yet know. The master was filled with enthusiasm, taken by the colour, and said to me, “That’s certainly your harmonic style.” The form pleased him; the ending attracted his special attention. Speaking frankly, he questioned whether the pedal part isn’t too active at times.

MD: “I judge your music as I judge my own; I cannot do otherwise. And I always have the same criticism for myself, of ‘over-writing.’ I don’t know if I’m right or wrong. We are improvisers, and for us it’s all about polyphony. There’s no doubt that this influences us.” This simple (and if I dare put it this way, quite fraternal) remark sums up the way in which Dupré teaches me [composition], with the main principle: “keep moving [forward].” The master never permits himself to make a [364] pencil mark in my manuscript because the very thought of doing so is anathema to him.

After the last Étude, Dupré asked for the one in thirds, then octaves. At 2:30, his friend Pierre Bourdon, who had an appointment with him, arrived. (Dupré, having told me [about] his schedule for the day, had planned this meeting.) After a cordial greeting, the master beckoned me [saying to Pierre Bourdon],

“I’d like to introduce you to someone I hold in very high regard. Can you guess? You know her; this is Jeanne Demessieux!”

PB: “The organist of St-Esprit of whom you’ve spoken?”

MD: “Yes.”

PB: “Mademoiselle, I am in on the secret. I’ve known about you. My friend Dupré is very sure of you and… that doesn’t happen very often.”

MD: “I could not come to lunch with you because we lunched together a short while ago. She just showed me six Études for organ that she has just completed.

PB: “Some études?… A little girl like this writes études, and plays them! Well, you know, that’s going to create an explosion… it’s huge.” None of these reactions was lost on Dupré.

I [began to] take my leave, leaving several items with the master for M^me Dupré; he opened his arms to me.

MD: “Again, bravo, my dear. See you soon. [365] I’ll embrace Jeannette and Marguerite for you. Telephone tomorrow and embrace your parents [for me].” In this way, Dupré conveyed his respect for me and his friendship.

The master brought me up to date concerning negotiations with St-Philippe[-du-Roule].

He had chatted with Jean Gallon, who spoke of me and of our recent encounter.

Friday 15 September 1944

Spent the entire afternoon at Meudon, in familial closeness. After chatting a bit, the master worked on his soundless organ^[291] while I studied English with Mammy. As I had no work to show him, from 5:00 to 6:00, the three of us chatted and ate.

Meanwhile, a telephone call from Fred Ostemer (?) brought news. Dupré never stops trying to get information concerning his friends in England and America. The master learned that “our impresario Marriott” had still been active in his position a year ago.

Dupré walked me back to the station where we waited a long time for the only train. Spoke to the master about his Triptych.

MD: “You’ve been thinking again about my regrets?” I responded, no, and that I was [366], relieved by the thought that this music would not be lost. I told Dupré that he still has two Études that are not incorporated into any of the transformations. He responded by saying he would perhaps consider this.

We spoke about my debut. I was worrying about practical questions, but Dupré said to me,

“Don’t concern yourself with that; that’s my job. All you will do is perform. And, you are going to have to let some students and some services go when the time comes.” Then he returned, once more, to a frequent comment of his, concerning his own debut: “When I think of what I had to overcome, what I went through when I did my recitals…”

And, again, MD: “Finally, here you are, back in Meudon. During this war, we slowly descended towards death; now we slowly return to life.”

Friday 22 September 1944

At Meudon. Again, I took the footpath from Issy,^[292] and started out a little later to avoid disturbing the master’s work, even though I know full-well that each of them devotes their most valuable time to me. [367]

At 4:30, I walked into the garden and immediately heard Mammy cry out as she rushed to me, upset:

“What happened?… It’s late. Something must have happened to you!… Here we’ve been watching the road for more than an hour; Monsieur Dupré went several times up to Marguerite’s room for a better view and was so terribly worried!” Not knowing how to reassure her, I ended up telling the truth. Her arms fell as her anxiety vanished and she brusquely led to me to the organ room.

Mme D: “Mana!… Mana!…”^[293]

MD: “What?”

Mme D: “Look who’s here.” Dupré, until that moment rather glum, leapt from the midst of his manuscripts and exploded the same way Mammy had.

MD: “I could see you on a stretcher!” They were really shaken and that bewildered me.

“… and she did it intentionally,” Mammy said; “how very like her, don’t you see.”

[MD:] “We will never cure her of her scruples.”^[294] Gradually, their smiles returned, and Mammy decided:

“It will have to be either you or me that takes her; an hour and a half is too short to do everything.” Dupré reflected and said that it would be more worthwhile if I had “an additional English lesson.” [368]

Yet, the master had prepared some documents concerning organ consoles that he wanted me to study carefully. He took a moment to show them to me, then returned to his composing. Mammy showed me articles about and photos of Australia that she’s lending me.

At 6:00 PM, Marguerite came down and we met in the parlour, where afternoon tea had been all laid out for me since 4:00… Conversation turned to my Études, which I played yesterday for my parents, taking advantage of an hour of electricity (I had practiced them silently), and which utterly amazed them. Dupré, always on the alert, perked up:

“That’s a very interesting reaction,” and he questioned me as I related this.

Yesterday, they received news from Medtner and from Marriott via a soldier: very good news.^[295]

The master was headed to Paris to chat, between two trains, with Berveiller, so we left together. Dupré said to me, “You know the ‘Mater dolorosa’?”^[296] It has failed as [an expression of] sentiment. I am in the process of redoing it, including, perhaps, as an ‘opening,’ the calls from the end of the Étude in G. I sense that what I’m writing now will be better.” He thinks that the abandoned portion [369], with the two remaining Études, could form three “sketches.”^[297]

He kept talking to me about Marriott, in other words, about a future that was getting close.

MD: “If one were to say to you that you will debut on such-and-such a date… what a relief! It seems to me that the days would then gradually become less stressful. In any case, we know there to be at least one friend who is waiting for us; I say “us,” because it is as if Marriott already knows you.^[298] I would also like to get to know more about Lavergne; he is right in the line of fire.”

Berveiller was waiting for Dupré at the station and, after we exchanged a few words, I took my leave of the master.

MD: “I began the evolution of the organ, and you will finish it.”

Friday 29 September 1944

A long afternoon at Meudon. Worked for two hours with the master who brought out a heap of archives and gave me a marvelous lecture on organ consoles. He specially annotated the photos of consoles; then he made a big pile of all these treasures and gave them to me, adding a photo of Busoni. MD: “It’s time you began your [own] collections, don’t you think?” He [370] was keen to tell me everything he knows, and there was something moving about seeing the master rummage so in the inmost depths of his learning, or allowing me to question him with such abandon. Also worked for two hours with Mammy; the rest of the time we chatted and ate together. Dupré practiced with a metronome on his soundless organ.

That evening, on the way to the station, we ran into Mammy returning from her errands; she took the path back to the station with us. Both of them stood on the bridge to watch me leave. Marguerite was at M^me Touche’s.

Friday 6 October 1944

The entire afternoon at Meudon. Dupré has finished his Triptych.^[299] Worked on [the subject of] organ design. He lent me documents and, when I asked, his own work on organ design.^[300] We chatted for a long time. Saw Marguerite. Discussed technique with Dupré.

For three days now, V-1 flying bombs^[301] have been falling all around Paris. One of them exploded before dropping over Clamart.^[302] We heard them fall while we worked.

 

Friday 13 October 1944

Joint work at Meudon. Dupré has just discovered a law governing the execution of [371] pedal scales. MD: “I’ve been searching for twenty years.” [But] he does not wish to contradict his method and will not publish it.^[303]

MD: “In short, only you can get to know them [these patterns]; moreover, I’m giving them to you. You will decide whether you’d like to teach them or not; later, you could publish them, if you like.”

Me: “Under your name, you’re giving me your authorization?”

D: “No. That would do me harm [to my reputation]; under yours.” I refused, vigorously; even so, Dupré left me free [to decide].

In the middle of the afternoon, electricity suddenly returned. All three [of the Duprés] leapt at the question [of what was to be played] and called for my Études. I played the six in their order of composition, by heart, knowing them very well, and registering them without hesitation and with extreme audacity. They were understood beyond my wildest hopes. The master, regaining his composure, said, “What a thing of beauty… and originality…” All three were in agreement, and I tried to drag a critique out of them, not daring to believe that my seeming malady of uncertainty surrounding the Études could finally be cured. But the master made it his duty to defend them in such terms as to silence me. Mammy, very pensive, hugged me: “That was magnificent, my dear, [372], magnificent…” They said they were amazed—dumbfounded even—by my technique.

Left on our own, Dupré and I got down to work, the master still preoccupied by the Études. Point-blank:

MD: “If you know all these alternatives, it’s because you are a composer.” I gave him my thoughts concerning American consoles; we are of the same mind.

At the station, Dupré, energetically: “Well, now I’m going to tell you my final thoughts [on the matter]: it’s a total success. I am very excited.”

Friday 20 October 1944

At Meudon. Saw everyone. Chatted for a long time. Worked on technique with Dupré. Mammy has been suffering from conjunctivitis,^[304] [but is getting] better. Despite the awful weather, the master walked me back. MD: “Students like you are difficult to find. But after all, even Liszt needed a teacher.”

Sunday 22 October 1944

At St-Esprit, visited by Provost and Régnier (new friend of Dufourcq). Provost attacked Dupré dreadfully^[305] and opposed the arguments I’d prepared, expecting his attack. He remained distraught.

[373] Friday 27 October 1944

Chatted until 5:00 PM with Dupré. Worked together. Experimented. The master asked me for the Études; played two. Saw Madame Dupré’s sister. The master [had to go] to Paris. Chatted until late with Mammy. News from England: Henry Willis has been ruined by the bombings.^[306]

 

Saturday 28 October 1944

My sister has arrived. I haven’t seen her for two years.^[307]

 

Friday 3 October 1944

At Meudon. Work and conversations. As usual, they kept me informed concerning their day-to-day lives, strengthening our closeness and affection. The master was working on his Triptych. I played the three first Études for him and pinned down their Meudon registrations. Agreement; he took notes as we went along. Increasingly struck (if I may say so) by my Études. He told me that my [compositional] personality is very distinctive.

MD: “Take the ‘Rhinegold’ story; sure, it’s a myth. But it’s such a metaphor for structure!… You are like Siegfried, who knew how to make use of a sword to find the gold. Again, it’s the law of derivation. But you know [374], one can’t call you a mere ‘imitation’ of me, or say that you are my exact copy. You do not resemble me any more than a king resembles his predecessor. You are Jeanne Demessieux just as I am Marcel Dupré. I made you, but I truly believe that without me you would have found yourself anyway, perhaps not so soon, but most certainly. As far as the general public is concerned, our only tie will be that you are the grand interpreter of my works.” As for the Études, in which he grasped the slightest [element of] harmonic sensitivity, he said, gravely,

“It is overwhelming to see someone your age write and play such a work. And it’s obvious to me that you have always been a composer.”

 

Friday 10 November 1944

At Meudon. Dupré greeted me, still very emotional after [his family’s] trip to Rouen. Eleven hours by automobile and a night in a shed [hangar] on their return journey.^[308] They arrived this morning, all three exhausted by fatigue and emotion. Without pause for rest, Mammy and Marguerite went to run errands in Paris, not to return until 5:00 PM. The master recounted the trip in detail and gave me news. He paid a visit to the archbishop, [375] visited the ruins [of Rouen Cathedral] and played at St-Ouen. Tremendous grief at the sight of the rubble.^[309] MD: “I am like a kid who feels like crying.”

I played my last three Études; we worked, the master saying yet again that this is his joy and his relaxation. We chatted.

Chatted in English for quite a while with Mammy and Marguerite; we ate, and the master walked me back.

Friday 17 November 1944

Recital at Meudon: played my six Études, [the] definitive versions, for Dupré, Madame Dupré, Marguerite, my parents, and my sister. What joy to perform!  [Felt] extraordinary drive. Dupré proposed two scherzo themes for improvisation. [I was] in very good form. Audience astonishment at each Étude. Dupré totally captivated.

Beforehand, set the organ registrations and practiced slowly, the master, at my request, allowing me to prepare alone while he listened from the study. Then he came to finish his correspondence in the [organ] hall while I rested. In between times,

MD: “You practice superbly. Oh, you are so fortunate to be able to practice… The truth is, I would do better to stop playing and [simply] compose, what with all the busywork I also have to do.” Nevertheless, these unfortunate notions passed.

[376] We gathered as one big family to eat, my sister happy as a clam, the master and all of us very cheerful.

While they listened to the Études, I saw how moved my entire audience was. Maman and Yolande were almost at the point of tears. Dupré addressed Yolande: “Pretty innovative, right? And it’s beautiful music, rich in harmony, and personal.” Yolande said that it changes the aesthetic of the organ, that, in terms of technique, I have become physically one with the instrument, and I have, myself, become “an instrument of precision.” Following the improvisation, Dupré questioned her again, and she responded that if one were not informed in advance, it would be impossible to know this was an improvisation. My protestations were in vain. The master had her tour the inside of the organ and gave her a demonstration of the registrateur. They chatted. After these exquisite hours, we took our leave of Mammy and Marguerite, [who were] more enthusiastic than ever.

The master took the train to Paris with us, on his way to dine with Beuchet. Yolande [was] all excited to see him so happy and to hear him talk about me.

 

Wednesday 29 November 1944

My sister’s departure. A sad day, but the future is wide open. Yolande had some long conversations, [377] several with Dupré or Mammy, and one with Father de la Motte.

 

Friday 1 December 1944

At Meudon, the Duprés received their friends [M^r and M^me] Barthélémi. I arrived at five o’clock as usual, at teatime. The master took me aside.

MD: “I have partially confided in these people. They are entirely on our side as concerns the modern organ, and so they understand what you represent. Would you like to play them one of your Études…?” Not having reviewed them for two weeks, I hesitated, but Dupré, sure of me, called for the fifth, in F major.

Then he told me they are going to put together a committee to rebuild organs of Normandy under the patronage of five bishops, without the [Académie des] Beaux-Arts getting mixed up in it. It’s simply to save the organ. After these few words, I entered the parlour, where Mammy welcomed me, exclaiming, “Here is our star!” She rose and hugged me affectionately, then introduced me and made me accept the place of honour. Tea was served. Conversation flowed. Dupré wasted no time; to M^r Barthélémi:

“Tell her your impression of the registration system. She can [378] give you a response because she knows it in detail, as with all my ideas.” I noticed again a sort of veiled astonishment in the eyes of the person to whom he spoke. Finally, under the approving eye of Dupré and the inquisitive eye of Barthélémi, I set up two combinations (without reference to notes) and played, my technique and my memorization untroubled. I’ll skip over my listeners’ impressions. The Duprés, enthused.

The Barthélémis took their leave while I cleared up some issues with the master concerning the publication of his Suite and my Études (Dupré had asked me to look over the final proofs for these). We chatted. Mammy came looking for us to go and listen to Rolande Falcinelli play her Triptych on the radio.^[310] After hearing it, Mammy burst out, “I do not call that music!” And Marguerite, “Notes churned out one after the other [musique au kilomètre].” Mammy turned towards the master and me, “Well, I’m not a musician (!), so, tell me, do you like that?” After a pause,

MD: “I dare not say anything… On principle, I do not wish to judge my contemporaries, as you know, Messiaen’s tricks… There’s nothing I can say; Jeanne knows that I am [being] sincere.” Dupré spoke of Rolande’s coldness and [379] asked for my opinion; I hesitated.

MD: “Come now, we are among friends here.” After that, I returned with the master to sit near the organ, where we finished the evening in a serious discussion of psychology, this being, for Dupré, inseparable from “composition,” as it is for me. In the next little while, he wants my utmost in improvisation.

 

Friday 8 December 1944

A memorable afternoon at Meudon. Mammy told me that the master is at a meeting with the St-Etienne-du-Mont organ commission, and that he would return by four PM for our work. I showed her a lovely letter* received from M^r Régnier, the second friend of Dufourcq to strike up an acquaintance with me.

 

* Dated 6 Dec. 1944.

 

Surprise, astonishment on the part of Mammy.

Mme D: “Is he a Pleyel shareholder?”

Me: “I don’t know.”

Mme D: “Well, really!… I’ll have to tell you; we didn’t want to, because we always prefer you to know things when they become definite.” I listened with rising emotion. Mammy told me that my first recital is scheduled for next October, and that the master strongly desires that I present my series at the Salle Pleyel. And yet, the organ, despite the initial work on the ceiling, does not sound adequate. With Dupré wanting to come to a decision, the director, M^r Bénard [379b] suggested that he call a meeting of all members of the association to demonstrate the organ and get them to take action in favor of extensive work.^[311] It is to this meeting, set for tomorrow, that Régnier invited me, as he is [also] attending. Mammy told me that, this very morning, Dupré set out for Pleyel, to visit Kiesgen’s office, for a secret discussion with M^r Bénard, Kiesgen and his wife, and Gavoty. He revealed all his plans to them, including informing them of our collaboration. He asked Gavoty to have me give my series under the patronage of the Jeunesses Musicales, which he directs, and for Kiesgen and Bénard to give me the hall and convince the association members to alter the organ. He underscored the fact that this enormous advertising for Pleyel, with [the help of] Gavoty, would compete with Chaillot and Dufourcq-Gonzalez. He generated enthusiasm, and they decided, one and all, to stand together; M^me Kiesgen exclaimed, “I would like to be so rich that I could finance all the concerts myself.” At noon, Dupré had telephoned the result to Mammy, saying to her, “Everything is going marvellously.” Tomorrow’s meeting of the association members will be secret, with Kiesgen and Gavoty in hiding, positioned so as to be in attendance but not seen. Mammy and I had suspicions concerning Régnier and, for a moment, [380] trembled at what he might be scheming.^[312]

The master returned, moaning, “I am numb with cold and fatigue.” Mammy asked him whether he was pleased, and he responded, smiling, “Yes… Kiesgen is going to telephone me this evening.”

We had just taken tea, and Mammy went to prepare a hot drink while Dupré fell into an armchair, then, “What’s this?” He took the letter, read, and leapt towards the lamp, saying, “Whatever can this be?” 

Me: “I don’t know; I’m asking you, Master.”

MD: “What is this man’s name: Riquet?”

Me: “Régnier.” He restrained himself, with an effort, from confiding the enormous import of this intervention to me; he hid his worry and revealed none of what Mammy had explained to me.

MD: “Don’t worry… it’s providential that you were sent this letter.” And to Mammy: “I am going to have a few words with ‘Monsieur Riquet!’ and before that I will see Bénard.”

It was decided that I should refuse the invitation. We spoke of that bête noire Dufourcq. Dupré has fiercely vowed to win them over. (Mammy told me that he had refused to give his ten Bach recitals at Pleyel, which could not go ahead at St-Philippe[-de-Roule], so as not to upstage my debut.) All this accompanied and motivated by their immense affection, moves me to no end.

[381] Next, I improvised a symphony in four movements on themes the master had specially prepared. In very good form. Dupré was extremely moved and had tears in his eyes after the Adagio. After the Finale concluded the symphony in a cyclical manner, he said to me, “That is the music of a great musician.” We discussed the presentation of themes, each in turn taking the keyboards. Work finished, we chatted for an hour, in front of the fire, Dupré still impressed with my improvisation.

MD: “If you only knew how striking your gifts are when you place your hands on the organ!” He spoke again of his wish to confide everything to Father de la Motte. Concerning Widor,

MD: “Widor always had an irreproachable artistic conscience with me; and I was only a little student, while he was the great Widor.” We agree that the artist must always be “receiving vibrations,” Dupré said, “in a trance.” On improvisation, this profound thought,

MD: “When there is something to be said, and it is said without acknowledging it, it gives you a power known as divination”; between oneself and the audience, there is “a shield” that encourages this abandon to whose influence―even charm―[the audience] is subjected.

The master has undertaken the project of transcribing The Sorcerer’s Apprentice [by Paul Dukas] for [382] [organ with] registrateur. He lent me the file folders of his St-Sulpice programs.

MD: “I would be lying if I said that everything I do isn’t for you; yet, above all, I am doing it for the organ.” We continued our conversations on psychological matters. Spoke without reservation. Dupré also said to me,

“When you were but a child, I intuited, already, that your future was predestined.” One day, said the master, when the news reached him that I had been named, at thirteen years of age, to St-Esprit, instead of acting against me, he made some inquiries then sat back to wait, thinking “you could be my successor.”

The master called out to Mammy to tell her how very pleased he is with me, then walked me back.

Friday 15 December 1944

At Meudon. Mammy has been bedridden with inflamed lymph nodes [lymphangite] for a week. I was hoping to find her up. In a very happy mood despite this, she was working non-stop on correspondence. We spent part of the afternoon working on English; the master worked in the same room, alongside us. From time to time, we chatted. Marguerite came and joined us to eat.

Dupré is very pleased with how matters at Pleyel are turning out. Régnier is not [383] part of the association [Les Amis de l’Orgue de la Salle Pleyel], though he “gained entry” as such, as did Noëlie Pierront: “[both] spies,” says Mammy. Bénard, Kiesgen, and Gavoty are “working” for the benefit of all. The association members are offering whatever sum it takes to restore the organ.

I improvised, for Dupré, two symphonies in four movements, very different in manner of presentation and in character, which led Dupré to remark that I have mastered the instrument. He has been telling me that over the last three weeks my improvisations have exuded “ever more intense emotion, as profound and vibrant as if life has matured you, real life, one of purity; yet extremely masculine. You have the brain of a man.” He allowed me free rein in the two symphonies, listening with great insight [lisant à livre ouvert], serious, sometimes visibly moved. A harmony, an accent, caused a sort of exclamation to escape from him. He listened, absolutely immobile. Afterwards, I remember [him saying]:

“That was of great beauty. No one other than I can improvise like that (scherzo).” He was astonished to notice no fatigue after my improvisation. He mentioned Jean Gallon and wanted to telephone him this evening.

We went back up to Mammy, who asked us how it went. The master, still solemn, said that it was “admirable.” He walked me back, [384] as usual.

Friday 22 December 1944

A week of anxiety about the war; a terrible German offensive.^[313]

Afternoon at Meudon. We had scarcely gathered when an unexpected visitor, an American soldier, arrived. He arrived in an automobile and introduced himself as a friend of an American student of Dupré.^[314] He was received with great kindness and stayed until 5:00. Introductions and very polite conversation in English.

He said that he would very much like to hear the master improvise on a noël. Dupré chose “Les anges dans nos campagnes” from the Languedoc and improvised a set of variations of great beauty.^[315] He played the “Fileuse” [from Dupré’s Suite Bretonne] requested of him. Then (I had been expecting this), the master asked me to take my turn at improvising a noël and to play one of my Études. I chose (from memory, of course) a noël from Provence and devised another set of variations. Dupré put great emphasis on me and, in giving some autographs, made me sign my name beside his. MD: “You may as well get used to it.”

The American made an unexpected proposal that amused Mammy enormously, offering to drive me back in the “Jeep.” Despite the fact there were many things [385] for the master, Mammy, and me to talk about, such an interesting diversion could not be passed up; so, after much advice, I was hoisted up on the seat, and the master, from the middle of the road, watched me leave.

Monday 25 December 1944

Christmas. The first after the Liberation, yet angst-ridden for everyone because of the German advance.

I went to St-Sulpice for 3:30. The master, though present, had me play the entire Vespers. Mammy, as well as Perroux, sat beside me. I launched myself at the organ with unbelievable passion and sought out its most beautiful effects. In very good form.

P: “Well now… will you look at this! These youngsters… look what they can do now; you would think it was Marcel! [Ces gosses, si on ne dirait pas Marcel!] She knows it [the St-Sulpice organ] better than I!!”

The master, touched, let me continue and showed his approval [each time] with a nod or a couple of words: “that’s beautiful.” He spoke about me to a priest with whom he chatted briefly. After Vespers, the master took me aside.

“Happy?… It’s been a long time since you played at St-Sulpice. I wanted this to be your Christmas; it gave me pleasure.”

I will always remember the expression of indescribable shock on Mammy’s face as she watched me set up stops.

[386] Friday 29 December 1944

A day to remember. Marcel Dupré invited Jean Gallon to hear my Études. I arrived at 2:30 and spent the afternoon alternating work with rest by the fireside. The master, set up nearby, was punching a registrateur tape for [his transcription of Dukas’s] The Sorcerer’s Apprentice. Around 4:00, Mammy joined us with a book.

Finally, around 5:00, the master went to meet Jean Gallon and my parents at the station. Seeing him again; exquisite emotions. Dupré is endlessly probing Jean’s thoughts. We ate, and Mammy took great care of me.

Finally, we went into the hall where Dupré seated Jean Gallon beside the console, the manuscript in front of him, [yet] urging him, all the same, to miss nothing of my playing. Despite a fever and a sore throat, I gave my all. Jean Gallon enthusiastic and very emotional. Here are some [of their] words, noted at random:

JG: “That was overwhelming, ah, yes… Her playing is rich beyond belief! [Elle est un millionnaire de l’orgue!]”

Dupré: “Have you ever seen anyone play the organ like her? She has, in her ankles, what a great pianist has in the wrists. Jean, am I exaggerating when I say that she is a virtuoso [387] in the class of an Ysaÿe, a Sauer, a Busoni?”

Jean Gallon repeated: “She has it all. This music is new and compelling.”

Dupré added: “It’s true that there’s everything in her Études: the first so strange and compelling… the one in thirds is charming, the one for alternating toes is spiritual, the last has grandeur.” They commented on the originality of my music.

MD: “Knowing what she could be, I advised her to drop the Rome Prize. It is out of the question for one who shines so brightly.”

Jean Gallon, the great “conservative” was disarmed: “I understand… I understand.” They went back to my technique, and Jean Gallon, without knowing it, was thinking like the abbé Delestre:

“One doesn’t come across this more than twice in a century. You, Marcel, were fortunate to have gotten hold of her; and as for her, she could have waited forty years to find someone like you.”

Dupré, jokingly: “One could rightly ask if, like Paganini, she has sold her soul to Mephistopheles in exchange for her technical prowess! There’s also the version [that credits] the fairies around the cradle. But here’s the explanation I lean towards: from her church, she [388] has acquired the gifts of the Holy Spirit.”

Next, I improvised a symphony in four movements. Themes [proposed] by Jean Gallon, quite beautiful. In very good form. The martial style of the first theme gave me the heroic and dramatic tone of the whole symphony. Jean Gallon cried out:

“Ah! It’s all there! [c’est ‘venu’!] It’s beautiful, just beautiful! That reprise, from the first movement, in the finale was remarkable. The adagio, astonishing; the scherzo—it was mad… mad! When I see such dexterity… what temerity! It’s orchestral, isn’t it, Marcel? One could believe he was listening to strings, to pizzicato in the low register. And then, she handles your organ like another you; ah, yes, yes.”

“She knows it as well as I,” Dupré added.

Jean Gallon rose and embraced me, while Dupré himself handed me my coat, saying, That was extraordinary, you know.” We chatted for a long time. They kept saying, “our child.”

MD: “She hasn’t changed, huh, Jean?… What did I tell you [qu’est-ce que je vous rends]?” I took note, with interest, of some of Jean’s thoughts concerning my organ prize.

[JG:] “That reminded me of the fugue [she improvised] in her competition: it was as if I saw it [389] unfold on a screen, section by section, with imitations, stretti of all sorts. One would have called it a rich, notated fugue, written so clearly one could ‘see it.’ Well (and, no, I don’t mean to flatter myself), I then had the disagreeable impression that no one but I realized this. No one noticed the splendid language; yes, there you have it! Anyway, I don’t remember who was on the jury.”

MD: “I remember well. It was like the one from her first competition.”

Dupré walked us back to the station where Jean Gallon again asked him about “this historic date when you made the ‘decision’.”

MD: “It was a fortnight after her prize. I put the question to her: ‘What is your goal in life? What do you want to be?’ She responded, ‘like you, an organist, improviser, composer.’ Then I said, ‘and the Conservatory, Busser?’ ‘I couldn’t care less about them, to tell you the truth.’ I dared to ask her not to think of marriage for at least five years; such a nature must ‘make a vow’ to art.” And finally, Dupré said,

“Jean, now you are going to tell us whether we are [390] on the right path, whether she and I are justified in what we’ve done. You are our judge and arbiter. That’s why you are here today.” Jean Gallon stammered some enthusiastic words and repeated, “I am moved…”

We took our leave of the master with great affection, and Jean Gallon returned with us to Paris.

 

Friday 5 January 1945

At Meudon the entire afternoon. Chatted with the master for a long time. He’d found in Jean Gallon what he had wanted; this has made him extremely happy.

MD: “He liked your Études as compositions: this was obvious to me.”

He told me that, aside from some good memories he has of Marcel Languetuit from so many years ago, he knows no one but himself and me who could keep a listener attentive and interested during a twenty-five-minute-long [improvised] symphony. The master, seeing that I was about to thank him, said to me,

“It’s as if Marguerite were to thank me for what I’ve done for her; no, Marguerite and you are alike for me, as you well know.”

Friday 12 January 1945

Dupré has decided to disclose the grand project to [391] Father de la Motte. He himself went by appointment to talk to my parish priest at St-Esprit. Father kept him an hour and a half (it was early morning).

The master [then] came to lunch at our home and arrived full of enthusiasm about his meeting. He has once again drawn one of my dearest friends into our camp. He gave us an account of the conversation, impossible to reproduce. A day spent among close friends.

The master left at 6:30, after I had played Widor’s Symphonie-Gothique for him.

I walked him back. Serious conversation. Snow and a frigid temperature.

 

Monday 15 January 1945

Due to the extreme cold, my recital for Gavoty was postponed. Restrictions on electricity.

 

Friday 19 January 1945

Worked at Meudon with Mammy and the master. Chatted. Grunenwald is taking a four-month “break” from St-Sulpice to do supply work. Dupré told him that because my parish priest is very understanding, he can count on me.

Friday 26 January 1945

At Meudon. The master agreed to receive [392] a group of fifteen or so American officers and give a recital for them.^[316]

In the afternoon, I worked with Mammy. Several times, the master took a break from his own work to come and chat. We ate together, waiting for the visitors, who arrived around 5:30.

Introductions. The master played his program. Marguerite was asked to play. They were both splendid. (Dupré’s improvisation on a theme by the colonel had a virtuosic spirit and was technically astounding.)

After these gentlemen had departed, the master asked me to stay a bit yet, and we spent three-quarters of an hour relaxing and warming up. Poking fun at the theme he had been given, Dupré played a waltz by… Durand; Mammy claimed to have heard it “in her youth.” We amused ourselves.

The master walked me back.

Sunday 28 January 1945

[The feast of] Perpetual Adoration at St. Sulpice. I played for the procession (the electricity came on at 5:00).

Friday 2 February 1945

At Meudon. Worked with the master. Played [393] the modern repertoire.^[317] Chatted.

No time to write.

Friday 9 February 1945

Spent the afternoon chatting with Mammy and Marguerite. The master in Paris.

Sunday 11 February 1945

Litaize concert at Chaillot. Bach. Stylistically bad. Brilliant effects.

Encountered Provost and his wife. Provost: “I will have you play at Chaillot.”

Friday 16 February 1945

At Meudon. Played, among other pieces, Jehan Alain’s Litanies, for the master.^[318] He jumped when I played a technically difficult passage of left-hand chords at top speed, and asked me to play it again while he leaned over the keyboard to understand how. My technique, he said, transported him.

Showed two sketches. Dupré liked them.

Marguerite played for me.

Friday 23 February 1945

At Meudon, in the afternoon, an unexpected visit from an American officer. Mammy having drawn a lot of attention to me, the officer took my name.

Waited for the master. Chatted. He [the master] notated, on my score, the cuts in the Finale of Widor’s Sixth [Symphony]. Preparation of programs.

[394] Friday 2 March 1945

Meudon. Chatted with Mammy. Waited for the master before eating. Ailing a little, he coughed. I played Widor’s [Symphonie-]Romane from memory. Went very well. Dupré told me that my playing was attaining “supreme grandeur”; he was very moved by the “Cantilena.” He presented me with the score that Widor used at St-Sulpice and which contains annotations in his hand, and added a dedication.^[319]

MD: “If Widor had heard you, he would have loved you as he loved me.” Again: “We are the only organists in the world to have such minds.” I felt great joy. Seizing the opportunity, I decided to ask Dupré if he wished to accept the dedication of my six Études. Having, for a long time, not dared mention this, I made sure to observe the proprieties in asking him. But I had not even finished when the master opened his arms to me: “if I wish!…” Each of us was as profoundly moved as the other.

MD: “You do not know how important your Études are.” His words were exquisite: “They will carry my name into posterity.”

He announced the news to Mammy, who was delighted and, [395] despite my objections, [he] walked me back. Concerned for his health.

Sunday 4 March 1945

Yesterday evening, at 9:30, Marguerite came from Meudon to tell us that her father was ill; he had spent four hours at St-Sulpice for St. Theresa’s feast day and returned with a fever of 39º. He was asking that I play his Chemin de la Croix and improvise at St-Sulpice today.

Played [movements] III, X, and IV. Improvisation: adagio, fugue in five voices with an interpolated recitative on the “Miserere.” I was in very good form, despite my distress. Full gallery; great enthusiasm; Perroux, Grumbach, Malle, Tallon. Guerner asked me,

“Is your soul inclined towards the tragic? Do not apologize, on the contrary. It’s admirable; I will say nothing more.” Two people sitting beside me were weeping after my last chord. A vicar, having learned I was playing, climbed to the gallery, where he stayed to talk to Papa.

I was eager to telephone. The doctor has diagnosed bronchitis. Mammy asked me to come again to Meudon tomorrow evening to substitute for the master at his organ. A [396] group of people from outside Paris is coming to see the organ. Mammy thanked me, saying this was the only way to soothe the master, who cannot postpone this event.

Tuesday 6 March 1945

Yesterday evening, from 8:30 to a quarter to eleven at Meudon. The master was [feeling] a little better. Mammy introduced me, upon my arrival, as the “jewel in the master’s crown, our star.” She asked me to go up to Dupré for a moment while everyone went into the parlour. In peace, confined to bed, the master was rereading Aristotle. He talked about St-Sulpice, the enthusiasm of his friends, my gifts, and appeared immensely happy. After chatting, he gave me instructions for showing the registrateur and said he wished me to include one Étude among the pieces to be played.

MD: “I insist! These are some of your future clients. Improvise as if it were me. And be sure to leave my door open so I can hear you! I’ve many other things to tell you, but you will be back.”

After they had seen the organ, I demonstrated what the registrateur can do, then improvised at length on the Kyries for Advent [397] and for Lent, drawing from the organ effects dear to the master and [committing] some audacities with the sostenutos. I was asked to play Bach and chose the Fugue in D. Marguerite, whom I had prompted, asked for an Étude. Next, they wanted a work by the master. I proposed Le Chemin de la Croix, and they chose the 10^th movement, which was still under my fingers, by memory. Among the guests was an organist from Cognac^[320] who had heard me at St-Sulpice.

Next, we went upstairs to Marguerite’s rooms where she played a major work by Medtner, Improvisation. Mammy served a light meal after the gentlemen had greeted Dupré in his room. Very pleasant conversation. I’ll omit what was said about me, except for Mammy’s beautiful attitude towards me, so full of affection. Marguerite played splendidly.

Finally, when it was time to think of leaving, Mammy sent me to see the master again, who gave his compliments so loudly that everyone in the next room responded like a chorus. Then we chatted. Some time ago, I had spoken to Dupré concerning my idea of one day writing a work about the Holy Spirit; he had seemed taken by the idea [but] kept [398] silent. Then, yesterday evening, in this last meeting, he suddenly said to me,

“Jeanne, you must write a work about the Holy Spirit… a major work.”

Me: “You think I’m capable, Master?”

MD: “Yes. I think you are entirely capable of writing it.”

Shortly afterwards, I left the master, who sought to reassure me about his health. [The] inexpressible beauty of this soul. Heightened confidence.

Mammy and Marguerite escorted us back to the station, Mammy, to one side, taking my arm.

Thursday 8 March 1945

My recital for Gavoty at Meudon. Litanies by Jehan Alain (politically a good idea), the first “Nun komm’, der Heiden Heiland” by Bach [BWV 659 from the “Eighteen”], Fugue in D, Franck’s Choral No. 2, my six Études, a symphony in four movements improvised on themes by Gavoty.

He [Gavoty] arrived at 5:00, the same as my parents, I at 2:30. Mammy settled me in, made a fire, and said that the master had decided to come out of his room today.

While I was beginning to load registrations on the organ, Dupré appeared. A pang of anguish that didn’t leave me, seeing his [399] ravaged face. He had trouble sitting upright in his armchair. Though having seen him sick before, and often tired, I’ve never seen him this bad. We spend two-and-a-half hours that afternoon either practising, chatting, or resting. In a passing reference, Dupré told me what attitude I should take towards Gavoty. Then, speaking of Monday evening [March 5, 1945]:

MD: “It would seem they indulged themselves by asking you for [particular] works? In the future, refuse. Don’t give something just because you are asked for it. I wouldn’t say this to just any one of your classmates; they are just commoners; you are of ‘royal blood.’ When Liszt knew that he had been invited only to pay his way by playing, he refused. One does not permit this, one falls silent! When I see him once again, I shall subtly convey this to him.”

Gavoty arrived to find us in front of the fire, the master regaining his strength by relaxing. We had tea. Gavoty [was] sparkling and light-hearted. Both sides [were] being careful.

I played. After Alain’s Litanies, Gavoty made a complimentary remark, got up, and asked me to replay several passages. Dupré, displeased by this attitude, could not resist throwing out: [400] “I had promised to say nothing during the program, but I see that I must clarify something.” In a few words, he raised me very high, and I continued. Yet another remark by Gavoty before the Fugue in D. Irritated, I threw it back in his face. For the first time, he yielded. Everyone very self-controlled. After the second Étude, Gavoty yielded again and declared, moreover, to have never heard such music: “The novelty of the form creates a new language,” he said. The game was afoot, and a look from Dupré informed me that the most difficult had been accomplished.

I used the remainder of the time to win Gavoty over completely. The temperature was rising. Interesting symphony themes. (I improvised in a way that, for me, was unforgettable: strange superimpositions of form and language. Ideas [coming], perhaps more rapidly than ever, showed me, compellingly, what I must play much farther in advance than usual.)

Surprised, Gavoty said he had expected an imitation of earlier styles or composers, as one usually hears, whereas this was entirely new, upon which [401] Dupré, convinced, was quick to agree. He said,

“What has always struck me about this child is that she has her own attitude, her own [harmonic] colours; she regards the organ through a personality that is her own.” Dupré, very taken by my symphony which, with his prodigious memory, he retraced for Gavoty in its entirety, pensive about “that beautiful, stormy finale” (in which all the themes engaged in a gripping battle). Gavoty exclaimed,

“Mademoiselle, I beg the privilege of being your announcer at your next recital series!” Truly disarmed.

The master then brought up for discussion the number and organization of my performances and the hall. For an hour and a half, he had Gavoty firmly in his grip until Gavoty committed himself on several matters. At a certain point, Dupré revealed his cards: “I appear to be interested in the Pleyel organ, yes. But what I want is that this child debut!” He would like the [Pleyel] director, Bénard, to engage me.

MD: “I’ll see to Bénard; you work on the others (Nicoly, Guy Lambert, etc.).” Concerning this scene, during which we [my parents, Mammy, Marguerite, and I] listened in silence, I will not record the feeling I was left with. As for my teacher, my regard for him could not rise any higher. [402] Around 8:30, Dupré took a deep breath; Gavoty must direct certain individuals to him at St-Sulpice in the near future. We left the master, Mammy, and Marguerite.

Gavoty, apparently struck by the manner in which they bid me goodbye, could not resist, when it was just the two of us, making a remark to me about their kindness towards me, and my teacher’s magnanimity.

On the train, he [Gavoty] spoke a lot about the “deep affection” that at one time united Dupré and Vierne and said that “third parties playing a role in their life” had disrupted it. “These two great men,” he said, which was a shock to me. He also told me that Dupré and Marchal are “enemies for life.”

“Yes,” I said, “but the struggle is unequal: Marchal attacks, [whereas] Dupré doesn’t defend himself and worries little about it. It’s a case of supreme greed and no talent versus nobleness and talent.” Gavoty jumped at such a rejoinder.

“Perhaps I wouldn’t go quite as far as that. Marchal has a certain talent; his angular rhythm and his concept [of the music]… is such that it unsettles him to play legato, what can I say. He has, nevertheless, some very lovely traits. To him, it’s all about interpretation (!!). He obviously doesn’t have Dupré’s technique.”

This position-taking between [403] Gavoty and me, on our first encounter, was pointed. He had thought I would grovel at his feet; [but] someone else was big enough to do that for me. If he was awkward, he must have seen that I was annoyed. If he played the sycophant, I was more courageous. It was just that: I wasn’t afraid.

Sunday 11 March 1945

Played at St-Sulpice at 9:00 and 11:15. (Telegram from Dupré yesterday: Papa went to see him; better. He kept him an hour.) Stations VIII, IX, V; improvisation: four movements on “Laetare”:^[321] adagio, intermezzo, fugal style, finale on two themes.

Guerner: “I’ve something to tell you… You have enemies: those who are jealous, envious, who will ridicule you. Keep calm and don’t change. Ignore the criticism.”  He also said that it was “admirable,” and refused to let me thank him.

Friday 16 March 1945

At Meudon. When the Master returned at 5:00, he rested a while and [then] chatted with me for an hour. He paid me a beautiful honour by saying, “Who was it who had such total confidence in me, blind [confidence] (I should say clairvoyant). Who said to me, ‘I’ll follow in your footsteps,’ who accepted every sacrifice called for; [404] who had absolute faith? You, and you alone.” It was due to Gavoty’s astonishment that he gave me this noble and proud response.

Dupré told me that yesterday (at a concert of Russian music in which Marguerite participated), M^r Guerner had spoken to him about me. He reported it to me thus:

G: “This child poses a problem: whether composition is for women.”

Dupré could not prevent himself from this rejoinder: “Can you hold your tongue? One day, you will be invited to hear her Études. You will see her play like she can’t play at St-Sulpice, where she holds back. And you will see that she is a composer.”

To me Dupré said, “Up until now, no woman has yet written a choral symphony or painted the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Intelligence―yes; creativity―no. Myself, I am close to believing that women are superior to men.” After this awe-inspiring pronouncement, Dupré went on about Guerner, who had asked him, between two pieces [during the concert],

“Moreover, [with] the little one, it’s the same as it is with music, isn’t it?…”

MD: “Yes.”^[322]

G: “I knew it.”

Mammy is very worried about my [405] health: (a lump in my breast that, regrettably, caused me to suffer this afternoon, and for which I am being treated, upon advice from a surgeon). She hid it from the master. They’re going to Le Havre tomorrow.[323]^[323]

[Thursday] 22 March 1945

Yesterday evening, a big concert at the Salle Pleyel: Bach, Handel, with Marcel Dupré and the Stirn Chamber Orchestra.^[324] Excerpts from [Bach] cantatas, the Water Music (H[andel]). Dupré played sinfonias [from Bach Cantatas, Nos.] 29 [and] 146 and [Handel] Concertos in G minor and D minor, with improvised cadenzas.^[325] For an encore, Toccata and Fugue in D minor.

Big audience, a crowd, despite there having been no publicity. Ovations for the master. An unforgettable evening for us, too.

During the intermission, Papa and I went to the green room, as did a crowd of Dupré’s friends. But scarcely had I spotted the master when we were politely asked to leave: “Marcel Dupré won’t be receiving until afterwards.” Except, Dupré himself reopened the door and, surprise:

MD: “Jeanne Demessieux… Well then? What an idea, to stay at the door[!]” And taking my hand, took me to… Bénard, the [Salle Pleyel] director, who was chatting with Mammy. Formal [406] introduction. Bénard, kindly, extremely surprised, took in the words “star, very great artist, composer,” vaguely conscious of the future weight on his shoulders. After that, the friends pushed their way in and took over.

By chance, I came face to face with M^me Falcinelli, who was taken aback. An elegant woman who, with her husband, heard me the last two Sundays at St-Sulpice, she cried out with the most devious and sweet intentions, “Ah! we missed you Sunday at St-Sulpice! Really, we missed you.”

Me: “Monsieur Dupré was absent, I believe?” and someone put their foot in it:

“Yes. That was M^r Grunenwald.”

Mammy, radiant, pushed through the growing crowd: “You heard how the [Salle Pleyel] organ sounded? Here’s where you should give your recitals; M^r Dupré is pushing relentlessly; he is doing all this for you.” No one heard and, a moment later, the master came to chat with us.

“You saw Bénard’s face?… we shall leave together; see you afterwards.”

Berveiller talked to me about St-Sulpice: “You improvise magnificently.”

Mammy returned to the hall with us. A piece for orchestra, then Dupré entered and concluded the [407] concert. An excellent lesson for me.

In the green room, where they were being assailed, Dupré whispered to me, “Let’s go.” On foot to the Étoile [where we took] the train together. The master gave an arm to both Mammy and me and [said], immediately,

“After you left the green room, I didn’t hold back: I recounted your entire story to Bérnard. I’m satisfied that he is won over.” I sensed that Dupré was profoundly happy.

MD: “I’m becoming more and more convinced that it’s here our little one will play. Do you like this stage? The organ will sound very good.” A little later:

MD: “I prefer hearing you to hearing myself,” and I didn’t even try to hold my own. He chatted with me non-stop. He is looking forward to hearing me Saturday.

Sunday 25 March 1945

Palm Sunday. Yesterday, two telegrams from Dupré got to me too late: I was spending a sorry afternoon at Meudon, wandering around the house. [The Duprés] were urgently called to Rouen regarding the health of M^lle Chauvière.

Today played both masses at St-Sulpice. Bach chorales, the two last Stations by Dupré. A long improvisation: variations and fugue in [408] five voices on “Gloria laus.” Berveiller turned pages for me and questioned me about my [plans for the] future. [I was] the centre of attention after the last chord. Guerner joined me in the library:

“In your music, one senses that you know what philosophy is.”

Me: “Ah… I find that interesting, M^r Guerner. For me, music is a philosophy and a language. Which is not to say… that I believe that we are making use of it as a way of ‘philosophizing,’ more or less abstractly.”

G: “What you’ve just said is admirable and profound; indeed, it’s a matter of ‘being’ a philosopher, which is to say, a thinker. Bach was a religious philosopher, Beethoven a grand metaphysician. And Marcel Dupré, whose work I’ve appreciated for three years now, is not accessible on the first hearing—for the masses—because he is a thinker. May I have the honour of accompanying you?” This conversation continued until a transfer point in the subway cut us off. Guerner interested me keenly. He seemed to try hard to comprehend me.

Upon my arrival [that morning], I had found Perroux waiting for me [409] in front of St-Sulpice after repairing a wind trunk; he had been informed by Dupré that I was playing.

P: “I came to work this morning for you; I wouldn’t have done this for others,” and he made quite a declaration about how talented I am.

Saturday 31 March 1945

The Duprés, having returned yesterday afternoon, called me to Meudon by telegram (M^lle Chauvière is better). Mammy, having in mind how close my operation is,^[326] had alerted the master, who came to us all upset. When they were persuaded that I was no longer in pain, I was finally able to reassure them.

Played Widor’s Sixth for the master.^[327] Chatted for a long time. Talking about [organ] design, I told him that my wish for St-Esprit is the ideal organ of his dreams. We were pacing in front of the station when he abruptly stopped.

MD: “You would like this organ?…”

Me: “You are in doubt, Master?”

MD: “No. But I did not dare imagine [it in] a church.

Me: “That wouldn’t stop us from building one in a concert hall.” Dupré looked at me again, then:

MD: “The parish priest?…”

Me: “He is very ‘American’ in his tendencies. Definitely an ally to cultivate [C’est un bon terrain]; I can lay the groundwork with him, if you wish. [410] I only dare speak of this to you because I’m sure I can’t possibly be mistaken.”

MD: “We shall talk about it again!”

Sunday 1 April 1945

Easter. At Vespers at St-Sulpice with Papa. The master and Mammy, happy to see me. Also present were Perroux and a friend who heard me at Meudon.

But… following on our heels is a man in an English officer’s uniform; Mammy exclaimed loudly, then ran to find the master. I withdrew to a corner. A moment later, Dupré was at my side again:

“Jeannette! It’s M^r Van Wyck, who engaged me for a grand tour of Australia, you know. He has dropped in on us today after five years. This is providential for you; quick now, you are going to play a grand entrance piece. It’s Providence, I tell you; you’ve understood, yes?…”

Me: “Yes.”

After the entrance, came the first verset. This distinguished person watched me with the greatest intensity, Dupré having said to him, to his surprise, “Don’t miss a note.”

When the master returned to his [organ] bench, he brought the conversation around to international concerts, made inquiries, and with striking diplomacy brought his interlocutor around to posing to me this question: [411]

“Have you ever played in England, Mademoiselle?”

“Not yet,” Dupré responded. Thus begun, Dupré, in a lively manner, revealed the entire secret and placed me on a pedestal, as always, with reinforcement from Mammy. The outcome was forthright: “I shall be there for your recital series, Mademoiselle.”

Eventually, Dupré left the conversation to Mammy, and, turning again to me on his right [said]:

“I’ve thought again about our conversation of yesterday…”

Me: “You spoke, one day, of your idea of an organ in three parts for St-Esprit.”

MD: “Yes!”

Me: “The more I think about it, the more ideal it becomes, even from the poetic point of view…”

MD: “The Trinity?”

Me: “Yes.”

MD: “It’s true… One could do something beautiful and daring.”

Me: “Something unique to this church.”

MD: “The two of us will fine-tune this [idea].”

Next, the master told me that Rolande Falcinelli will give a recital Thursday at Chaillot (Litaize organized these concerts for public broadcast). He asked me to arrange to be there and invited me to sit in his box. Mammy insisted. I hesitated, sensing how their taking this stance would be remarked upon. Dupré said to me, “Don’t worry. It’s my right. And it will have [412] a very good effect.”

When I left them for my Vespers service, their goodbye was most affectionate, to which was added that of the important Australian.^[328]

Thursday 5 April 1945

R. Falcinelli’s recital. Good memorization. Bach: stylistically bad; and this frightful “mélange,” due to Litaize’s influence, which I railed against when Dupré and I were alone. Dupré’s Deuxième Symphonie, with enormous and laudable effort (finally, a major work by Dupré on the Chaillot stage!). Somewhat slow and solemn, but correct. Improvisation: “puerile,” the master said to me. Formulaic and without grandeur or inspiration.

Many people came to greet the Duprés in their box. Farther away, one could see the Falcinellis, as well as the Touches (without their poor mother), etc. Busser passed in front of us several times without seeing us.

The recital over, the Duprés lingered in front of their box, chatting again with numerous people; a steady flow of people in front of our group, the master waited until there was no one left in the hall. Then,

MD: “Well, are you set? Have you gauged the disparity? Isn’t it just what I [413] told you?” Mammy and Marguerite shrugged their shoulders, saying that she [Rolande Falcinelli] isn’t even in the “same league” [ne m’arrive “pas à la cheville”] as me, is no better than any other, and spoke warmly of my improvisations. Dupré concluded,

“For a first recital (by Rolande), it was fine. But there’s no comparison with [Jeanne Demessieux], and I wanted her to see this for herself. Take advantage of what you have seen and heard. You on the stage, that would be something else.”

The master and Mammy leading me, each by an arm, we headed for the foyer where they maintained their behavior towards me, which drew looks of all sorts my way. We crossed paths with Busser. “How nice, eh, to see Bubu…,” Dupré whispered to me. Similarly, I landed by chance among a group of colleagues and friends. I hastened to greet Rolande―icy―and returned to my conversations. The Duprés were taking their time, floating from group to group without losing sight of me; the master came over to ask me whether I had seen Rolande, then they went to greet her, quickly, and got ready to leave.

“Come with us; we’re leaving,” Mammy said to me, without failing to notice [414] the impression made. Followed by a small crowd, we broke away in the subway, where Mammy exclaimed, “At last, alone!” On the platform, they were once again assailed, but the master turned his back and spoke with no one but me.

MD: “Let’s talk seriously.” He dreams, as I do, of an organ for St-Esprit and so, we are endlessly making plans.

“I want your [concept of an] organ at St-Esprit,” I said, “and if I can contribute something to its design, I’m at your service.”

MD: “I know what you’re thinking. I want this organ for you, too. Your parish priest must be as caught up in the excitement as we are and be willing to go with Lavergne.^[329] Beuchet will make a fuss, and I couldn’t care less. It would be better to enter into the contract without saying anything.”

I asked the master if he would be so kind as to play Bach’s Prelude in E-flat [major] for me on Saturday; he would also like to talk.

Saturday 7 April 1945

At Meudon. The master worked. Shared thoughts about Rolande F. After a meal, Dupré played the Prelude in E-flat. But first:

MD: “Tell me what you were looking for today in my performance, what you were expecting.”

Me: “More and more, I imagine playing everything exactly as you do; the E-flat is the synthesis of [414b] this concept, it seems to me; I needed to review it one more time.”

MD: “Good; I agree with you. Do you know the secret? It takes all six.”^[330] This was surprising.

Next, we talked for a long time about our organ.* He imagines it as consisting of three equal divisions. He plans to speak to [Paul] Tournon.

 

* [Squeezed into the bottom margin:] 14.4.45, MD: “With this organ, in your hands, I see you creating modern mysticism.”

Saturday 14 April 1945

I’m writing these lines after a short delay because of a bad headache (nothing more, thankfully). First recital in my review [series of recitals]: ten Preludes and Fugues by Bach.

Finding me fatigued, Dupré (who had come to meet me in Meudon), questioned me; I could not hide from them that I had been suffering for some hours, and I was feverish. Great distress. Since I was insisting on playing at my parents’ arrival an hour from then, they forced me to rest, one preferring the garden, the other the parlour.

For an hour, I stayed in the parlour, stretched out, blinds closed, covered by Dupré’s overcoat! I was able to reflect, in comfort, on their affection when they left me, and I heard the master striding around for a moment in his room while Mammy spoke to him very loudly. After a half-hour of calm, I heard muffled footsteps descending from the office [415] in the room and entering the parlour. It was Dupré, anxious: “You aren’t sleeping? How do you feel?” I reassured him. Next, with the greatest care, he brought out a piece of paper.

MD: “I’ve drawn the plan of your organ…” Excitedly, I insisted on seeing it, and the master parted the curtains, sat down, explained it to me, and copied it in a few minutes. MD: “To represent the doctrine of the Trinity; I’ve also had in mind the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit: we would have seven ranks in each organ gallery. What do you think?” I exchanged some enthusiastic words with the master: the symmetry and balance of his conception thrilled me to bits.

MD: “Don’t be afraid to suggest something else if you wish.” Then he closed the curtains again. “Rest, great artist.” Then, as I’d requested that he return to his work when he left, he softly played a few chorales.

For my recital, I was in my best form. Happy. Nevertheless, Dupré insisted that I rest a minute after every other prelude and fugue. They were filled with enthusiasm. Mammy lamented seeing me suffer; “It didn’t cloud her brain,” said the master.

[416] The evening concluded with a long talk in the parlour, where Mammy insisted that I lie down again.

The master walked us back and waited until our departure.

MD: “You will make no further progress, unless you write a work even more difficult than the Études and succeed in playing it. For me, though, your progress [beyond this point] is unimaginable.”

Wednesday 18 April 1945

Yesterday evening, a Bach recital by Dupré at St-Philippe-du-Roule, the first of a series of ten.^[331] Cipher on ten stops from the beginning; a perpetual struggle. The motor broke down, as did everything else in the end [enfin: tout].^[332] Nevertheless, [he displayed] his cool self-possession. Dupré gave a splendid concert, worthy of him; but a few of us were conscious of just how many sacrifices he made. Guerner joined us, cursing, swearing damnation. Dupré’s friends all grouped around him when he descended.

Suddenly, someone brought Litaize, wanting to speak to me. “Ah! There you are. I’d like to ask you to play on the radio, and once at Chaillot, too, because… you’re the only one who hasn’t played, you understand.”

It was terrible, but I thanked him profusely, which embarrassed him, and [417] I said I would write him with my answer. He was very astonished and insisted on having an idea of my program.

Me: “You’re at my throat, M^r Litaize! Really, I am deeply touched.” But I did not give him anything definite (he advised a program of old music and appeared embarrassed when I preferred a varied program).

Dupré was watching Litaize and we exchanged knowing looks. He manoeuvred his way over [to us].

MD: “Litaize, eh?…”

L: “Yes. I’d like to tell you something—later.”

MD: “Yes.” Shortly afterwards, he [Dupré] took me aside.

MD: “I know. He just told me that he’d like to invite you.”

Me: “I’m not interested.”

MD: “Ah! Nor am I. We agree. We’ll go see what Jeannette [M^me Dupré] thinks, but she is of the same mind as we are. I said nothing to Litaize in response. Do nothing; I’ll take care of it.” He grabbed Jean Gallon as he went past.

MD: “Jean, my good man, I’d like to tell you that the little one is doing her review [recitals], one every fortnight; you are invited to come, whenever you wish.”^[333] I made a move to slip away unnoticed, but MD [said]: “Stay, my dear! You both know what I have suffered this evening…” Jean spoke of [Dupré’s] transcription of [the sinfonia from Bach’s] Cantata No. 146, burning with enthusiasm:

“Someone [418] told me that you were in Bach’s good graces—that he himself inspired you [in the transcription]. Is it true?” Poor, noble Dupré looked at us each in turn. “Thank you, Jean, my good man.”

J. Gallon left us, and Dupré asked me about my health. He asked my parents and me to depart with them, and stayed for a while longer to see his friends while Mammy chatted with us. When we left, the master took Mammy’s arm and mine and strode ahead of the crowd of friends who followed on our heels. He exclaimed:

“That was a disastrous recital (!); the organ was s–… I’m disgusted!… And Marchal—Marchal who was grinning ear to ear! He’s happy, he is!” He [Dupré] was near tears, and Mammy and I said in chorus:

“So what! You are [in the] right, of course!”

Me: “Master, I beg you!… Marchal just learned something; of course, he was smiling…” Dupré calmed down, then:

“Jeanne, you must have the operation.”

Me: “My work, Master…”

Mme D: “Leave her alone; don’t distress her this evening…”

Saturday 21 April 1945

Yesterday evening, St-Philippe, Dupré recital.^[334] The organ, better. The church [419] has been full for these recitals. A superior audience. Dupré and Marguerite came down during Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament; immediately, the master came up behind me: “Happy? It was beautiful today.” He followed the service reverently.

Today, Meudon. Dupré brought up the subject of my health. He does not dare insist but is encouraging me. I would have decided if I had my parents’ assent. I’m unsure.

Wednesday 25 April 1945

Yesterday, recital, St-Philippe.^[335] The organ was repeatedly a problem. Upon leaving, Dupré said to me sadly, “I’ll have had my share of humiliations…” The church was full.

Saturday 28 April 1945

Yesterday, I saw Dr. Dramez. The X-ray shows a healthy body [un organisme intact], but a large lump in the breast. Dramez is consulting with a surgeon. I confided to him the secret [plan for] my Paris debut.

That evening[’s] recital: magnificent.^[336] Brought Dupré up to date on my health. He is uneasy, gloomy.

 

Sunday 29 April 1945

Asked to speak to Dupré, who received me this morning at St-Sulpice. Mammy; lots of people. [420] Between the Gloria and the Offertory, the master took me aside [saying]: “I need to speak to her right away.” Here is our conversation.

MD: “What do you wish to say to me?”

Me: “Allow me to ask you a question.”

MD: “Certainly.”

Me: Have you an idea of the timeframe in which my recital series will begin?”

MD: “I sensed that was what you wanted to talk about. You’re afraid of not being ready?”

Me: “Yes.”

MD: “I must see Bénard soon to ask for Pleyel. As for the date, that’s unclear; it is we who must decide. Why?”

Me: “I have my own idea; I’m looking for a compromise.”

MD: “I can see that. Tell me, above all, how are you?…”

Me: “Fine. The other evening, I didn’t tell you that I’ve confided everything to Dr. Dramez.”

MD: “Very good! A secret entrusted to a doctor is like a secret entrusted to a priest.”

Me: “We’d envisioned waiting [delaying the surgery]. He asked me to give him a date. I mentioned December [1945] or January [1946] for the start of my recitals. That would postpone the operation for a year… He thinks that would be waiting too long.”

MD: “It certainly is too long!”

Me: “If we could begin [the recital series] in October [1945], it would work.”

MD: “Jeannette! You are wrong, I tell you! Enough of this!”

Me: “It’s not for my sake that I’m begging… Allow [421] me to pose the question to the surgeon, Master?”

MD: “I’m cornered; I must tell you what I think. I have not lived since learning you have this, and I will have no peace until it’s removed. Were you Marguerite, twenty-four hours after you had spoken to me of this, it [the surgery] would be done. I believe too much in your talent, your fortune, and your future to take such a risk! Listen to me: I am telling you my life is on hold!”

Me: “Master… Gavoty, Bénard: they will lose interest…”

MD: “What? Who do you think they are? I’m using them, but they are nothing but ‘objects’ in my hand. If I say to Bénard, her debut will take place in your hall—but wait—he’ll wait.”

Me: “You’re building my future day by day, and my parents are sure that your immediate plans have been upset; this is why I’m insisting.”

MD: “No. Sometimes in life, one must relax; this changes nothing. When Jean Gallon spoke to me of St-Philippe, I said to him: ‘Don’t even think of it, so close to the little one’s series.’ He said to me, ‘Marcel, a fortnight after your recitals, they will be in the past.’ I do not have the honour of being your father, but if you trust me, do not hesitate [to put the operation before your recital series].”

The end of the Credo cut [422] the conversation short, and the master beckoned me to his side at the console. I don’t know if he was influenced by our discussion, but his first improvisation (on the Elevation) was of a character such that I literally felt ransacked, and as though I had been struck. (To describe what I mean, I could perhaps relate it to the former Étude in G major in thirds [or] the 14^th Station—yet very new.)

After High Mass, I disclosed our conversation to Mammy.

Mme D: “All he has said to me is that he is not living. The notion won’t leave him. What are you going to do?”

The master withdrew from everyone, and we three chatted for a half-hour. I told him I’ve decided, but that my parents are taking a very dim view of this. I took my leave of Mammy, and Dupré walked me back as far as the gate [la grille]. He would like my parents to be convinced and spoke of writing [to them]. I told him that their grief is making them believe that my teacher will lose confidence in me and accept another disciple, and that I can’t seem to reassure them. Dupré’s eyes were misted over, and he began to stare at me fixedly:

MD: “You believed them; you believed that!…”

Me: “No, I didn’t believe them; but I have to reply to them.”

MD: “My Jeannette, [423] my angel! I am worried! Relieve me of this right now—right now, I beg you. Imagine that in the organ kingdom a woman may reign, and that you are chosen to reign! Your career is dearer to me than my own, do you hear? You will remain at St-Esprit, but on a throne because a throne is what I want for you, [one that] lives up to your talent. This organ will be controversial, but the entire world will come to hear you. No one but you can ever be at St-Esprit, because it is in you. To me, it’s Providence. I beseech you—think about what you are!” After a moment, MD: “Trust in me!”

Me: “Do not doubt [that I do], Master: I swear to you.” The expression on Dupré’s face cleared, and we gripped hands.

MD: “Have courage. I will write to [your] father this evening.”

Saturday 5 May 1945

Various telephone conversations over the last several days. Dupré knows my decision. Saw the surgeon Dramez spoke to, Bénassy. Talked with him. After examining me, he declared that he does not wish to remove this adenoma but to dissolve [fondre] it with injections. The tiny cyst [424] can be removed now or just as well at any time in my life. He was very assertive, despite my objections, and said it is something “neither serious nor with the potential to become serious,” even if it is painful. He gave me his word, without my asking, that I can wait.

That evening, I telephoned the news to Mammy, who was expecting the master’s return at any moment. Delighted, she asked me to telephone at 8:00 in the morning.

Yesterday evening, St-Philippe.^[337] The church filled to overflowing. The organ had the worst glitches (the Tierce wouldn’t work when it was wanted and came on when it was not wanted). Marthe Dramez was with us for the concert. I exchanged a few words with J. Gallon.

JG: “That had us on edge, didn’t it?”

Me: “He’s a wizard; no one else could have held on.”

These concerts are becoming a sort of road to Calvary for Dupré. As usual, we left together, but with Berveiller, whom the master held back. He enquired, one last time, concerning my parents’ opinion of my health, then chatted with Berveiller and me. (I have noticed that he never allows me to withdraw when another is present, and makes me take part in whatever involves him, despite my reserve [discrétion].) He is sad in a quiet way that is [425] heartrending to see. He would like to drop the concerts, but the loss of money to the parish priest prevents him.

Berveiller: “You should ask Marcel Dupré to lend you his St-Sulpice organ.” That relaxed things a bit.^[338]

Dupré told me he was asked to play a concert at the American Church of Alma.^[339] He allowed Berveiller and me to suggest the program. Bitterly:

MD: “Oh, they’re having a good laugh, Marchal’s friends, the ones who don’t come to hear me. We have support, which makes them feel threatened.” Long pauses. Mammy and Marguerite were talking with my parents. Mammy seemed to me to be in a very reflective mood; Marguerite appeared drawn.

In the subway, jostled by the crowd, we were separated. Maman scolded someone on behalf of Dupré, who was distracted.

MD: “Stay with me,” the master said to me. “Watch you don’t get hurt! Tell me again what the surgeon said.” I had said to them they could telephone him. MD: “I don’t need anyone to confirm something you’re telling me.” Like Mammy, he feels relieved to think that, with Bénassy formally on board, there’s no danger in delaying, even for a long time. Dupré exhaled; the nightmare was over, but he made me promise to follow the course of treatment. [426]

After that, we all talked together. Tomorrow Dupré leaves for Amiens.^[340] It was decided that I shall devote the entire day to my work. Mammy and Marguerite embraced me; “embrace me,” the master said, too.

MD: “So, your health situation is agreed upon: you’ll do nothing?”*

Me: “Yes. Are you fully reassured, Master?”

MD: “Yes.”

 

* [Squeezed into the bottom margin:] Understood to refer to surgery.

Tuesday 8 May 1945**

END OF THE WAR! Is it even possible? It hasn’t sunk in. Victory! We, so miserable, hanging on by just our nails, our ruins, and our blood. Long live Providence. Five years and eight months. I was 18; now I’m 24. Germany’s last moments followed day by day… Yesterday and tomorrow. Tomorrow! Let’s hope we put this to good use in France. The future is close enough to touch.

This day is unforgettable. The people! Frenzy. Impossible to telephone Meudon. But a concert at St-Philippe this evening.^[341] Awful [conditions] for arriving in one piece! A crowd. The stunning calm of this organ. Saw and embraced the Duprés. Left together, just us. Very emotional. The master hardly spoke at all. He told me to think about those who are crying. An indescribable crowd. Flares [fusées], a cannon, bells, airplanes, lights (!), soldiers. The crowd frightened Mammy; they [the Duprés] decided to go as far as Montparnasse [427] on foot. We, having too far to go, decided to attempt the subway, despite their apprehension. We separated.

Few emotions that can be described. They were back at Meudon before we got to Daumesnil [subway station]. For mutual reassurance, I telephoned, although we had a terrible time on the subway.

 

** [Squeezed into the bottom margin:] The Liberation of Paris occurred on the feast day of St. Louis [Aug. 25]. The Victory [in Europe], on the [same] day Joan of Arc delivered Orléans [May 8].

 

Saturday 12 May 1945

Yesterday, a concert at St-Philippe that went splendidly.^[342] The organ held itself together, except for a cipher during the last eight measures, about which Dupré teased Perroux sharply after Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament. He called me as witness. Perroux claimed I had heard nothing, [but] received the tongue-lashing.

Papa asked the master whether he was pleased and Dupré, becoming very serious, simply responded, “It’s Jeanne who must say whether she is pleased.” He waited for my response, insisting upon it: “Really?” This caused me to share in the deep feeling of pride that comes over the virtuoso who has given the best of his best—a feeling I know and that Dupré, I’ve sensed, has command of. He told us to wait for him. Mammy and Marguerite, happy to see the master pleased this evening. As usual, chatted with Guerner, Bourdon, etc.

In the subway Dupré said to me, “Maybe I’ll do some composing this summer…Yes. Yesterday I [428] improvised four movements on the “Te Deum.” I think this could turn out like the Chemin de la Croix. Jeannette and Marguerite think that I can compose it.”^[343] I can’t stop thinking, in parallel fashion, about my preliminary ideas for my work on the Holy Spirit. Coincidence.

The master talked about Pleyel, about Bénard. He’ll see the latter soon and explained to me his “plan of attack” for this decisive visit. I remarked that Bénard most likely hopes he will agree not only to inaugurate the [renovated] organ, but also to giving several recitals. Dupré replied that he will refuse—just as he refused to perform from the entire repertoire at St-Philippe—because of me. He is unwavering. He talked about his recital at the Alma Church, where he wants me to hear him and to get acquainted with the organ. They parted from us very affectionately.

Today, spent the afternoon at Meudon. Conversed in English; Marguerite had me listen to a gifted little girl whom, it is hoped, she will take on, but she doesn’t dare accept. Ate and chatted for a long time in the garden.

Mammy told me that the master requested an appointment with Bénard and showed me the letter received from him. This morning, she received a [429] telephone call in which Bénard confirmed that he will meet with Dupré as requested on the 17^th.  So then, it’s the 17^th of May that will decide my fate.

Sunday 13 May 1945

Guerner came to hear me at St-Esprit. I asked him for a theme. Chatted a lot. Alluding to Messiaen, he said to me, “I don’t like people who market holy things.”

Wednesday 16 May 1945

Yesterday, at St-Philippe. Organ [was] very good. Dufourcq and Marchal [were there] together. A splendid recital.^[344]

When Dupré came down, Dufourcq and Marchal headed for him. We turned our backs on them. Perroux, between Marguerite and me, was threatening to create a scene, shaking his fist[:] “I can’t hold myself back when I see that.”^[345]

The master was watching me and gestured to me. MD: “My friend Lavergne is here!” I shook Lavergne’s hand warmly; [he was] quite friendly. But before getting into conversation Dupré asked me the usual question: “Are you pleased, this evening? Good.” He has shown the plan to Lavergne, who is enthusiastic.^[346] [Dupré] convinced him to come to Vespers on Sunday and wants us to discuss it all together. I am dumbfounded by this spirit of decisiveness. Leaving [430] his friends [behind], Dupré brought Lavergne with us, and we were on our way.

Mammy said,  “No one was missing this evening… ‘They’ planned to meet up.”

MD: “Yes, ‘they,’ the women, were all there, the exception being Noëlie Pierront. You’ve seen that hypocritical face, that blonde?”

Mme D: “Whom do you mean?”

MD: “Henriette [Roget]. I cannot tolerate her; she is such a phony.”

Lavergne parted from us at the subway. Afterwards, we talked about my future organ and my composition for the Holy Spirit.

MD: “It must be ready for the inaugural recital. Speaking of which, it’s you who will inaugurate the organ.”

Me: “No, Master. It will be you. I’ve been waiting for this for years now.”

MD: “You’ll do it, I tell you. An artist such as yourself doesn’t invite someone else.”

Me: “Granted, not just anyone else, but I’m asking you, Master. Unless you tell me: I have my reasons for refusing.” Dupré fell silent and appeared slightly shaken. I told him I envision my composition in three parts, closely linked to [the three parts of] the organ. MD: “You’re right: that would be a fine thing to do.”

Afterwards, [he said,] “My ‘Te Deum’ is coming together, you know! I imagine it being very spirited. I don’t know when it will come out.” On another note, the master was very cheerful.

“Lavergne is timid, Jeanne. We’re going to have to teach him a thing or two on Sunday. We’ll talk about it. We’ve advanced again concerning [431] [organ] design in our conversations (with Lavergne).”

He spoke again of a young organ tuner-technician associated with Lavergne, who just built his first organ and who, according to Dupré, was working on discovering Cavaillé-Coll’s secret [for scaling pipes] by means of ratios he calculated.

Saturday 19 May 1945

Yesterday, at St-Philippe, the Toccatas and Fantasias.^[347] Dupré’s playing was full of life, something that has struck me since the start of this series. He descended, unhappy with the organ, believing the audience was aware of his tribulations. He questioned me and said to Lavergne, “This child cares for me too much; her ears stop working when it comes to hearing my errors(!)”

I don’t know why, but I was assailed non-stop this evening by all the Duprés’ acquaintances, M^me Meunier in the lead. Mammy questioned Papa and had to rescue me from all these people so the master could talk with me about essential things. He wanted to tell me who my audience was to be today [Saturday, at Meudon]. Yet, Mammy, happy, had been unable to hold her tongue five minutes longer with me… and when Dupré had started to speak to me about [432] Bénard with mysterious pride, he stopped… “you already know this!” That meeting made it a red-letter day [Cette entrevue est à marquer d’une pierre blanche].

MD: “Bénard is thrilled… beyond anything we could have hoped! You will perform at Pleyel. All that remains is to get organized.” The price to construct an openwork wooden panel at the front of the stage is 600,000 francs. Dupré said that the organ will sound just as fine with “a remnant of gauze for 100,000 francs,” and there was no further discussion on this. The master kept me a long time, delighting in my elation; MD: “For four years, I’ve waited for this moment.” They [the Duprés] were taken home by automobile.

Today, my second review recital at Meudon: the Bach [Trio] Sonatas. The master gave me the hall to rehearse and rest, while he gathered Lavergne, Pierre Bourdon, and Bourdon’s nephew together in his office to discuss organ design. More Bourdon family members arrived and were settled in the garden, then my parents. At 5:00 PM, we had afternoon tea and around 6:00, I played. (My “audience” consisted of twelve people in all.)

[I was] very satisfied; Dupré too. To the general enthusiasm, Dupré replied emphatically, “We can agree without doubt that we are in the presence of a master.” [433] Mammy indicated to me that she knew what was going on; she was satisfied. She promoted me at every opportunity. (She had pretended to be looking for me before teatime, when, the master having called me over, I had gone to see the organ with the gentlemen:

Mme D: “So, where were you?”

Me: “In the organ, Madam.”

Mme D: “In the organ! She was in the organ!” Everyone laughed at this entrance line, and Mammy was delighted.)

The Bourdons were first to take their leave. Meanwhile, I met with the master alone and we had a serious discussion.

MD: “Fantastic, my little Jeanne. You are reaching the pinnacle of your technique here and now!… You’re young; pace yourself! This virtuoso’s fervour of yours is peaking!” I will remember these words.

Lavergne left shortly before us; everything is arranged with the master for tomorrow. Dupré walked us back to the train, embraced us, and saw us off.

 

Sunday 20 May 1945

A memorable day. At 4:00 PM, Lavergne came to [our] house, where we took tea in my studio. At 4:30, we were already on our way to St-Esprit, talking about organ design the entire way. I told him that making the individual boxes seemed to me simple to carry out and questioned him concerning breaks every three octaves,^[348] which I know Dupré told them [434] about yesterday. He told me that it’s more difficult, but he believes that with Dupré’s ideas and the technical help of Bourdon it will soon be achieved.

At St-Esprit, I led him [Lavergne] into the galleries. He was delighted with the ones on the sides and thought of putting two ranks in one archway, without any space between (what Dupré was thinking of) [and] in each archway a small façade of non-sounding pipes, as the entire organ will be under expression. For the centre [rear gallery], he’s thinking of a corbelled structure on which to place the console,^[349] and a forward-jutting organ case supported by structural uprights. I like this less and mentioned to him that the back wall is brick, which makes one think of [a] provisional [arrangement]. I told him how ridiculous these little rose windows are, having no reason to be there, given that the church tower will hide the exterior and, inside, we must fill the [centre] gallery with the main division of the organ [le corps de l’orgue], 32 feet in all, which we may not be able to curve in the centre. It’s not a matter of making a concession for these windows. And I asked him whether it would do him any good to have this wall pushed back. He leapt [at this] and told me that thirty centimetres would save it. I asked him whether he imagines a console of only three manuals. With three separate divisions, [435] I would very much like four manuals on the console and am going to think on this idea.

During Vespers, he listened to my organ carefully, from above and from below. He left, carrying his notes, and is going to prepare the estimate. All that remains is to persuade Father de la Motte―who is unaware of how far we’ve advanced―on whom I’ve been “working” while seeming not to.

Monday 21 May 1945

Telephoned Dupré yesterday evening and this morning. Lavergne, for his part, also telephoned. Dupré is satisfied; he reassured me regarding Father de la Motte, and his idea.

 

Wednesday 23 May 1945

Yesterday, the last recital at St-Philippe.^[350] Very beautiful. With this series, a great new thing has been given to audiences.

Dupré was mobbed by the crowd at the end. The “faithful” spoke to me of this same series having been given a long time ago at the Trocadéro.^[351] We could very well come to St-Philippe twice a week forever! Jean Gallon, all happiness, grasped both my hands: “Your turn, now! The big day approaches…” Mammy and Marguerite were both smiling: “My dear! We’re leaving together this evening. This has worked out well.” The master signaled to me that we were to slip away [436] and tapped his friend Bourdon on the arm:

MD: “Have you spoken to Jeanne Demessieux, Pierre?”

B: “Yes, yes! My humble respects, Mademoiselle.”

And we were off. My poor mother, worn out, hasn’t been able to come to the last recitals. It was very late, and we rushed into the subway. Dupré, very weary, unwound by means of a crazy cheerfulness that made us laugh so hard we cried. (I’m reminded of his usual comment after a “chore”: “we made it.”) Sunday’s recital will be for the Americans.^[352]

Saturday 26 May 1945

Dupré didn’t think twice about diverting me from my work for an afternoon to take me to see the organ at the American Cathedral,^[353] it being so instructive for me. He’s never played this organ, so we got to know it together. Dupré was pleased for my sake that the console is very much a Skinner type. A beautiful organ; we recognized its Cavaillé-Coll origins. At the beginning, we were alone and freely shared our thoughts.

Then Pendleton (who recently took up duties here) showed up. Antipathy. Berveiller’s arrival was a more agreeable surprise.

The master rehearsed, and I took [from this], once again, a splendid lesson. The way he masters an organ from very first contact is striking and gives me a tremendous desire to work.

He [437] wanted to turn the manuals over to me, then changed his mind, obviously because of the presence of Pendleton, to whom he would only say that I was an “incomparable artist.” The reaction did not escape him [Dupré]. After that, Dupré’s jaw remained clenched, except with me, during his playing, while P. and B. listened from the sanctuary. The master saw, with a smile of satisfaction, that I had understood the organ; nevertheless, I said that I preferred the stop tablets facing front, not at a 45º angle. Dupré agreed with me and told me that the English and Americans would not dream of having them other than at the 45º angle.

At the end of the afternoon, Dupré bid goodbye to Pendleton, opted to take the subway with me, and asked Berveiller to accompany us as far as the station. There, we chatted for a good while. The conversation came around to “improvisations for two,” being played on the radio (on piano) by Litaize and Grunenwald, H. Roget and Gallois-Montbrun, and so on. Dupré is deeply hurt that his students (Grunenwald, especially) are abusing the art, and said that he is ashamed of how this reflects upon him (he believes!).

MD: “As this child well knows, that’s not what I taught them.” So, Berveiller and I tried to console him.

[438] During the trip home, Dupré questioned me about Lavergne [and] about my parish priest. He told me that he had talked with canon Merret on this subject, telling him that I required one of two things: either “obtain a high post in Paris or have an imposing organ built at St-Esprit.” He added that canon Merret, without being exactly aware of the important details, knows enough to follow my career, starting immediately.

Monday 3 September 1945

Recalled [home] from Évreux by my parents: Yolande arrived eight days ago, and I only found this out when I got to Paris. She didn’t want me to know sooner so I could take full advantage of my vacation.

 

Thursday 6 September 1945

Yolande is leaving tomorrow, and I’ve been pressured to leave again for Évreux this evening. We were inseparable these three days, and Dupré received us at Meudon.

 

Tuesday 18 September 1945

Returned yesterday evening to Paris after a perfect holiday. [470] Being bathed in solitude, in the refreshing nature of what is [Marthe] Réveilhac’s former property did me a world of intellectual good and, while there, I “cured” a real attack of misanthropy.

The first piece of my work about the Holy Spirit is established, as well as the outline of the seven parts [and] the spirit of the work. I’ve composed for entire days. The strength of my being has been vehemently liberated, and I have experienced a period of intense emotion that I cannot forget. I hope to finish my first piece any day now.

 

Saturday 22 September 1945

As M^r Blanchard had indicated that he wished to chat with me and get to know me better, I invited him, through M^me Dupré, to visit me at home yesterday. We chatted warmly and compatibly for an hour and three-quarters. He is paying attention to everything concerned with my career, is interested in my debut, and expects me to go to America. He is leaving on Monday.

Today, Meudon, where I arrived very anxious, carrying the completed first piece of my work. Dupré was expecting me and waited impatiently in the garden. Mammy and he congratulated me, and the master led me to the organ hall right away.

MD: “First, some things to tell you. Our friend Guerner [471] is in the process of writing, for us two only, his thoughts on the ‘great virtuoso.’ I asked him for this. I am sure it will be powerfully interesting. He has had some terrible trials, of late. I saw our friend Bénard yesterday at Pleyel. His health has improved, and he’s optimistic. He’s working towards one concert a month, and for a second season the following year. I saw Grumbach, who spoke of the Études. He is keen that their fingering be done by you. Bornemann is presently pulling his hair out trying to get paper but said to tell you that you can count on him. I proposed something concerning your Études: that I, myself, write the preface to the published score and, perhaps, give some advice about working on them.” This sensitively phrased offer delighted me, and Dupré summarized for me the preface as he was already imagining it.

Then we got to [my] composition. I showed Dupré the general plan in seven parts. He understood the idea before I had even explained it, and he approved it enthusiastically. “Dogma” immediately surprised him. I believed he thought it too abstract, but [472] told me, no. He burst out when I told him that I see it as a consequence of “Pentecost.” He considers my plan very personal. I played him the first piece, based on “Veni Sancte.” In the middle, I had to stop to modify the registration, and I heard Dupré say in a hushed voice, “It’s beautiful, you know…” When I turned around, I saw him looking so pale that I couldn’t say a word, and I continued. I take note of these details because of the impression they gave me and am convinced that they best express what can otherwise not be explained. Afterwards, the master said,

“It’s wonderful! It’s warm, powerful; the conclusion is very moving!… It’s concentrated, profound, profound… The continuous plea, how genuine it is: ‘I beg you, come; do not leave me; open your eyes!’ You are right; this really is the [plainchant] ‘Veni Sancte’; I understand now. And this is truly the first piece of the work… What title are you going to give it?” I was hesitating between “Prelude” and “Veni Sancte.” Then Dupré said to me, “Put ‘Veni,’ only. It’s more atmospheric.” And, with deepening earnestness, he perused my manuscripts and my notes, and told me he is struck by the aptness of my titles in relation to the [473] excerpts from texts that I’ve written haphazardly, just to help focus my thoughts.

MD: “Why haven’t you written these excerpts as epigraphs?

Me: “No, never.”

MD: “You don’t want to be like Messiaen?… Do you know why Messiaen is wrong? Because he publishes texts of his own devising, and only priests have the right to do this.”

Me: “That’s true; but I detest the appearance of mysticism.”

MD: “My little Jeanne, we’ll see, but this would be helpful to people in general. As for you, you are Christian. Do you believe in the divinity of Jesus? In the virginity of the Virgin? In the Church? Well, when one believes in all that, and when one has a soul like yours, one has the right to speak.”

Dupré, seeing I was somewhat shaken, confided this in me:

MD: “When I wrote the Chemin de la Croix, how many times I felt powerless, puerile, beset by scruples, as if I were stealing something from the Passion of Christ. And now, when I see people crying as they listen to it, and thanking me, I yearn to usher them back to Jesus because I have the impression of having stolen tears meant for Him. Even so… I could say to Him, ‘You well know how I wrote it, that it [474] was not “for me,” but a humble homage to You.’ So, you agree, my little Jeanne? Suppose that Bach or Mozart appeared before me in person. I would feel so small that I would run away. But if Jesus were to appear, I would run towards him, because Bach I would approach as a musician, but Jesus I would approach as a sinner.”

This was the most beautiful lesson in humility and faith that could ever be given. Dupré then returned to my piece and plan, and asked me why I hadn’t envisioned treating “the waters.” Astonished, I told him I didn’t understand. He showed me the beginning of Genesis, with which I was unfamiliar, and insisted that I write on this. He talked about this composition—which he already foresaw from examining my first ideas—until evening.

MD: “Who are you going to dedicate it to?”

Me: “To no one, since I am dedicating the Études to you; unless Madame Dupré would accept the dedication.”

MD: “Let’s think about it. Your parish priest… if he’d given you an organ—yes; even so, he’s your friend.”

Me: “Yes. But an egotistical and jealous friend…”

MD: “And Jean Gallon?…”

Like Dupré, I think this [475] would be a beautiful gesture towards Father Jean. He proposed some other ideas to me, including (but without holding to any of them), “splitting up” the work among seven dedicatees.^[393] My response was that I don’t have seven friends in the entire world.

MD: “You will have 700, but you will have 700 enemies before you have the friends.”

A new problem arose: doing away with one of my original seven subjects in order to introduce one that I will call “Les Eaux” [The Waters]. After some thought, my first idea was to eliminate “Combats” [Battles]. But Dupré couldn’t make up his mind and became completely befuddled.

Around 5:00, we were interrupted by Mammy’s arrival. “Come help us!” and the master, still bewildered, said to her, “She just played me the first piece of the work that she’s composed. It has such feeling, such power! She writes as if she were a 60-year-old man. I do not understand… I do not understand.”

 

29 September 1945

At Meudon. I played for Dupré his Preludes and Fugues in B major and G minor again. Very enthusiastic, he said to me that the G minor is stupefying, and that I play it better than he; he purported to say this to me just as he would to Marguerite. My rejoinder was that it was after I had heard him in a radio broadcast from [476] London that I reached this pinnacle. Right then and there, the master decided I will play this work in the first recital.

Next, we talked again about my composition, and Dupré expounded further, preaching [on the value of] working in fragments, seeking substance. He is working on his first composition for [organ with] registrateur: “Vision.”^[394] He is [just] getting started. In just a few words, he gave me the equivalent of a lesson:

“Look—see how I compose.” He opened a folder that contained pages of all sizes, especially small ones; so many sketches and notes. He also rummaged in his pocket and drew from it a tiny square of music paper, written upon neatly in ink: “Here, this is my theme.” And in his wallet [were] the latest ideas he had come up with, at any given time.

The master confided in me something I realize is very sad: he has decided to relinquish the organ [at the Chauvière-Dupré home] on rue du Vert-Buisson to Rouen Cathedral. He told me his reasons, and does not (!) want me to see this as a beautiful gesture, since he is selling it; but he told me that because of Marguerite he cannot do otherwise. He will inaugurate it a week from tomorrow.

MD: “When I arrive home and don’t see it…” And, as he [477] walked me back to the station, we talked about the history of that dear organ, built by Cavaillé-Coll for him when he was eight.^[395]

 

Sunday 30 September 1945

M^r Berveiller in my gallery. Yesterday, Dupré told him the secret surrounding Pleyel. Rather than astonished, he was very happy.

Saturday 14 October 1945

At Meudon, there was talk again of the inauguration at Rouen. Very emotional.

Played for the master his three new Preludes and Fugues [Op. 36] again. Very impressed.

All is going well at Pleyel.

Talked at length. Dupré spoke about Genesis and segued to astronomy. From there, we verged on discussion of theology. What he said about the universe and “universes” was powerfully poetic. He told me that he knows it helps me with my work to discuss these subjects with me. (Unfortunately, not enough time to jot down [these discussions].)

 

Sunday 21 October 1945

Saw Dupré yesterday at Meudon. There was no time for work, but we chatted.

Today at 3:00 PM he inaugurated the organ of St-Dominique.^[398] The church was not large enough to hold the crowd. [My parents and I attended] with Mammy, Marguerite, and Guerner.

At the end, the gallery [478] was mobbed, and we all had to wait a long time. From inside the church, we could see a massive crowd outside, and when the master descended, he had a hard time turning his back [on the crowd] to come to us. They were looking for him for a reception given in his honour at the parsonage.

MD: “First, I have to pass on some information to Jeanne Demessieux. I have important things I must settle with her right away.” They yielded in regret, and directed us towards a writing desk set up in the church, while closing the doors to the public.

Mammy got hold of M^me Tallon, who was heading my way, and led away my parents and the little flock. The master gave me the dates of my first two concerts, the plan for the series, and the program of his recital, and we settled on the last details of my programs.^[399]

M^r Laurent came and interrupted us to enthusiastically call for the master, who turned to him with:

MD: “We are not finished, dear friend. In a moment.” The master then asked me for my response concerning [repertoire] choices he [479] submitted to me yesterday. Having learned from me lately that I had begun to suffer again from my health problems, he has decided to refer me to his friend, the surgeon Beaussenat.* I told him that my parents and I accept. Dupré, having confided everything concerning my health and my career to the doctor, and the latter having offered to take me on, will make an appointment for me in the next few days. (He told the doctor that I was “his successor,” and that he cared for me even more than for his own career.) He is relieved to have this matter settled.

As we moved on, Dupré who is unhappy with this organ, asked my opinion of his recital. He had set out to perform with his usual sincerity; a combination having malfunctioned during Évocation, he bemoaned this. But we didn’t dwell on that, and I took away an unforgettable lesson; particularly impressed by Widor’s Fifth.

At the parsonage, they wanted me, along with my parents, to stay but I asked the master if I could withdraw. He embraced us tenderly.

 

* The first surgeon to do a heart operation.

 

Wednesday 24 October 1945

As instructed by Mammy, I went to Montparnasse [station] [480] to wait for the master, who wished to escort me himself and introduce me to Doctor Beaussenat. We were united in our anxiety, without letting it show too much. But Dupré comforted me with, “Just think: you have been filled with the Holy Spirit right up to the present; you know what I believe concerning this. The Father is the Creator, thus the ‘ordainer,’ and we are agreed that he acts through the Holy Spirit. Do you think They could betray themselves?”**

At M^r Beaussenat’s, I asked the master, who wanted to withdraw, to stay and hear the outcome from the doctor himself. After examining me, the doctor told us what he thinks with absolute frankness and added, “no operation, above all. She will get better; but it will be a long process, very long. Powerful treatment is necessary because the other side has been afflicted.^[400] For her career and for her coming recitals, there’s no danger.” After he bid us take tea with M^me Beaussenat, Dupré and I left together.

The diagnosis left us very downcast, but the master put into words the relief we both feel: “We won’t have to cancel the series!” He wants [481] to arrange with me how my recital dates and my treatment dates will be coordinated. The master took his leave from me at avenue Wagram to make his way to Pleyel.

 

** [Squeezed into the bottom margin:] MD: “You, of all people, must have confidence.”

 

Saturday 27 October 1945

Worked for the entire afternoon with Dupré at Meudon. I played my recital of Bach Fantasias and Toccatas for him. My impression was that this recital was reaching a peak, which was confirmed when I heard Dupré say, after the Fantasia and Fugue in C minor [BWV 537]: “Remarkable perfection and such composure.”

After the G minor [Fantasia and Fugue, BWV 542]: “We agreed with my father in saying that one cannot play the Fugue without there being a void. You, today, are perfection. Never have I heard it played, nor played it myself, like that.”

After the Fugue in C [major, from BWV 564]: “Ah, what splendor; fluid and authoritative at the same time. It had character!”

After the Dorian [BWV 538], F [major, BWV 540], and D minor [BWV 565] (between which he stopped me to share his enthusiasm), Dupré told me that the D minor is “moving” when I play it. When the master returned from the far end of the hall, from where he [482] was listening to me, I saw the depth of his emotion.

MD: “One can well see that you are predestined… It’s supernatural.” And after saying these words solemnly, Dupré continued, his eyes moist: “And to think it is this little girl, this pure angel, who has that brain, that technique!”

Then we moved to the parlour where, together, we had a bite to eat; Dupré then said to me, “Now we are going to talk business,” and we settled down for an hour with all our file folders. Dupré brought me up to date concerning Pleyel, prompted me for my ideas, my wishes. As soon as I started to worry about material things or finances, he responded, “I’m in charge of ‘commercial’ matters; to you, I leave the artistic side!” without any attempt to disclose to me the mountain of solicitations he has made and the worries I know he has.

Mammy returned late; all together, we departed for Paris.

 

Thursday 1 November 1945

Between Mass and Vespers [for the Feast of All Saints], the Duprés came over to our house for lunch and to spend part of the afternoon. No time to write everything down. Friendly intimacy, relaxation, affection.

Spoke of Pleyel; the “Jeunesses Musicales” will not be able to sponsor two of my concerts. But Bénard took the [bad] news in stride and is looking after everything.^[401]

We talked about Langlais being named to Ste-Clothilde without a competition. Marguerite said that Grunenwald had hoped for years to have Ste-Clothilde; she added with her forthright way of speaking that he considered himself preordained to that post [qu’il s’est fait baptisé pour cela].

“Perhaps,” said Mammy, “but it appears that he doesn’t want to be attached to any permanent place now—why, I don’t know.”

Dupré added, pensively, “No… What he wants is St-Sulpice. He’s waiting impatiently for… the post to be vacated.” I restrained myself from saying that he certainly has the soul of a gravedigger, but out loud, we settled for a softer tone.

During the afternoon, discussed [organ] building and all sorts of technique with the master, who talked to me about Busoni and gave me some examples on the piano. He asked me, also, to explain to him what I know, and we took turns at the keyboard.

 

Wednesday 7 November 1945

Maurice Le Boucher has come to settle in Paris, where several posts have been offered to him. He is still [484] director of the Montpellier Conservatory. Having received a letter from him since his arrival asking that I come to see him, I waited, upon Dupré’s advice; then I decided to ask him for a meeting, which he granted me today at 11 rue Christophe Colomb. I hadn’t seen him since the exodus.^[402]

He had a very affectionate attitude, which surprised me a little, declared me “splendid,” and had a lot of questions for me. He said that Busser regrets losing me. I thought I would burst out laughing and put my foot in my mouth. Aside from that, I followed Dupré’s “plan” and managed not to let slip the information that I will be playing in Paris this season.

 

Thursday 8 November 1945

At Meudon. Mammy is in bed with the flu. Her sister Valéry has become mistress of the house because they have had guests, yesterday and today.

I arrived when coffee was being served; [already] there were the minister and his family, to whom Dupré introduced me with a lot of fanfare. He asked them to listen to me, and I played the finale from Évocation and an improvisation on “Salve Regina.” Went well. Long conversation in which the master put me front and centre. People were amazed and said, four times over (who knows why), that they can understand why [485] the master chose me as substitute organist at St-Sulpice, with a talent such as mine. Also (like Gavoty) [they commented] that I am very fortunate, to which Dupré solemnly responded, “Fortunate? Make no mistake: it’s I who am fortunate.” At this point, they were struck by the habitual intimacy between the Duprés and me: the master’s paternal attention that “cosseted” me, and a sort of idolization from Marguerite.

These friends reserved a surprise for the end: Bornemann had procured a large amount of paper. Dupré jumped up; it’s a simple matter of a few words on the telephone to corroborate this.

The minister and his wife went up to be with Mammy, and I stayed, alone. Dupré didn’t take long to find me and lead me to the warmth of the dining room.

MD: “He is saving us! Bornemann will have paper; we can re-publish Bach! The publishers’ association had done everything possible to cut off Bornemann’s supplies in order to make [the] Bach [edition] disappear.”* Then the master explained to me (at which point he was told of the arrival of a student) that he is going to delay his lessons for an hour to listen to me. Despite my protestations, he worked it all out, took me to give Mammy a hug, said goodbye to his friends, and we went back down.

MD: “Finally! To our work! Don’t worry: come now, it’s important that I hear you!” It was [486] decided. MD: “You played Évocation very well earlier…”

For Dupré, I played [his] Variations on a Noël, and the other two movements of Évocation, which moved him deeply. He said that I have attained the perfection of his imaginings and that there is nothing left to be desired. He asked me “whether I would mind playing the Finale again, if I’m not tired,” for it gives him joy to hear it again and [gives] me [joy] to play it.

We talked after that and settled various matters. I went up to see Mammy before I left. Quickly explained to the master my meeting with Le Boucher.

MD: “You didn’t let on about anything? Not even the [Pleyel] sessions?”^[403]

Me: “No.”

MD: “Bravo.”

As I was leaving, the master embraced me with emotion: “You are a great artist.”

 

* For months, one could no longer find a score of Dupré’s Bach [edition].

 

Sunday 11 November 1945

Today, Dupré played at Montpellier Cathedral.^[404] Papa went to join him.

Here, I am playing at St-Sulpice. 11:15: a chorale [prelude]; [Bach’s] Toccata and Fugue in F [major]. Improvisation: funeral march in heroic style on the “Sonnerie aux Champs” [field bugle call]; this was the movement “Combat” that I had originally planned for my work on the Holy Spirit. In very good form.

Crowded. All the usual friends, except Guerner. At my right, M^r Hoehn** from Switzerland, who arrived [487] suddenly yesterday, and whom Mammy sent over to me after having informed him of everything. He’ll be back for Vespers this evening, and says he’s prepared to give me an engagement in Switzerland. Mammy, still under the weather, told me over the telephone that he is very enthusiastic and that it’s surely Providence that sent him.

 

** Paul Hoehn, from Zürich.

 

M^r Provost had long ago asked me to invite him when I play at St-Sulpice. Having consulted with Dupré, I invited him to come up today at 11:00. A sinister individual who remained silent in the gallery, except when he said, “Here, things are changing, at any rate.”†

 

† And also this odious remark: “This is the first time I’ve been up here: I am nervous.”

 

He asked us [Maman and me] whether he might join us on our walk home.

It [the conversation] was staggering [épique]. First, [he made] a few comments that I pretended not to understand. Then he said that the future of organ is closed off and fought ferociously against my numerous arguments. Guessing that I know something about organ building abroad:

P: “You’ve read a lot of works about building?”

I cited one by Cavaillé-Coll, Dufourcq’s recent work,^[405] and one in English.

P: “That’s a little. How do you know that much?”

Me: “Since 1920, it has been common knowledge. That’s what I’ve been telling you.”

P: “Dufourcq is going to have a 40-stop organ at home. It will undoubtedly be a Gonzalez.”^[406]

Me: “Of course.”

P: “Why, of course?”

Me: “Because he likes Gonzalez organs.”

P: “Ah, Gonzalez organs… Let it not be said that the organ [488] attracts the masses. I’ve only once seen a full house, at Chaillot, for Marchal.”

Me: “Well, well… I, too, have only seen a full house once, also at Chaillot, for Dupré.”

He went around and around with this, making me wonder what he was trying to get at. Suddenly, victoriously, [he said,]

“… Because!… Because it cannot be said that Dupré has done anything for the organ! He has been under American influence, and his music, in general, is rubbish!” I had promised myself to fight—an eye for an eye—against the next direct attack.

Me: “You appear to be extremely biased, sir!”

P: “Not in the least! And I stand by what I said.”

Me: “So do I. Instead of talking about influence, call it research. Dupré is incapable of being ‘influenced’! Now I’ll tell what you don’t like about Dupré: he’s an innovator. Everything, including your terms, falls on the shoulders, if not the head, of the one who leads the way.”*

 

* Words that Dupré used one day when speaking of himself.^[407]

 

P: “I criticize him for being ‘cold’!”

Me: “You dare to say something like that! Well then, what do you make of Évocation? The Symphonie-Passion? Admit it, you don’t know them.”

P: “Yet you denigrate Vierne for being sentimental.”

Me: “A cheap sentimentality…”

P: “How so?”

Me: “I’d say he’s insignificant [“greluchet”].

P: “You are cruel.” [489]

Me: “You, sir, dare treat masterworks as rubbish.”

P: “If [Dupré’s] G-minor Symphony is played, I’m going to boo.”

Me: “How petty!” A pause, in which I got hold of myself, determined to go on the offensive.

P: “You say that you’ve read my friend Dufourcq’s book…”

Me: “Yes; very interesting.”

P: “Yes, indeed, because Clicquot was the only organ builder.”

Me: “I bow down low to Clicquot, very low. But I believe that our era will have its place in history, too.”

P: “And who are our French builders?”

Me: “Gonzalez… Gloton…”**

** I purposely left out Jacquot because of Lavergne.^[408]

 

P: “There’s no question that Gonzalez rescued the organ from decadence.”

Me: “What decadence?”

P: “The nineteenth century!”

Me: “There’s where I must make a correction: there was Cavaillé-Coll.”

P: “Ah! Cavaillé-Coll had the distinction of taking things in hand, do you understand?”

Me: “You are wrong, sir. He was a ‘builder’ who invented the forerunner of the symphonic organ.”^[409]

P: “You like Cavaillé-Coll! I see! He’s your compatriot.”^[410]

Me: “You mock me, sir.”

P: “Gonzalez represents the return of the organ to its great, classic era, the time of Clicquot.”

Me: “Yes, what they call the neoclassic organ, the ‘pastiche’.”

P: “No, no!”

Me: “Exactly. I find it sad that a man who is as knowledgeable and cultured as M^r Norbert Dufourcq [490] also takes such a despicable position in his book. His sole aim in honouring Clicquot is to trounce new developments.”

P: “No, come on; let’s [try to] understand each other…”

Me: “You don’t deny that his book is anti-Cavaillé-Coll?”

P: “Not at all.”

Me: “Well, I, a young composer (but that’s not what’s important) will tell you that on a neo-classical organ, I cannot play as I would on another; to give expression to my ideas, it takes the symphonic organ of Cavaillé-Coll, and electricity. Don’t you think this is a sign?”

P: “So, you don’t play the same way on all organs?”

Me: “No.”

P: “Well, you’re treating my friend Dufourcq badly.”

Me: “What I say is true. I am very individualistic; I cannot put up with others trying to influence me, and because my music is individualistic too, I almost got myself thrown out of the Conservatory. What’s more, I’m telling you bluntly what I think.”

P: “Gonzalez, nevertheless, has done some good things.”

Me: “He’s also butchered some organs.”

P: “Which ones?”

Me: “Not far from here: Chaillot.”

P: “Ah! You’re vicious!”

Me: “But, sir, I am just as earnest as you.”

P: “I reproach Cavaillé-Coll organs for having too many [ranks of] strings.”

Me: “And I, those of Gonzalez, for having too many [491] mixtures.”

P: “There you are right, mind you.”

Me: “As always.”

P: “No! Prove it!”

Me: “I’ll prove it: take Chaillot.”

P: “You’re insistent!”

Me: “It’s the ruination of a great past.”

P: “I can tell you that the former Trocadéro [organ] wasn’t bad.”

Me: “My accusations: first, they cut down the pipes; proof: the organ is a semitone too high. Second, they put the ensemble out of balance by adding mixtures without adding foundation stops. Third, anyone and everyone has fiddled with that organ; the result: butchery.”

P: “Not everyone shares your opinion.”

Me: “But they do. And you know this well.”

P: “Gonzalez is faithful (sic). You know that he lost his son in the war…”^[411]

Me: “I pay tribute, truly. It’s terribly sad. But I also regret it because his son would have been able to take advantage of the good things his father did and correct the errors.”

Provost, pale with anger, left us at Place Daumesnil after the briefest exchange of courtesies.

Friday 23 November 1945

Worked and chatted all afternoon with Dupré at Meudon. Played the Symphonie-Passion, the Suite. Of Messiaen, one of the rare pieces that my musical sense has been able to assimilate: Apparition de l’Église [491b] Éternelle, even if the harmonies do annoy me.

The master just returned this morning from a recital tour of the south of France.^[412] The tour also had the purpose of spreading publicity concerning me.* [He was] happy, not in the least gloomy. He has been transfigured by the single thought of my coming debut and my engagements. We chatted. Satisfied with his performances (one can see that just by looking at him). Very satisfied with Bayonne.

In the Symphonie-Passion, I plagued him with questions after each bit, wishing to ensure that we agree concerning the smallest details. Nearly pointless “work” anyway, as Dupré is always giving me his utmost. He told me at the end of the Symphonie-Passion, “You understand everything. Listening to you play it, one imagines seeing the unfolding drama. It’s beautiful, my Jeannette.” I know the value of these words from Dupré. I told him, in turn, what I thought of his work.

MD: “You believe so?… You, who know that I am not looking for renown as a composer, you tell me that it’s beautiful… Listen: during my tour, I had, for the first time, the impression that people whom I did not know, liked me. I saw good, decent people come to me… as if they liked [492] my music, you see. I’m not used to that in France. So, you like it, too?”

I showed him how I’ve begun “Les Eaux.” He found it compelling and said,

“You’ve done it”—his customary comment that is my touchstone, my guide.

Chatted. Ate with Marguerite. Mammy in Paris. As I was leaving, Dupré said to me with fervent confidence, “I am very proud of you!”

My technique in the Suite left him extremely enthusiastic.

 

* By chance, he met Casals on the train and had a long chat with him, mostly about me. He was very moved when Casals embraced him “like [he would] his own kid.”

 

Friday 30 November 1945

Played all of Liszt for Dupré. One of my strongest impressions: after the Variations [he said],

MD: “It seems to me that you are becoming, a little more, every day, an even greater artist… Continue.”

After the Grande Fantaisie, the master came towards me, gave me a long kiss on the forehead, then stayed there without speaking. Then he sat down on the bench.

MD: “I was bowled over as though I were hearing it for the first time.” I looked at Dupré and saw with amazement that his face was flooded with tears. I stammered,

Me: “To that extent?…” He nodded yes and wept for a moment.

MD: “You have shaken me.” Then, “Please excuse me; in front of others, I [493] would restrain myself.” I respected these words in silence, being so filled with emotion myself.

MD: “A child… pure! like… a flower, [yet one] who understands such powerful emotions! This brain!” I could not hold back from saying, “Master, I am trying to approach your ability.” Dupré replied,

“And I bow with respect before the rising star.” He led me nearer to the fire, where we sat lost in our own thoughts. Dupré said only these sublime words:

“What have I done for you? Nothing. Nothing compared to what you are.”

Me: “Master…”

MD: “No, it’s true. And we love you as if you were Marguerite’s little sister.”

Mammy returned from her errands and came to us.

MD: “You missed something.”

[Mme D:] Oh, really? Isn’t she cold?

[MD:] No, I made sure she warmed up. You will hear [it] at Pleyel.”

Prior to this, I had worked as usual with Mammy.

As the master was a little under the weather, I insisted that he not walk me back.

 

Friday 7 December 1945

Long afternoon at Meudon, first with Mammy (in fact, all four members of our “family” were gathered in Marguerite’s room, because that is where there was a fire lit).

Next, after eating, [I went] to the organ with Dupré, [and] I replayed four modern works for him.^[413]

MD: “Well, I never! You do these a great honour,” speaking of Litaize, Langlais, etc. But he is holding fast to a recital of works from the contemporary school [“Jeune École”]. He showed me the program of each concert, prepared by Mammy, ready to send to Bénard.

This week I finished the second piece of my composition.^[414] Played this for Dupré, who, very struck by it, asked to hear it again, and remained solemn. He remarked on its character of “elemental tumult,” its “profundity and power.”

Next, I showed him the theme from the movement “Consolateur” [Comforter], which I have the weakness of liking, and several [short] ideas, that he understood and found moving.

MD: “You are a great musician.” And because I was eagerly questioning him: “It’s wonderful.” As always, he lapsed into thought and shared this with me sometime later.

Suddenly: “How do you manage to write things of such profundity, with such philosophical impact, with everything else you have to do?” I thought about it, no doubt noticeably:

Me: “I don’t know.”

MD: “Ah! You have a first-class gift.”

We went up Marguerite’s rooms, where Mammy [495] found us reading and meditating upon Guerner’s splendid study of “the virtuoso.” Guerner wrote it “for us,” the master insisted. We spent more than an hour there, seeking to identify ourselves, studying ourselves, elbow to elbow, in total naturalness, and without false modesty. Mammy had set up in a corner and, with a mountain of paperwork before her, was preparing the mail. This dear woman had covered each of us with coats and shawls because of the cold. When I decided to take a break, Dupré offered some final comments:

“[The Book of] Genesis is magnificent, you know…” Me: “Yes.” He added: “That’s the [kind of] guiding idea that Guerner talks about.”

It took a lot of pleading to get him to stay where it’s warm, and it was Mammy who left her work to walk me back.

 

Wednesday 19 December 1945

At Meudon. The Duprés had their cousins from Rouen visiting.

Marguerite welcomed me and told me her father was feverish for no apparent reason, that he was moving slowly, and was causing them concern. Nevertheless, Dupré devoted his afternoon to me and joined me. I found him very tired. He confessed this, but was much more interested in inquiring about my health.

First, we chatted for quite some time. I asked him if he knows that a [496] newly built organ is being installed in Châtoux.^[415] With lively interest, he said yes:

MD: “Tell me what you know; then I’ll tell you what I know.” [I’ve been] well informed by Picaud, and Dupré by Perroux. To summarize, this firm, Bandrieux, in which a wine merchant has invested 17 million [francs], will be launching a new electric motor and an organ with electronics. I mentioned Lavergne to Dupré, who said:

“I was quite astonished; Lavergne seemed very calm, very sure of himself. I had the same thought as you.”

At Pleyel, restrictions on use of electricity and a prohibition on concerts between 5:00 and 9:00 in the evening. Bénard is trying for a special dispensation. Perhaps I’ll [only be able to] begin in March [1946], with a concert every two weeks. I realize that Dupré has major concerns. MD: “Don’t worry; we’ll get there. You are keeping your composure, despite all the changes: that pleases me, my poor dear.”

He asked me to play for his cousin and his wife and called for the pleasure of hearing two [of my] Études. I asked him which two, and he chose V and VI, some passages of which I quickly played through after having played the last of the modern works for him. He asked me for [497] the copy of the “Six Études” that he, himself, wishes to give to Bornemann.

After spending two wonderful hours together, having chatted about my work, about which Dupré questioned me endlessly, I made the acquaintance of his cousins. Rather worldly. Dupré, though very polite, doesn’t like them, I could tell (especially his cousin’s wife).

I played; we had tea. I played again and improvised a symphonic first movement for which the master gave some beautiful themes. During my Études, Dupré remained standing near me, devouring the sight of my technique. And:

MD: “Tell me whether you consider this to be women’s music!” His cousins were dumbfounded and lost their composure. At the point where, despite their fumbling praise, they appeared to be turning the conversation to another subject, Dupré said coldly, “You can talk about that later; right now, listen to what I’m telling you about Jeanne Demessieux.” When Dupré keeps people under his spell for an hour and a half, it is a spectacle worth contemplating.

I improvised at my best. I’m only writing down the impression Dupré gave me when I turned around, in total [498] silence, to seek his approbation: so still, faraway, moved, that he seemed, like me, to have been transported to a foreign world when he said, “That was fantastic,” in that tone of voice that transfixes people.

His cousin Pierre,^[416] having become extremely solemn, said:

“There is something for which we must thank you, thank you immeasurably: it’s the lofty height where you place your art.^[417] Young composers so deceive us. One senses they dare not depart from trends for fear of losing out on success. With you, it seems to me, it’s very audacious, yet very serious, [whereas] that music, I believe, will not last two years.” Dupré looked at me and said to me, “Yes; just like Guerner…”^[418]

When I wanted to depart, around 6:00, the master kept me there another half hour: “You aren’t in too much of a hurry?” and chatted mainly with me. The rest of the time, his cousin’s wife inundated him so, with the qualities of all kinds that she believed to have discovered in me, and with such attention towards me, that the master quipped at her with a smile that, “Men would not permit themselves what a [499] woman sometimes allows herself.”

He showed “my biography” to his cousin and spoke of the work I’m writing,^[419] saying, “She’s a first-rate theologian”; he also said that the Cardinal has struck up a friendship with me.

Finally, I left the master, who accompanied me as far as the door, helping me get ready. He appeared relaxed, but feverish.

 

Tuesday 25 December 1945

So that Dupré wouldn’t have to lunch at a restaurant between the morning Masses and Vespers, we invited them to share our lunch. All three of them came. Steadfast, unique friends. The master [was] very tired (he had a fainting spell when he arrived at the house). He has seen another doctor. We are convinced that he has enormous worries on my account. Mammy, to whom my parents have been speaking about him, confesses that difficulties, of all types, occur one after another, without end, despite Bénard’s willingness. But she raised everyone’s spirits, and Dupré struggled fiercely in this impasse.

Towards the end of lunch, when the master seemed less weary, with a spark of joy he unfolded a few pages: the preface for the publication [500] of my Études. He read it. This essay, so profound, gave me such pleasure as to make me emotional. And it was in vain that I tried to express myself. Dupré simply said to me, “It pleases you? Tell me if we are in complete agreement or whether you want me to change something. I had to silence my heart so as not to go beyond introducing the work.”

When the master left to return to St-Sulpice, seeing that I too was feverish (because I had played my services with a cold and a temperature close to 39°), he asked me to lay down as soon as he had gone, and not to play my Vespers service. “Your health is fundamental, and I would appreciate it if you listened to me. As for your Vespers, you will be taken all the more seriously when you have abandoned your gallery on Christmas Day, Jeannette!” I did as he said.

 

Tuesday 1 January 1946

This morning I went to St-Sulpice with Papa. Not finding Dupré between the two masses, we went out to search for him, thinking he was in a café warming up.

Scarcely were we in the square when Mammy appeared, calling us; she led us right to Dupré, who was startled by our sudden appearance. [501] His health seemed a bit better, but he was gloomy.

Pleyel, he explained to me, still doesn’t have the notorious curtain, and Bénard wrote to him that he has been obliged to further delay the recital series, though he’s doing everything possible to get the series “off the ground.” The master is still not over the first shock and thinks that I must absolutely finish my series by the end of May, because in June he is leaving for Chicago. He organized his trip so that he could be present at all my recitals. Disappointment. And he’s determined that my debut must be this year so that he can spread my name in America; he said to me, “The aim is to launch your career both as a virtuoso improviser and as a composer. I’m planning to take at least six copies of your Études with me to America. I want you to debut.” He’s thinking, as a last resource, of asking Delvincourt to use the organ at the Conservatory. He was very despondent, and we had to raise his morale. Mammy didn’t think things were so bleak and preferred to hope.

We stayed for the 11:00 Mass and departed together, as far as Montparnasse.

 

Wednesday 2 January 1946

At Meudon. Everyone chatting [together]. Dupré less gloomy. Spent an hour and a half with him. We thought that [502] we could, if absolutely necessary and as a concession to Bénard, begin in mid-March. I had brought a third completed piece from “Holy Spirit,”—“Consolateur.” He had only heard the theme. Today, I played the work for him, as he listened anxiously. At measure eight, the master murmured, “That is beautiful” and, afterwards, I found him so moved and lost in his thoughts that he could scarcely talk.

MD: “Consider these three pieces done; there is not one note that needs changing! This is… it’s splendid, distinctive, deliberate. You’re going to play it for me again.”

But first, he mused for a while, and we talked. He told me that one day he asked a Dominican for his definition of a “mystic.” To this he replied that he saw the mystic as a “soldier of Christ,” braving all. Dupré didn’t belabour [the point]. But to me he said, “That is the ‘militant,’ not the mystic (how audacious of me to question my Dominican! But it’s just between us).”

We talked about mystic exaltation: how it is comparable to daring (daring in relation to heroism). MD: “As for me, I am just a poor man. I could only be a realist mystic, like certain painters. For me, a mystic is [503] someone like you. The mysticism I understand is tranquil mysticism.”

He told me that during a trip he had occasion to peruse St. Thomas Aquinas. MD: “I was amazed to see the number of theories based on some assumptions. I am too much a researcher, too analytic, to be content with assumptions. I mistrust those who induce themselves to believe in mysticism, like Messiaen. There are no miracles: God cannot contradict himself seeing that he is the creator. What we call a ‘miracle’ is what is yet unknown in nature and that mankind will discover, little by little. There is where Truth lies! And Truth is God. People want miracles, without realizing that in nature one finds them every step of the way! That’s the place to search out God; it’s as plain as the nose on your face: just look! Jesus was obliged to work some miracles, because he was the [incarnate] Word, and so that people would understand. For that reason, he also did scandalous things such as the pardoning of the adulterous woman, [how he treated] the merchants in the temple, and why he provoked his own condemnation.”

Then we returned to the mystic, and I [504] proposed to Dupré this definition of mysticism: partaking in blessedness.

“Exactly,” said Dupré. I told him that my ideas are comparable to his, insomuch as I have the same mistrust regarding certain types of mystics, and seeing God in creation and in the most infinite mysteries. We remained deep in thought for a moment, then I hazarded,

“It is I who have had the audacity to dare to write on this subject.”

The master responded straight away: “My dear, you are as pure of heart, in actions and in intentions, as one can be. You have ‘the right’ to speak. I would say this to no one else. I say again, I am just a poor man.”

I played “Consolateur” again, with Dupré falling prey to great emotion. We talked again, Dupré speaking to me as to an inspiring friend. He, himself, said, “Only to a friend does one speak this way.” He gave me [a copy of] Offrande à la Vierge that he had prepared in advance.

Concerning “Consolateur,” I asked one last question: “Do you think that I have treated this subject on a sufficiently elevated plane? That I am giving myself enough distance to perceive it? All the [505] pieces might be successful, still…”

And Dupré smiled: “You mean you don’t want to compose a pious, oily salve?” and suddenly serious: “Ah, no, not you! Yes, it’s sufficiently elevated, oh yes! Rest easy; come now…”

 

Wednesday 9 January 1946

At Meudon. During my conversation with Dupré, he told me that Lavergne arrived in Paris today, and he will go with him to the Conservatory tomorrow to study the possibility of using the theatre’s motor for the great organ, which has broken down. Dupré wants him to regulate and overhaul the pedals in case I’ll be playing there.

Dupré told me that he has learned my 5^th Étude; MD: “I work on it for two hours in the morning, then I go back to it for a half-hour in the evening so that it will be in my head overnight, where it can set.”

The master let me know, with some effort, about a future project. MD: “Presently, I am thinking of making a huge decision regarding the future. We are only talking about this: nothing has been done. But it could happen that I look for a position in America.”

Me: “A position… [506] permanent?”

MD: “Yes, and one for you also. In France, one can’t even [put food on the table]… We would leave together. You would bring your parents. We’d keep Meudon, to return to occasionally…”

Me: “You would leave?”

MD: “Yes.”

Twice Dupré had asked me this question: “Would you accept a permanent post overseas, for example, that of municipal organist of a great city, requiring twelve concerts per year?” I had responded, clearly, no, and I would not have wanted to expatriate myself. This was several years ago.

At that time, Dupré had said to me, “I’ve been offered a post. Like you, I don’t wish to leave my country, so I have refused it.” He had remained deep in thought.

I sense that he is overcome with disillusionment and weariness, and ready to make an enormous sacrifice. France has blocked his sole ambition: to take the organ to its pinnacle. This is everything to him. I am also certain he dreads the thought of what life holds for Mammy—an old age filled with burdens, in the midst of such mass misery, six years of it already, and no end in sight. As far as I’m concerned, [507] Dupré and I know for certain we hold a common artistic ideal, and that my destiny is linked with his. I’m not astonished that, should he leave, he wishes to take me away from his enemies—who are my enemies, too—and to share with me the horizons he envisions.

Given my silence, during which I was thinking about the inevitable uprooting that all of us will experience, about the future of the organ, about the strength of Dupré’s attachment to me, about the misery of France, and what Providence might have in store, Dupré, too, kept silent, his mind, no doubt, following the same train of thought as mine. I judged it unnecessary to put into words my spontaneous acceptance, and he knew there was no need to question me.

We talked next about Bornemann, who is waiting for me to make an appointment to sign our contract. The master offered to telephone for me and, letting me listen in, set the meeting for tomorrow.

MD: “When you [one day] sign a contract with an impresario, you’ll have to watch out that he doesn’t take a percentage [of your fee] like the fifteen percent on your concerts in America. But I’ll be there to protect you.”

I sat at the organ and played [508] part of “Dogma,” written this week. I explained my plan to Dupré, saying that I see it in three parts, like the Trinity, and that I’m again nervous about the subject without wanting to throw it out.

MD: “No, of course not! Write it, continue your idea. Throughout this work, there is a powerful philosophy, your own fine, Christian sensibility.” He is struck by the opening; he says I’m on the right track.

MD: “You see the Trinity as the ‘foundation’ of all dogmatic thought?”

Me: “Yes, [and] as possibly the least discussed.”

MD: “Of course. It’s the Trinity that establishes the mysteries of the Incarnation and of Redemption.” We talked about this for a long time.

 

Thursday 10 January 1946

Signed, today, my first contract with Bornemann, who is going to publish my Six Études. A charming man. He wished “good luck to our child.”

Wednesday 16 January 1946

At Meudon. With Mammy, then with the master for a long while. (Don’t have time to describe it.) Dupré asked me to replace him at St-Sulpice [507b] during the three months of his absence, sharing the job with Grunenwald, who, I pointed out, will be furious, but he is resolved to do it this way. I played a very much advanced version of “Dogma” for him, and he repeated over and over that it’s beautiful and that my work is on a superior level.

MD: “It’s the opposite of music written to impress imbeciles, that’s what I think.”

 

Wednesday 23 January 1946

Marguerite has the mumps, and when I arrived at Meudon the master told me that, to avoid contagion, I won’t be seeing Mammy for three weeks. As for him, he is living in isolation on the second floor and in the music hall. Marguerite’s condition is not serious.

Worked for an hour on the little organ while he gave a lesson. I finished “Dogma” yesterday evening. Big news for Dupré, who welcomes each of my works in a way I find unforgettable. I played it for him. He confirmed that I have realized my entire concept, my thinking, that the Trinity is affirmed, and that there’s a sense of enormous force. I asked him if he liked the piece. MD: “Oh! Yes, I like it!”

Without asking for my opinion, he told Bénard that [we] must add [508b] four of the pieces from a work that I am currently writing to the contemporary program [of my series]. I told him that I will not be writing any more until summer, and that to compose “Paix” and “Lumière” I’ll need to be in a special frame of mind.

To please me, the master played his Prelude and Fugue in G minor [Op. 7/3]; his playing still has something to teach me.

He told me that everything at Pleyel is coming along fine. We finished the evening by preparing and discussing registrations for my recitals, something we pursued, further, aboard the train. We can only draft plans for [registering] the Études, and I reckon we shall have to register these at the organ because we won’t know the sound proportions until the renovations are complete.

Upon arriving in Paris, not having finished our planning or conversation, we went and sat with our papers in a Montparnasse café, then took the subway together… after the time that the master should have been at the Cité Universitaire!^[420] But for him, though innately punctual, nothing outside my career counts anymore.

MD: “What I am doing?… I [509] am launching your career. Ah! This is my revenge! To do everything for you to compensate for having been so alone and unhappy when I launched my own career.”

 

Wednesday 30 January 1946

At Meudon. Not enough time to write everything down. For Dupré, replayed [Bach’s] Passacaglia, [Choral No. 2 of] Franck, and [Dupré’s] Prelude and Fugue [in G minor, Op. 7/3].^[421] He was extremely enthusiastic. Chatted for a long time. He walked me back.

 

Tuesday 5 February 1946

Doctor Beaussenat wants to see me again, and Mammy has made the appointment for me.  [He was] very paternal, and the wonderful news is that he finds my health improved. I must follow the treatment for three more months. Telephoned Meudon, [where they were full of] joy. Marguerite is feeling better, too.

 

Wednesday 6 February 1946

With Dupré at Pleyel. First time that we’ve heard the organ since the work done on it. It sounds very good. Present were Bénard, Kiesgen, Guy Lambert, by chance Pierre Bernac, [and] some engineers. Dupré asked me to play first, then we took turns. Dupré: [Bach’s] Prelude and Fugue in E-flat [major], the Communion chorale, his [Dupré’s] Deux Esquisses [Op. 41]. [510] I played, as he requested, four [of my] Études, one of them twice, to which I added his Prelude in G minor.

Dupré surrounded me with such care and respect so that attention was focused on me.  Speaking to him in private, I protested. MD: “Don’t worry; leave it to me. If you knew the effect you are making, here! The way you play! They’re telling me they’ve never seen anything like it; it’s the truth! Kiesgen is hearing you for the first time; he is beside himself. He believed me, but he could never have guessed this…” Each time Dupré turned to the manuals, it was to say, “Jeannette, I’m going to play such and such a thing for you so you can listen to your organ.”

The small group in the hall acknowledged me with ovations. Dupré placed himself amongst them to create the desired ambiance, going so far as, without affectation, to warm my hands in his. They discussed the placement of the console, its sole aim being to show off my technique. I chose the stage background and the footlights for the ramp. Finally, when I was finishing an Étude, I saw the master [511] approaching the console, beaming, and saying, in a way impossible to describe, “This round is won, my Jeannette! It’s beautiful, you know… I am happy!”

I warmly congratulated Bénard for having had the energy to do so much, and thanked him. We departed to the merriment of “down with Chaillot” and cries of victory to the Pleyel organ. Bénard accompanied us as far as the street.

When Dupré and I were alone again, the master stopped: “If I wasn’t afraid of giving you Marguerite’s bug, I would ask you for permission to embrace you for having played as you did, for having understood the organ from the first moment, with such incomparable mastery!” The master’s voice trembled at bit.

We climbed as far as Place de l’Étoile^[422] where, faced with a rush of people, we took a bus as far as Montparnasse. From there, Dupré accompanied me to my subway station, Edgard Quinet.^[423] Moving and unforgettable memories.

MD: “Two fantastic days: yesterday, good news from Beaussenat, today, the vision of you on stage.” And when I asked him what I should [512] say to my parents:

MD: “Tell them… that I am happy.”

 

Monday 11 February 1946

The event Dupré had anticipated for so long: my debut recital—the recital to introduce me, prior to my series at the Salle Pleyel. Full house. Impossible to put into words. The self-possession of this titan of a man is comparable only to the greats.

[My program:] Bach, Prelude and Fugue in E-flat [major]; Bach, “Jesus Christus, unser Heiland”;^[424] Handel, Concerto No. 2; Mozart’s two Fantasias; Franck, Prière; Widor, Finale from the Symphonie-Gothique; Dupré, Deux Esquisses (première); improvisation on a theme by Duruflé.

A triumph. Five encores.

Saw Mammy and Marguerite beforehand. During the intermission, Mammy came over to us. [At the end,] I was mobbed by old friends. Guerner and Gavoty were among us. The Esquisses left an enormous impression. Guerner, very impressed. Everyone was squeezed into the foyer. The master was tired. He embraced me and kept me near him for a while. MD: “Satisfied?…” He introduced me to some important people. They [the Duprés] were driven home in an automobile.

 

Wednesday 13 February 1946

Rehearsal at Pleyel. Dupré devoted all his time to me. Mammy was there, too.

 

[513] Thursday 14 February 1946

Dupré came over [to our home] to work with me on, and finalize, registrations for [my] Pleyel [series], my Études having required some experimentation. Worked together for two-and-a-half hours. Dupré’s devotion was awe-inspiring, [such] intimacy, affection, and trust.

He leaves tomorrow to perform his Symphony in G minor in Lyon.^[425]

 

Monday 18 February 1946

Rehearsed at Pleyel; [I was] alone [since] Dupré went home early and telephoned this evening. The Symphony in G minor was a triumph.

 

Wednesday 20 February 1946

Rehearsed at Pleyel; the master [was] with me. [As well:] Mammy, Bénard, Lambert, Gavoty—who is preparing his [review-]article—a photographer,^[426] a Dupré student, curious [onlookers].

Scarcely having arrived, the master took me aside:

MD: “I must apologize to you.” I remonstrated in vain. Dupré was aware of Lambert’s unpleasant attitude towards me, and said, “I am going to bring Bénard up-to-date and, in your presence, get things back on track.” He questioned Lambert, asking whether the pedalboard had been regulated as he wished. Lambert, feeling awkward, said that it is difficult to accommodate my wishes as well as Dupré’s. I interjected by repeating that [514] my standard is that of my teacher: adjustment 2 ½ mm., recessed 15 mm. Dupré then said to Lambert words that brought tear to my eyes:

“In the first place, please, for your information, take the following into account: between Jeanne Demessieux and I, there is not, nor will there ever be, any divergence of opinion!… It’s strange how people put words in my mouth!” The effect on everyone was enormous.

Dupré then came towards me: “Tomorrow, we practice here. I’ll stay with you all day.”

He had a long conversation with Bénard, whose attitude towards me is very fatherly. I practiced and improvised for Gavoty. Many photos were taken. Whenever the master was asked to pose, he only consented on the condition that we be together at the console.^[427] Left together, late.

 

Thursday 21 February 1946

Long afternoon at Pleyel. Dupré enthusiastic. He wrote some symphony themes for me, to which he added a half-touching, half-comic dedication. Very beautiful themes. When I had [515] finished the improvisation, he was very emotional because during those thirty minutes I was at my highest level. The themes were magnificent. The master wanted me to rest for half an hour, during which I listened in the hall as he played Bach, Franck, and his own compositions for me with the agreed-upon registrations. We departed, serious-minded and confident.

 

Tuesday 26 February 1946

Yesterday, my first Salle Pleyel recital.^[428] I played and improvised marvellously. I can feel it. An unforgettable day. From the very first notes, a feeling that the audience was won over and was “carrying” me. The crowd: Bénard estimated that the hall was three-quarters full—unheard of for a first recital. I was acclaimed, the crowd unanimous. I had to repeat my 5^th Étude, but declined to play the 6^th again. Three encores in the end. Ovations. People on their feet. Non-stop shouting [for encores]. After endless curtain calls, they had to close the curtain. Still, the audience refused to leave, but redoubled its ovation. “Do you hear them? They are calling for you; you have to go back out,” Dupré said to me and he, himself, parted the curtain. I bowed to thunderous applause.^[429]

[I experienced] absolute calm [516]; solemnity. No real stage fright.

I’ll start again, from the very beginning. All day I followed a rest schedule imposed by Mammy: “just like your master” on a recital day. But in the afternoon, Dupré, according to his plan, stormed in at Pleyel, where the pedalboard and certain contacts were supposed to be regulated. He left Meudon at 2:30, “able to take it no longer,” and supervised the smallest details.

We were to meet in the hall at 8:30 [PM]. I arrived alone and was astonished to see people there already. When they started to surround me, Mammy and Marguerite came over at once and took me to Dupré, who cut short his conversation, took my arm, and led me away. (He and Mammy had insisted that I tell them what I desire: I replied, “to see my teacher and no one else before playing.” It was decided that he would not leave me.) He took me to my dressing room, which was heated and delightfully prepared. He also wanted me to try the pedalboard and stayed with me every step of the way. Two minutes later, we returned [to the dressing room]. Dupré, as calm and solemn as I:

MD: [517] “Consider yourself at home. I am here to do your bidding, and to deal with people; so, pretend you’re alone.”

I begged the master to sit beside me, and we chatted intermittently.

MD: “Are you all right?

Me: “Yes.”

MD: “You are going to become familiar with this intoxication that one experiences when playing in public… It strikes me that you were made for doing this.”

Me: “I think so.” There were several knocks on the door; Dupré responded.

Then Kiesgen came to let me know that it was time to go on, and the master escorted me to the stage. While I entered, he quickly went around [to the other side] and sat between two curtains to the right of the stage, just steps away from the console positioned in the manner of a concert piano. A chair had been placed there for him because he had finally managed to get me to tell him what I really desired: to see him, as close to me as possible, during the recital. He, in this way, attached great importance to anything that might allow me to optimize my strength.

Right from the Passacaglia, I was climbing to my highest plane and then maintained it with the greatest authority [518] of which I’m capable. I could feel the audience all aquiver. I thought of the electric exchange of which Dupré once spoke to me, and I abandoned myself completely to this sort of idolatry that was flowing my way. After the 1^st Étude, I sensed that the audience was hooked, on the edge of their seats, and with me to the end. [Also] for the 2^nd and the 4^th, whose impalpable tenderness I doubted would be understood. My unity with the audience was magnificent; the temperature continued to rise. At every moment, Dupré’s face mirrored my every feeling. With one gesture, he conveyed to me the supreme emotion that held him in its grip.

When I left the stage for the intermission, I found him there on stage left, and he made me go back out over and over again. When I returned, he silently pulled me close to him while the hall absolutely roared [with cheers]; a few seconds later, he sent me out again, “Go!”

Finally, the curtain was closed, backstage seemed to wake up again, and I heard lots of exclamations; MD: “Leave her be!… Come with me.” Dupré led me away, and we found ourselves back in my dressing room, face to face. This was the moment [519] for which we had waited, for which we had been preparing for nearly five years. The master opened his arms to me with his usual tenderness and the respect that is always present. “My Jeannette, what a success!… This is the most wonderful day of your life, my angel!…” After a moment of great emotion, Dupré gave orders that I was not to be disturbed; then he left to go mingle with the audience in the hall, closing the door of the green room behind him. I can’t put into words the feeling of absolute joy that filled me.

When Dupré returned, he found me preparing my mind and heart for improvisation. In a few words, he told me that the audience is in the “frenzied” state that he foresaw. A moment later, he led me to the stage and took up his place again. On the platform, I was handed a sealed envelope containing six themes by Jean Gallon. I was in very good form. I imagined an orchestra; the timbres came to me spontaneously, and the entire organ yielded to my every wish. A cyclic symphony, concluding with a fugal finale. I was pleased with the first-movement development section, which turned out as I imagined. I found in the Adagio and especially [520] in its conclusion, the most beautiful touches I could have wished for. The Scherzo was orchestral, fantasy-like, and dramatic. The Finale, immense. The Symphony lasted for at least half an hour. I had forgotten the audience and submitted only to the obsessive heights of inspiration. Between movements, my eyes connected with Dupré’s, which were full of emotion; each time, his face lifted my inspiration even higher.

Here, I return to where I began these pages, where I said the audience burst into applause. Two splendid baskets of flowers were placed on the stage. Dupré returned to the left side of the stage and directed my curtain calls again, and my encores. I played the Gavotte from Handel’s 11^th Concerto, [Bach’s] Fugue in D major, and Dupré’s “Carillon.”^[430] In my best form for all of them. [Meanwhile,] Kiesgen, Guy Lambert, and others had assembled around Dupré. As I returned from playing the Fugue in D, Dupré gave me a subtle signal and looked at the impresario:

MD: “Well, Kiesgen, did I speak the truth to you?

K: “Oh! Yes.”

MD: “Did I exaggerate?”

K: “No.”

MD: “She is of international class, don’t you think?”

K: “Ah! Yes, and how!”

Between two encores, Dupré whispered to me, “Did you notice that Kiesgen had tears in his eyes after the Fugue in D?” [521] Indeed, I had been struck by this. Finally, when the audience understood the curtain had been closed [for good], they bolted (no other way to say it) towards the foyer. The master quickly drew me towards my dressing room because he wanted me to get there before the onrush.

But one person, whom I did not recognize, caught me; the master saved me: “Jeanne, Madame Le Boucher…” I hadn’t seen her for thirteen years.^[431] Her voice made me tremble, and for a moment all I could think of was “my Eurydice.”^[432]

[Mme LB:] “This baby that I knew, I meet again as a grand and acclaimed Parisian artist!”

She looked at me at length, silent; [then said,] “I told your parents that you must not be so modest with such exceptional talent,” and she dashed away.

Afterwards, not having had time to pull myself together after the huge effort I had expended, I felt as if I were suffocating. Literally, a mob surrounded me. The [organ-]class students, enthusiastic. One after another, strangers were introducing themselves, saying they knew Dupré through such and such. Our mutual friends, not to be forgotten, for whom I waited: Guerner with an extraordinary expression on his face and as shy as ever: [522] “I knew it in advance; your mind can be at ease. Sleep well tonight!” Berveiller and his wife, both so moved that he was speechless, and yet respectfully, and without ostentation, kissed my hand. Monet shook my hand while tripping over his words, and returned repeatedly to introduce me to his friends. The Bourdons [were there], serene, as always, and nearly silent. The Grumbachs [were there], [and] he was moved to tears. The Laurents, floored. Bornemann, too, and his wife. All our personal friends were there, even those of humble means.^[433] My students, Mireille, Daniel, and their parents. The good M^me Galanti, whom I know from Magda’s.^[434] Bernard Flavigny, the little king, in tears: “Jeanne, that’s it. I shall never open my piano again!… out the window!… I’ve understood—oh, yes, I have understood.” Nevertheless (Dupré told me in an aside), he [Bernard Flavigny] had just played for him, in splendid fashion, Opus 106.^[435] The Meuniers are unfathomable. And then there were my colleagues. Rolande Falcinelli and her mother, whom I thanked for having come. Rolande, very pale, asked a question in a halting voice: “Have the Études been published? By whom?” The look on their faces paralyzed me, until I embraced Rolande to bring an end to the awkwardness. Litaize and Langlais together; “Our colleague [523] Grunenwald attended the concert, but he had to leave without acknowledging you; he apologizes.” They gave me the impression of supporting each other: “Very beautiful.” “Yes, truly very beautiful.” Duruflé, excessively loyal: “Magnificent, marvellous. I believe the rest of us are far, far behind you.” His tone was sincere, and I protested in vain. The rumour I heard was that he had said to Dupré, “Compared to Jeanne Demessieux, we all play the pedals like elephants.” Boulnois, very pleasant. Jehan Alain’s wife, who congratulated me “as her husband would have.”

“Father Jean [Gallon],” at long last, glowing, accompanied by his daughter, Janine. He held me long in his arms. It is by chance no doubt that, of my teachers, I had the singular and dear presence of both Marcel Dupré and Jean Gallon at my first recital. I waited a long time for this delight.

Finally, Mammy was able to reach me, then Marguerite (beside herself), Maman in tears, Papa a moment later, radiant and, last of all, begging that she be allowed to pass, unable to hold on any longer, Yolande, up from Aigues-Mortes expressly. I was falling prey to a sort of [524] hallucination. Dupré, two steps away from me, took my arm several times, as if—I understood—evoking some pretext; in reality, I was catching my breath when I turned my back on the crowd. Several Americans greeted me: the colonel… the one we met at Meudon, asked Dupré for permission to photograph me. Delighted, the master led me onto the stage, in half-light, the view from which allowed me to regain my equilibrium. My dear master, as happy as he can possibly be. MD: “The hall that has seen your first success!…” A moment later, the colonel caught up with us, and I insisted authoritatively that my teacher must be in the photo. Marguerite placed flowers.

It was midnight when we left the hall. Gathered together in the foyer, our privacy was restored. After an observation by Maman, Dupré, very solemn: “This day has proven that we are in the presence of a phenomenon like the young Bach or Mozart.” His sense of gravity persisted.

We left together; the Duprés, having missed the last train, overnighted near Montparnasse.

 

[524b] Tuesday 26 February 1946 [continued]

After having slept for three hours last night and meditated (!), I decided to go to the Conservatory, where Dupré was giving his morning class. I waited until the end of class to avoid [a display of] too much emotion. Dupré was leaving the room with a student; he was astonished to see me, came over, removed his big hat, and embraced me with genuine emotion, while repeating, “How nice; how very nice!”

He asked me to accompany him to Montparnasse. MD: “We didn’t sleep last night.” On the way, I said to him, “Master, I’ve come to you the day following my first recital to say thank you. I wanted to make a point of it.”

MD: “What you’re telling me does not surprise me about you. So, you have come to thank me? Then, my response is, ‘Thank you: it is I who thank you, because you have avenged me!’ And you understand the full meaning of that word.”

Me: “Yes, Master.”

MD: “I told you that you would avenge me. As of yesterday evening, it is a fait accompli.”

Me: “It makes me proud, Master.” The master took my arm and, after a moment,

MD: “The repercussions of [525] yesterday’s recital are equivalent to the first Paris recitals of Menuhin, Gieseking, or Horowitz.” I asked him:

“So, you are satisfied, Master?”

MD: “Ah!… this is everything I could ask for.” And we continued to talk, rather joyfully.

In the subway, Dupré leaned towards the advertisements, “to see whether the dear little name was there.” I paused for a moment, then continued:

“Master, there’s a second thing that I’ve come to say.”

MD: “Go on.”

Me: “Following my first… success, it’s important to me that you know this: in my art, I will remain faithful to you; you may count on me! I swear to you.” I knew the import these words carried just as I was taking off with my own wings and, for my own sake, I knew, at this instant, the revenge I was taking upon those “enemies” who had harassed me and would do even worse. An indescribable expression came over Dupré’s face: “I know, oh! I know.” As we were walking, he stopped:

“Marguerite said to me this morning, ‘Jeanne Demessieux will be faithful to you.’ I have never doubted this. I know you. You know it, too; I shall be your support and [526] your defence against your enemies.” If our fondness of and our confidence in each other could possibly be strengthened, it was after this mutual profession of faith.

We talked about Rolande [Falcinelli], whose attitude yesterday was striking to both of us; of Grunenwald, recalling that he didn’t appear in the foyer.

MD: “Fancy that! He didn’t have the courage to make an appearance? Ah! Well, good for him.” We chuckled over Jean-Jacques [Grunenwald]’s touchiness. We talked about Yolande and my parents, so happy, crying endlessly.

At Montparnasse, where we had to wait twenty minutes for the train, we sat down in the station’s refreshment room. The conversation centred around my colleagues, Dupré’s students. I remarked that the Dufourcq party seemed to have made [all] their lives impossible. Dupré thought about this, then shrugged his shoulders:

MD: “In any case, yesterday ‘they’ got what was coming to them. And they know very well that, with you, there’s nothing that can be done about the situation. We both have the strong feeling that our intellectual union is absolute.”

I accompanied the master as far as the platform, where we chatted until the train rumbled in. He embraced me and repeated, “I am so proud of you!”

 

[527] Thursday 7 March 1946

Since the concert, [I’ve] been in telephone communication with Meudon every day. Mammy came over the day before yesterday and found me feeling quite well. But, today, a fever; this evening 38.4°.

I rehearsed for two hours at Pleyel; a splendid rehearsal; [I was] in top form. [Also present were] Dupré and Mammy, their friends, [some] favoured students. They were shaken when I told them that I had a fever. The master scolded me for having dared to come, and questioned me frantically, wanting to know where I felt ill. After the [Bach’s] Fantasia in G minor, I began to shiver so much that Dupré took his scarf and wrapped it around me. Mammy rushed up and fussed just as much. I was able to continue. The master was sometimes in the hall, sometimes at the console, watching out for the slightest movement. Reassured by my playing, he kept repeating, “That’s beautiful, my Jeannette.” In a low voice, he pointed out, “If we could time someone’s playing, we would realize how mathematically precise her articulations and rhythms are.”

We split the program in half, [and] I took my break near them, then continued. I played my encores, and Dupré asked me to improvise on Bach’s name. He was happy with me, and he could not have imagined how [528] weak a state I was in if he didn’t know. To my embarrassment, he said to the few people present:

“This child is a little freak of nature, like Mozart.” I put a pleading and comical expression on my face, and Dupré turned towards me:

“I wouldn’t presume to say that you are Mozart; but it’s certain that you belong to that category of rare exceptions on our planet.” Several times I found him looking at me and nodding his head, while murmuring, “Great artist!…”

I had an on-site interview scheduled for five PM with some envoys from the Ministry of Information. Our friends departed, leaving just us three. Dupré looked at Mammy and decided: “We are staying with her.” Mme D: “As you wish.”

I knew that they should have been on their way by about 4:30 to arrive at the time they were expected; but I protested in vain. I needed to go to Kiesgen’s with some information he had requested, when Mammy said [to Dupré], “And if you were to go? It’s so far; save her having to do this,” and Dupré jumped up. [I] chatted briefly with Bénard.

The interview, with Mammy present as I had requested, and the master too when he returned. Kiesgen came to greet me.

Then, [the three of us were] alone at last! “We shall [529] accompany her as far as her subway station,” Dupré again decided. Each took one of my arms, then, after many words of advice, watched me as I set out towards Place de l’Étoile. They went to visit friends in the neighborhood.

 

Sunday 24 March 1946

I was not able to play my second recital on March 11. Such a sacrifice!

After suffering for three days while the doctor couldn’t make a diagnosis, on Monday the 11^th I broke out in horrible measles such as my doctor “had never seen.” Having not had, to that point, any other symptoms but a fever, I was determined to play anyway.

Dupré, who had been informed on Sunday [March 10], came in the afternoon with Mammy. [I was] confined to my bed with a fever of 39°. I’ll skip mention of my state of mind. I was told that Mammy had arrived, and she came straight to my room and gently told me that all would be taken care of. I contained myself and, as soon as I was alone, unaware of the master’s presence [in the house], I let my tears flow. Maman asked me if I could receive a second visitor. I understood [whom she meant] and said yes. Dupré came in alone, and we remained for a long time without speaking. I thanked him for coming. MD: “I knew [530] it would please you.” He told me that he was going to suggest to Bénard that he give a recital in my place by making an announcement from the stage, and he begged me not to worry.

They spent the whole afternoon chatting with my parents, waiting for the doctor—a second doctor, who understood no more [than the first] and wanted to get me back on my feet within twenty-four hours to play at Pleyel. Dupré took him aside, then returned alone and gently dashed this mad hope, which he opposed.

Around 8:00 PM [March 10], Mammy came in to speak with me for a few minutes, after which the master, in turn, spent a moment beside me, explaining to me that my series was going to be delayed, [then] condensed in time, with the last concert at the start of June. I asked him if he could attend the last few.^[436] He said yes, chatted some more, then left me. MD: “You are calmer. I did well to come and visit, didn’t I? Take heart.”

Since then, I have had some dreadful days.

Dupré played for an audience just as large as at the other recital. Papa was there.^[437]

Learning that I was having one fainting spell after another, the Beaussenats urgently ordered some injections for me. [That] night, [531] our doctor had to be summoned.

In the morning, Mammy came over bringing very sad news. That evening, at 10:30, she returned: the master is in a state [of worry about me] that, to hear her tell it, “is even worse than mine.” And I had been unaware of any of this. Nevertheless, he could be told that I was breathing better, and she took home this balm.

The next day, she returned; [my temperature] still above 40°; she told my parents that when she had gotten home yesterday evening, Dupré was in terrible shape and, at the news that [my situation] was improved, he had [cried] “like a baby.” Mammy returned twice a day and still comes nearly every day. [She is the] messenger at both ends.

I might rehearse on Thursday.

 

Thursday 28 March 1946

Rehearsal at Pleyel. Good health. A slight fever and bewildered by the subway. Papa with me.

Going up to the foyer, we found, right there in the stairway, the master, Mammy, and one of our students impatiently waiting. They descended towards me and joyfully embraced me. Dupré was visibly trying to contain his emotions, which we all noticed. A moment later, he confided in me [532] that he had spent some “frightful” days, especially Sunday and Tuesday, knowing as well “just how miserable” I was. He played [the recital on Monday, March 11] “modestly” to save my audience [for me], and asked me if this thought had comforted me a little. He added that he would have come every day had he been able.

Today, he played at the Madeleine at 5:30 PM;^[438] he left us at Pleyel only as 5:00 approached, holding firmly to devoting his time to me, even right before he was to play. I was not able to rehearse everything while he was there, but after the two Fantasias and Fugues, it was with one voice that we shared our excitement that I had mastered them completely. MD: “It’s more beautiful than ever.”

Saw Lavergne, [who] had come to take Dupré to Pleyel, [and] “to say hello to me.”

We parted affectionately.

Excellent rehearsal. A little tired afterwards. Bénard came to see me on the stage.

 

Monday 1 April 1946

My second Pleyel recital: Fantasias and Toccatas of Bach.^[439] As great a success as the first recital. From the moment I stepped out onto the stage, it was clear that the audience wanted to celebrate me. Intoxicating atmosphere. My playing

[signed] Jeanne Demessieux

 

[533] [was] in top form. Huge acclamation, particularly for the G minor. After the Toccata in F [major], applause that I tried in vain to stop with a gesture, not wanting to acknowledge applause in the middle of a work. I stopped it abruptly by beginning the Fugue. Gave my all to every work. What a joy to let loose in the Toccata in F [major] and the D minor. Illusions of an organ with orchestra. Enormous success. Ovations just like the first recital. Cries for “an Étude!” From others, “an improvisation!”

I saw someone waving a piece of paper; it was Monet, seated in the front row, whom the master had secretly tasked with proposing B-A-C-H [for an improvisation]. I took it and, in a flash, total silence fell. The fourth time I have improvised on this theme. I fashioned a double fugue in which I introduced the subject in inversion, with a new rhythm and in the relative [key]. Both subjects in stretto; then the two stretti combined; the countersubject in stretto, etc. Different from what I had done before. In extremely good form. Dupré, in the wings, was beside himself with excitement: “How beautiful! How very beautiful!” and he clasped me in his arms. The clamour from the audience was [534] unceasing, and I gave them the finale from Handel’s first concerto, after which the master, finding me feverish, asked me not to play anymore.

A moment later, the curtain was drawn, and the audience was all abuzz heading in the direction of the foyer. M^r Le Boucher was among the first. I noticed a certain reserve on the part of the master, who, nevertheless, made an effort to embrace him [Le Boucher]. The foyer filled up quickly, elbow-to-elbow, just like at Dupré’s recitals. I shall not mention everyone I saw, except a sincerely enthusiastic Pendleton. Marguerite, very moved: “Dearest Jeanne, how wonderful you were!…” Mammy: “My dear, there can be nothing more beautiful to be heard,” and when I shrugged it off, she repeated it. Dupré, always at my side, chatted with his friends, sometimes drawing me into their group, aware of my every move. Since my first recital, he has been extraordinarily rejuvenated. Happiness and serenity shone on his face. When the rush subsided, I saw someone take him aside. A moment later, the master joined me in my dressing room. MD: “That was my friend. Do you know what he said to me? That you were brilliant. I [535] responded, ‘You are clever—[and] you are correct.’” Such a serious tone nearly made me tremble. We left all together. In the lobby, some people were waiting to see me pass. Joy. Marguerite, delighted: “My father is pleased, I can see it; oh! I just know it.” We parted affectionately. I must see the master on Wednesday.

 

Wednesday 3 April 1946

Went to catch up with Dupré at his class. Not enough time to jot everything down. [I was] received like a “queen”; a great, and mutual, pleasure. [We went] together to Montparnasse. Began to refine some new projects. Dupré wants to ask Kiesgen to arrange a tour for me in the south of France. Chatted for a long time. Parted ways with the master at his train.

Wednesday 10 April 1946

Rehearsal at Pleyel at 5:30 PM. At that same time, I was to be interviewed for the radio (recorded interview). My Étude in thirds was also recorded. Loyal as always, Dupré attended the rehearsal even before taking his train to Metz (he had decided to go from Pleyel straight to the station).^[441] [536] (The following amusing incident is noteworthy: Dupré arrived on the stage, which was swarming with stage hands, while I was in the centre of the hall with the [radio] announcers. He searched [for me], then called out, “Good day, great artist!” at the top of his voice, which made me jump up and exclaim, “Oh! Master!” and rush over [to him] at the most important moment of the recording, much to the chagrin of my interviewers.)

Mammy arrived later. My Étude, played before a small group including Bénard, again elicited a huge response; MD: “and it’s beautiful music.” After the Allegro of [Mendelssohn’s] 3^rd Sonata, MD: “That leaves me dumbfounded.”

Very good rehearsal. At 8:00, we left Pleyel together. MD: “One of the things people like about you is your disdain for success.”

 

Tuesday 16 April 1946

Yesterday, third recital at Pleyel. All of Mendelssohn; all played very well.^[442] A big success. Definitely [continued the] good beginning [to my series].

I declined to play any encores, and the curtain was quickly drawn, this because of the evening to follow. (They wouldn’t want me [instead] to shorten the program? Lambert’s idea, no doubt.* Dupré intervened sternly, and this evening he explained himself to Bénard, who apologized.)

 

* I received this notice two days ago.

 

[537] Always so many people in the foyer. The notion of performing all of Mendelssohn went over well. Guerner and Monet both shook my hand.

Guerner: “I told this young lady a long time ago that she would make people jealous”; to me: “I warned you that they would do everything to make you lose confidence… They are not to be listened to! Now don’t you forget what I’m telling you.”

“They” seem to have once again been dealt quite a blow.

Dupré remained on the stage during the performance, despite my having encouraged him, since the first concert, to return to his seat in the hall. Also, before I began to play:

MD: “Tell me what you wish me to do.”

Me: “As you wish, Master.”

MD: “Ah… that means you would prefer that I stay. As, too, would I; you might need me.”

Could he have discovered a hole in the curtain through which to read the faces of all the listeners?… He kept his friend Pierre Bourdon close by.

After the concert, our merry band went up to l’Étoile, as is customary. We entered the subway [station] and, when turning down a corridor, came face to face with Le Boucher. And here, in the [538] most… genuine terms (after an exchange of greetings):

MD: “Well, could you believe how beautiful it was! Recitals of such breadth and calibre….”

Le Boucher: “Yes, yes… I have some reservations.” (To me:) “You should come see me, and the two of us will discuss it.”

A thunderbolt would not have had a greater effect on us. (Quick as a flash, I thought to search my memory for these so-called “reservations”… without success). But Dupré, jumped up, suddenly icy:

“Let me to tell you something. Whatever reservations you might have, you can take elsewhere! ‘Reservations’ about an artist of this ilk! No, you really don’t give a d– about anyone! [tu te f… du monde!]… Shut your trap!” [All this spoken] with a contemptuous smirk and such a vehement tone that I stood rooted to the spot, speechless.

Dupré took my arm and led me away. The scene was witnessed by the Le Boucher family; they had passed us by without stopping. When it was just the six of us again, Marguerite burst out laughing: “His jaw dropped all the way to the ground! Take that!” And there was consensus among us.

MD: “I’ve known that was coming for a long time. You see? That is how we handle it. To say that about you! In front of me! Ah! Let them try, [539] and they’ll see!” And he added: “When I’m not there, will you know how to defend yourself?… They’re so furious, you know…”

Maman exclaimed, “And here I was, wanting to make my daughter a woman of the world!”

MD: “Dear friend, as a woman of the world, here is the word to teach her: ……”  Wild laughter.

Mammy, her eyes twinkling, referred again to the scene [with Le Boucher, saying], “Anyway, for once you have said exactly what you think to one of your enemies.” I won’t add the rest of what was said in the throes of our merry madness. In the subway car, Mammy said to the master:

“Go ahead and sit beside her,” and the dear master, taking my hands in his, became serious again.

MD: “What just happened is providential: you will never be obliged to play his works; your mind is made up.” I thanked him for having such a resolutely supportive attitude towards me.

MD: “Everyone must see that behind you, there am I.”

“But what is the matter with him?” I wondered.

MD: “It’s simple: he is jealous of you. Oh, yes… At your age, I too saw that the old could be jealous of the [540] young. I am jealous of no one, as you know. Later, I knew the jealousy of colleagues, and now, as you are well aware, I know the jealousy of the young. It doesn’t bother me. You’ll see!… Do not hesitate to cut to the chase. You must defend yourself as a man would.”

Today, Tuesday, I had a morning appointment with the photographer at St-Sulpice. It was the master and Mammy who wanted me to have complete documentation for America, and arranged this latest extravagance for me. It took over an hour. Despite how busy he is, the master was there giving his advice. When I took my place at the console, his face lit up: “It pleases me so much to see you here.”

 

Saturday 20 April 1946

At Meudon. Worked with the master for two and a half hours to show him my registration for the Liszt. He decided on this meeting because, being in Biarritz, he will not be able to attend my rehearsal.^[443] He gave me all sorts of recommendations [541] for the week of his absence. Ate together and chatted.

 

Sunday 21 April 1946

Easter. Went to Vespers at St-Sulpice. Many people present. The master placed me by his side; his attitude towards me was very touching. As I was leaving:

MD: “This week, you promise that you know [how] to defend yourself? To do as I did that time, and not allow yourself to be pestered?… I can leave in peace?”

 

Thursday 25 April 1946

Rehearsal at Pleyel. Good. Riveting Liszt.

 

Sunday 28 April 1946

I [with my parents] attended 11:15 AM Mass at St-Sulpice (decided, last minute, to take a little break). I listened to the organ and the master from the choir stalls. He played his Deuxième Symphonie and improvised a fugue.^[444]

Afterwards, I waited until the gallery was empty to show myself. But Monet saw us. He already knew that I would be replacing the master next Sunday. He told us that everyone is talking about my first recitals as being the equivalent [542] of Dupré’s first recitals.

When the master and Mammy descended, they raised their arms to the heavens. We went together cheerfully as far as Montparnasse. Dupré told me that he composed a “Te Deum” in four days while at Biarritz and told me about it.^[445]

 

Tuesday 30 April 1946

Yesterday, my fourth recital at Pleyel: Liszt.^[446] Went really well. No intermission.

As an encore: a Scherzo on two themes of R. Falcinelli,* [for which] I was in top form. Afterwards, Dupré told me he was quite taken by my understanding of the organ as an orchestra, and by the emotion that emanated from it. Second encore: Étude in thirds. I nearly had to shake Lambert to let me play this encore. That terrible man [terrible bonhomme] closed the curtain after [the last work by] Liszt. But the audience protested.

Dupré was listening from the hall. For the encores, he wanted to join me on the stage, no doubt anticipating the dispute: [as it happened,] on his way he was intercepted and delayed.

Enormous success, ovations. In the foyer, I was besieged for half an hour. People kept showing up with some project or proposal on their lips. I referred them [543] to Dupré, later telling him that he should refuse everything on my behalf; he approved of this.

It was agreed that Mammy would leave at the last note so she could hear Marguerite on the radio ([from] Zurich). It was also agreed that the master would remain with us, having judged his presence necessary.

When he joined us, I sensed his great emotion. But a moment later, I understood, and it was my turn to be deeply moved (I hardly dare to write down these words, authentic though they are): Dupré turned towards the abbé Delestre:

“Your Grace, look at her!… I say this before witnesses: she is brilliant, as a performer, as an improviser! And she is already a brilliant composer!” (To me:) “I wanted to wait before saying this. And I dare to say it. Your Grace, in all good conscience—I must say—that I bow before her with tenderness and respect.”

In the hallway, where some people were waiting, M^me Galanti came to embrace me again. Beside me, the master said to her: “Our little Jeannette is a great genius…” and the dear woman’s eyes filled with tears. Dupré also told me that my playing was “of supreme mastery, that’s the term.” [544]

Finally, the master left with just our party, in that perfect glow of happiness that shone around him.

Saw all the faithful, as always, [including] Gavoty.

 

* It was my idea to ask her for a theme, again wishing to break the ice. Dupré understood and approved of this.

Tuesday 30 April 1946

A visit from Mammy. The master having left this morning,^[447] she had taken advantage of his absence to request an urgent appointment with Bénard to complain about Lambert’s attitude and continuing blunders at Pleyel. Her words had hit home, and only when everything was said and done, she [would] tell us about it, and the same for Dupré. We convinced her to stay for dinner, despite all excuses. I walked her to her train at 10:30 PM. She was so happy.

 

Sunday 5 May 1946

Played at St-Sulpice this morning. Mammy was there. Mendelssohn Sonata, Bach Fugue in A minor, “Carillon” by Dupré, improvisation on the Easter Kyrie. Very good. We left with Mammy.

 

Thursday 9 May 1946

Dined this evening with M^r and M^me Dupré, M^r Hoehn, and his nephew near the Bourse.** M^r Hoehn is in Paris for a few days. “My grand [545] entrance into society,” said the master, who added, “You looked like a little princess.” I could tell they are very proud of me. Delightful hours. Paul Hoehn is a wonderful friend to Dupré. Took a taxi together to Montparnasse. We said our goodbyes to Hoehn, and the master and Mammy accompanied me, arm-in-arm, to my subway station. Marguerite is in Zurich.

Yesterday morning, met Dupré after his class. For the very first time he has asked me to teach next week’s class, and he gave me his insightful information on each of the students. This led to talking again of the time when I was a student in his class, and we confided to each other the remarks we had made about the other at that time.

Afternoon visit from Mammy who, with tremendous dedication, is taking care of publicity.

 

** At the [Restaurant] “Caneton.”

 

Sunday 12 May 1946

Dupré and Mammy had lunch at our place. Went together to R. Falcinelli’s concert at 5:00 PM.

Dupré told me that “Gramophone” has proposed a recording contract for me [546] with Kiesgen as intermediary.^[448] Next, he [Dupré] will go and see my parish priest to take care of everything.

They are leaving on June 8.^[449] Mammy appears happy about this big trip. The master is sad, and I heard him mumble, “It doesn’t exactly thrill me.” This week they informed me that they are leaving Meudon, the organ, and garden at my disposal. I couldn’t stop thanking them… I told the master that I would finish [composing] the “Méditations sur le Saint Esprit” there. He was struck by this. But we’ve been avoiding talk of what’s coming after June 8.

Spent hours of exquisite joy at the house. While we were dining, the master nudged me: “It’s obvious that we are not the ones who must play [games], huh?”

I left with them for St-Dominique;^[450] my parents came later. [The Duprés] decided to keep me with them, giving me the seat of honour to Dupré’s right and to the left of Mammy… in reserved seats. It was a little twist that came as a surprise to some, and that delighted the master. Rolande [Falcinelli] did well, but she played Bach with [547] rubato. Chatted a little with her. We took our leave of the Duprés all too soon: the master was leaving on a trip this evening.^[451] Guerner accompanied us, as intellectual and brusque as ever.

 

Tuesday 14 May 1946

Replaced Dupré at the organ class for the very first time. A resounding success, including a reciprocal kindliness with, and influence over, the students—about which I was most apprehensive. I know that Dupré had prepared them with a few well-chosen words. He insisted that I give them my own themes [for improvisation]. [Today it was a] fugue [subject]. They tried to get me to improvise, to play one of the Études. I gently held to my resolve that I should refrain from display.

Wednesday 15 May 1946

Took the organ class. Free theme [thème libre]. Perfect.

 

Friday 17 May 1946

Rehearsed at Pleyel from 12:30 to 2:00 PM. Dupré with me. He chatted a long time with Kiesgen on my behalf. Kiesgen is becoming my sole representative, without need of a contract, same as for Dupré. Bénard accompanied us back [to the subway], and Dupré seized the [548] opportunity to suggest some new ideas to him for next year’s series, these being okay with Kiesgen. The latter arrived at that moment, and Dupré hastened to leave them together. Outside:

MD: “And there you have it! It worked, as you could imagine, when I left them with each other! Bénard was very disconcerted that I said that to him in front of you. I did it on purpose.”

We talked for a long time, as far as Montparnasse, where we continued to linger. The master wants to leave everything at my disposal [during his trip]: organ, bookshelves, archives.

MD: “Do as I, and use Meudon as your laboratory.” [Inserted between lines:] Again: “I could not have dreamed of a more ideal performer than you.”

 

Tuesday 21 May 1946

Yesterday, my fifth recital at Pleyel: M. Dupré (Symphonie-Passion, Variations on a Noël, Suite in F [Op. 39], Évocation). My usual perfectionism. Intense communication with the audience whose emotion and astonishment was at its peak. Ovations. [Encores:] passacaglia theme by Dupré, on which I improvised in top form .* [549] Purcell Trumpet Tune, which revitalized an atmosphere [that had been] awash in lofty emotions.

In the foyer, Dupré at one end and I at the other were surrounded to the point of barely being able to reach each other. Marguerite said to me, “My father was deeply moved during the entire concert. You play his works with such grandeur and emotion; you understand him so very well! I assure you, he is very happy.” The master was, indeed, very moved, barely managing to contain himself; he appeared aloof. They were to be driven home by automobile, and it perturbed them [to leave on someone else’s schedule].

Mammy had a letter concerning a project involving the BBC to show me. Seizing the opportunity, I led her to my dressing room where the master quickly joined us. They embraced me affectionately, and Dupré tried in vain to express himself, which had an even greater effect on me: “You know, it’s… I cannot tell you.”

In the evening, I telephoned and found them “talking about me,” absolutely beside themselves. The master chatted with me for a half hour, finally expressing himself with emotion beyond words. On the improvisation: [550] “I was bowled over. One could have sworn it was a written piece, worked out, developed; and what grandeur!… I’m astonished every single time. You frighten me, my Jeannette.”

He leaves for Switzerland today, by airplane.^[452]

 

* [Squeezed into the bottom margin:] He had thoughtfully sent it to me two days in advance. I found it beautiful and perfect. It impressed me, and I decided not to try any preliminary experiment on it, to preserve my spontaneity.

 

Sunday 26 May 1946

The Duprés lunched at our home. Memorable day: the master requested a meeting with Father de la Motte to tell him that he would like me to become the supply organist at St-Sulpice.

I took the master to the church; we knew that this wouldn’t be easy. When I returned home, we waited impatiently. Dupré returned, silent.

Me: “Well?…”

MD: “He flat out refused.” Consternation.

Dupré continued, “… and he told me that, you being a woman, it is madness to push you into this career that wouldn’t last.” These last words nearly sparked indignation. Dupré was expressionless and waited for me to speak. I said calmly:

“You have done me the honour of offering St-Sulpice to me. I [551] have accepted this, and my conscience says that I am doing my duty. Father de la Motte doesn’t understand that this honour would fall also upon St-Esprit and upon him. I apologize to you on his behalf. For me, the situation is very clear.

MD: “What do you mean?…”

Me: “I’m resigning.” Silence.

Dupré looked at my parents. “And you?”

“It’s her decision. We will support her.”

The master continued to control his emotions. “You always put me first. My duty to myself is to guard you from your affectionate tendency.”

Me: “It’s not out of affection.”

MD: “For you I’m like a dummy you are trying to inflate; not only is the task never complete—it blocks out your horizon causing you to see nothing beyond it.”

Me: “I’m seeing my horizon very clearly, and know who it is who opened it for me. I realize I’ll be making a financial sacrifice: I will accept the students I refused. It’s a period to be gotten through, after which the touring will come. I wanted reconciliation to originate with my parish priest. It hasn’t come. My [552] attitude will not change.”

Marguerite said, spontaneously: “I’ve noticed many times now that Jeanne is very strong. She knows already what she wants; she can look after herself, of that I’m sure.”

The master regarded me with pride; then:

MD: “Whatever your decision, it meets with my approval. Wait forty-eight hours. One night is insufficient to determine whether one has made a hasty decision.”

Me: “Yes, Master. But I won’t have changed my mind.”

Dupré talked about Grunenwald with frankness and indifference:

MD: “He has put the title of supply organist to considerable use; you, never. He’s known for a year that he must ‘share’ [it] with you, and that I ask you before him. I don’t want to place just anyone on Widor’s throne, and that’s why I choose you! It’s incontestable that we are the two pinnacles of the organ.

“Your resignation will cause quite a stir in Paris; you’ve been used to that since the age of thirteen, haven’t you?  This is the end of the era in which you ‘do everything’ [553] just as your parish priest wants. I have chosen you for your immense talent, because I have total confidence in you, and because I believe this is a step towards your marvelous future.”

We talked for a long time. They left around 5:30 PM. The clergy at St-Sulpice were made aware of Dupré’s intentions and accepted them without hesitation. The master’s serenity was restored. Parting ways with them at the station, I sensed again all the happiness that my standpoint and my destiny were giving them.

Tuesday 28 May 1946

Dupré telephoned. [He is] back from Rouen, but Mammy is still there. They ended up selling the house [there]. We knew about this, and I’ve been thinking about them. A sad day for Dupré.

Friday 31 May 1946

Rehearsed at Pleyel. Agreed upon that Dupré, who was much too busy, would not come.

Sunday 2 June 1946

Yesterday, Dupré told me that their departure is again delayed (because of strikes in America). [Now] set for Tuesday morning. We were to have spent [554] our last afternoon at Meudon [this past] Tuesday. Sadness.

Today he sent for Papa. So many things to settle! I had told them that my [upcoming] recital obligated me to stay and work. But I immediately threw myself into my organ work so I could finish everything and get over to Meudon. Mammy cried out when she saw me, became teary-eyed, and called the master. When he entered, he pressed me to his heart: “You’ve come!” It took a long time to settle several questions. We went all over the house, in every direction, the organ, the bookshelves. Then Dupré turned to Papa and [said], scarcely able to speak:

“Drawing up one’s last will and testament does not cause one to die; [nonetheless,] something awful could happen to us: all three of us made our wills.” Then he got up and gestured to me. Mammy and Papa made an excuse to leave. He led me past each of the bookshelves in turn, gesturing to them…

MD: “All of this… it’s for you. All that represents the moral legacy of our tradition, [555] of the organ, design, teaching. All that I have built with my life, I give to you.” I grasped his dear hand resting on my shoulder and said nothing. Despite our emotions, we were able to contain ourselves and, after a moment, all I said was:

“I’m feeling despondent, Master.”

MD: “I know; me, as well.”

Later on, we heard the doorbell. “No doubt, the Magrons,”^[453] said Mammy, just when we were content together, just us. The master was exasperated for a moment: “Do we have to open the door?…”

Mammy made up her mind. We all moved into the parlour. I hadn’t seen Brigitte Magron since 1941. After only a few minutes of conversation, Dupré made his excuses, in light of everything still left to settle, and we descended to the [organ] hall. He gave me some volumes that I did not yet possess. MD: “Do me the favour of coming here often. I leave you everything.”

When we parted at the end of the afternoon, I took my leave of Mammy and Marguerite, and the master walked us back, proposing a stop at the Magrons’ home. He wanted [556] me to see the canvases. Our previous conversation had lessened the reality of the departure; here, for a moment, one nearly managed to forget it.

It was just as well that Marguerite ran over [to the Magrons’] to announce the arrival—unexpected and…  forgotten—of Berveiller. The master left at a run: “Till tomorrow, very early,” he said to me. The Magrons burst into tears: they will not see him for more than seven months. I exchanged a few words with the painter, then, at my request, we returned to the canvases. A strong impression, as Dupré predicted. Almost an hour later, we left the Magrons with strong feelings of friendship. I embraced the painter with the promise of neighbourly visits.

Wednesday 5 June 1946

Despite the sorrow of a huge emptiness, I am writing down the events of the past two days.

Monday [June 3], my sixth and last recital of the Pleyel series: the twentieth century.^[454] A very clear impression that the audience had definitively sized me up and accepted me. The “Méditations [sur le Saint Esprit]” (I, II, IV, and V) were received just as I had foreseen: with astonishment [and] in a spirit of discernment and trust, demonstrating a superior audience. “Consolateur” [No. V] was the [557] culminating point of the surprise. I expected its explicitly intimate character to quell the audience’s desire for outward expressivity at the end of the recital. It worked as intended, and I found this a striking sign.

It was not even 5:30 PM (for the 6:15 recital) when Dupré joined me in the foyer. I must say that given the circumstances and the program, giving this recital weighed heavily on me. The master left me at the last minute, as usual; his trustworthy presence, or his conversation, are the only thing I enjoy before playing.

Again, no intermission. I played my 5^th Étude as an encore, then found Dupré, very moved, on the stage. Even though I had been planning to give two more encores, I felt unable to return to the console: my courage plummeted suddenly, although the entire recital had been perfect. Only Dupré witnessed this and whispered behind a divider,

“Jeannette, the second encore!”

Gesturing, “No,” I returned to the stage. Silence from Dupré. I bowed for a long time and left the stage once again.

MD: “The Watchers’ Chorale…”^[455]

Me: “No, I don’t want to play anymore.”

[558] MD: “Why not?…” [As I] returned [backstage] a third time:

MD: …“Why not?”

Me: “I’m not feeling up to it.”

MD: “You can’t be serious!… Listen to them! Go for it, you can do it!” I thought I was going to pluck up the courage, but I suddenly found it impossible. The “Meditations” had thrown me: I had felt them too viscerally; they left me weakened. Meanwhile, as people stood, literally howling, I walked off again.

Me: “They will forgive me.”

Dupré looked at me for a moment, then [said]: “Give me a hug.” He turned around and ordered, “Here, lean [on me],” and he escorted me to the edge of the half-drawn curtain, where again I acknowledged the audience several times.

The foyer was overtaken by an enormous crowd exclaiming their enthusiasm and insisting that I sign autographs; a crush of people. In all, I saw only friends: Guerner, Berveiller, Monet, Marguerite. Mammy had left upon the last note. I will never forget that these three [the Duprés] came on the eve of their departure. Dupré whispered to me, “Jeannette, Florent Schmitt.” Florent Schmitt, indeed, who said to me, “I think you didn’t turn out so badly, despite [your] Nocturne for piano that I [559] remember. I like ‘Les Eaux’ very much.” And the person with him made sure to tell me I should play Schmitt’s Marche nuptiale^[456] for organ. Such insistence. I understood and, thinking despite myself of Dupré’s dignified and proud character, I let it go. Moreover, I heard Dupré say to a group, “The ‘Meditations’ are very moving.” I didn’t catch the rest.

When the crowd had drifted away, the evening took on the tone of a farewell for the master. I slipped into my dressing room, where Dupré joined me after a moment. We were frightfully sad.

Me: “Shall we leave together, Master?”

MD: “No, unfortunately, we are being taken by car…” The master took my arm and everyone filed out slowly.

MD: “You are a great, an immense, artist. This series will make history… And I am proud of you; for you, first, and also for me. Your ‘Meditations’ had an effect… just as striking for their philosophical value as for the music.” And again:

MD: “I told Bénard that you would begin the next year’s series [560] upon my return, that this is what you would like.”

We left them beside the car, and Maman held back tears; Dupré noticed and turned back, saying, “You are right, you mustn’t cry.” He embraced us and, to me,

“Are you really going to come tomorrow? I’d rather spare you that…”

Me: “Let me come, Master.”

MD: “Till tomorrow.”

Straightaway, we took the subway home and Dupré, once home, must have been watching the time because he telephoned me not ten minutes after I got back. It didn’t surprise me.

MD: “It pained me not to be able to leave with you earlier; we would have chatted. I wanted to say to you again that the entire series was wonderful, that you are a great, great artist whom I admire. Yes, yes… that’s how it is. The public is thrilled; it’s unanimous.” And we chatted some more. Dupré sounded sad, but full of faith. I told him that I owe everything to him.

MD: “You owe it all to your immense talent, to your giftedness. I was only the instrument chosen by Providence. On the other side of the ocean, I am going to [561] prepare the way for you. I’m thinking of nothing else… Till tomorrow, my dear; goodbye, sleep well. And again, bravo.”

Tuesday the 4^th:  I didn’t sleep all night. [On June 5^th,] in the morning, I was calm. At 7:30 AM, St-Lazare train station, an hour before the departure. The first to arrive. They arrived. Little by little, [so did] friends, around fifty. Mammy and Marguerite did not seem moved at first. Dupré spoke little; I noticed this inward, oppressed look, constantly straying, like that of a suffering animal. Someone tactless said to him, “America! So, you are happy?” He eyed him scornfully, “Thank you… very happy.” He came close to me, or called me over.

MD: “You are going to finish the “Meditations”?”*

Me: “Yes, Master.”

MD: “You will go to Meudon.”

Me: “Yes, Master.” And suddenly, in [front of] the group:

MD: “From this moment forward, you have such mastery as a composer, you know what you do and do not want, that no one, not even me, has the right to give you advice. You will tell me, ‘I would like to do this, try that,’ and I will always say yes. You, alone, are your own judge.” And, in the others’ silence, he added: “I am no longer your ‘master’! I am [562] your old friend and that I will remain.” And he lapsed into silence.

Berveiller, Guerner, Monet surrounded me. Mammy introduced me to M^lle [Hilda] Gélis-Didot, a strong-willed woman. She announced, “Oh, I know you… You captured my affection long ago, without knowing it.” It was with her that Dupré began his goodbyes. I was next to her; she said to him:

“I am taking your little Jeanne Demessieux under my wing.”

“Ah, you know…” Dupré began, without being able to continue, and I saw him close his eyes for a long time.

[Mlle G-D:] “Yes, yes, don’t worry.”

Marguerite embraced me: “My wonderful Jeanne, I am in awe of you; your recitals will remain etched in my memory, I assure you.”

Then the master found himself face-to-face with me and, in seconds, I could fathom the depths. Words are completely powerless. I could see him suffering so much that only one sentence came to me: “My great friend!” He embraced me at length, and said that, in a moment, he would embrace me again.

MD: “I want you to be the last one I embrace.” I had been feeling a kind of anguish for quite some time, and he understood me fully when I said to him:

Me: “Master, you will return!…”[563]

MD: “Yes, my angel!”

Me: “They can’t keep you!…”

MD: “No! my angel. I promise you this! I promise!…”

A moment later, it was Mammy who was saying goodbye to me:

“My dear little daughter…”

Me: “My little Mammy…” Emotion ran so high around me that I thought I might even faint; but I was able to respond and bear this final moment.

Mammy and Marguerite had already boarded. Dupré called out one last time to his sister-in-law, who was sobbing; then he looked [to see] whether he had forgotten anyone, stopping a moment, and turned to me. He held me close to his heart, nearly taking his breath away. I, too, was at the end of my self-control (I might have said, as a great woman [would]: I had not thought one could suffer so much).

MD: “I wanted to hug you last… after you, no one…”

“My adored friend,” I whispered.

We did not exchange any more words, but Dupré forced me to look at him, showing me the depths of his soul with a tenderness so absolute that I became the stronger for it. And [I was] understood, as always, by this unwavering friend. When we had enough strength, we parted, and Dupré moved swiftly to the door, where he gave everyone a quick wave. [564] Mammy and he appeared at the window of their compartment. The master had that wandering gaze once again.

Then, very slowly, the train began to pull out of the station, and I could see Dupré turning to look for someone and meeting my gaze with a sadness and fixity that overwhelmed me. As though he had turned to marble and remained riveted thus.

When the distance had become too great, I stepped forward from the group and saw the still-unmoving silhouette, turning away when the train had disappeared. Around me, I saw Hilda Gélis-Didot, Berveiller, Monet, and Guerner, the latter unable to hold back large tears, like those of a faithful dog. I heard one of them say to me, “We are losing him, but you are staying.” I couldn’t respond, and they grasped my hands. The crowd of friends walked on ahead; they too were leaving. M^lle Gélis-Didot took my arm and Maman’s. We were the last ones. When she had left us, my parents and I walked all the way to l’Étoile. They had cried until no tears were left.

 

* He also said to me, “‘Consolateur’ is really something, you know!”

 

[signed] Jeanne Demessieux

 

[565] Sunday 28 July 1946

Following Dupré’s departure on June 4, a concise summary:

Left the day after Pentecost [June 10, 1946] for Aigues-Mortes. I had not returned there since the exodus of ’40. Came home for the following Sunday.

My sister, overjoyed. Gave an amazing little organ recital. The church and the gallery were full.^[460] Talked with the parish priest. Upon descending, intrigued by these people of Provence, rustic and salt-of-the-earth, who jostled each other fanatically to get a glimpse of me in the shadows. “Distinguished” persons (and there were many) greeted me, then fled the cool night air. Moved by the crowd that remained, I offered a handshake to everyone. Indescribable verve and joy from these people, as if I had distributed something with a certain “je ne sais quoi.” I thought of Dupré’s words, “Decent people approach me as if they loved me.”^[461] Left all the money with the priest, who gave me a touching gift.

A day at the sea. Lunched in a restaurant facing the raging sea. Sun, Mistral winds, incredible.

Back in Paris, Guerner and Berveiller came [566] to St-Esprit. We chatted a lot, growing even closer. Faithful friends. Berveiller dined at our home that evening. Since July, I’ve been playing for my [assigned] mass at St-Sulpice which, like Meudon, has become my “laboratory.”

At Meudon every day except Sunday. These locations and this retreat are important to me. [My] initial bitterness has been replaced by calmness. Alone and free in the house, this is where I work. I’ve written the third “Meditation,” “Pentecôte,” and am working on the sixth, “Paix.” I play the organ. Rummaging one day in Dupré’s manuscripts and file folders, fully aware of fulfilling his innermost wish, I found plans, themes (a hundred), sketches, and, especially, notes. Delving into these for several days gave me a major composition lesson and subject of study.

We are, as Dupré has written, “constantly in contact by airmail,” despite the huge amount of work they have. Their time in Chicago is finished. They’re going to go relax for a month in Canada.^[462]

[567] Meanwhile, we received M^r Hoehn, who was passing through Paris. He is occupied, non-stop, with my Swiss tour. Also received Van Wyck, the English impresario, and his wife; we continue to correspond by letter. On his advice, I made a diplomacy visit to Souchon, the Director of Cultural Affairs. Van Wyck wants the [French] State to fund my trip to England.

Received Marthe Dramez.

Accepted a dinner engagement at M^r Régnier’s ([heard] on a recording: Henri Monréal).^[463] Met the sister and brother-in-law of [pianist] Nicole Henriot. Invited a second time, I declined; snobbish company, boring.

Florent Schmitt redoubled his efforts by writing [to me] regarding his Marche nuptiale.^[464] An invitation that I gracefully refused.

Mireille Auxiètre* earned her First Prize in piano, under Nat, with [Beethoven’s] “Appassionata” and Chopin’s Étude in A minor. Amazing. Yves Nat carried away. He sought me out during the competition, and we chatted about Mireille for quite some time. Nat: “I believe we understand each other.” He is struck by my attachment to Mireille. I hadn’t seen him [568] in four years. Chatted with Mireille several times. Visited her parents. They told me that she trusts only me on all matters and wants me to decide everything for her. She herself wants to work under the radar [dans l’ombre] for five years. Strong personality, ferocious will. Little by little, I want to help her draw closer to Nat. She will always work with me.

 

* Jankowski.^[465]

Wednesday 7 August 1946

I finished the sixth Meditation, “Paix,” today at Meudon.

Thursday 22 August 1946

I made a visit to Erlanger (Services for Artistic Expansion to Foreign Countries), to whom Van Wyck had already written. Scarcely any more progress was made. Van Wyck wants the government to cover my travel costs in England.^[466] Followed up in writing with Van Wyck.

Friday 23 August 1946

Finished the seventh Meditation, “Lumière,” at Meudon. “Sept Méditations sur le Saint Esprit” is complete.

Berveiller came to spend the evening at our home.

[569] Sunday 25 August 1946

My last Sunday at St-Sulpice until October. The clergy are “happy” with me. The gallery remained filled with faithful friends. St-Sulpice and Meudon have caused me to progress further.

Wednesday 18 September 1946

I’ve been in Zürich since September 2, staying with wonderful friends of Dupré, M^r [Paul] and M^me [Nelly] Hoehn, who are now great friends of mine. I am playing a lot, visiting organs, being welcomed. In Zürich, played several times at St-Pierre, Grossmünster, [and] Fraumünster; once at the Tonhalle. Those who heard me: Funk (organist at Fraumünster), Meyer (St-Pierre*), Schlater (Grossmünster**), and numerous people who came along with them. Funk showed me plans for the new Fraumünster organ, revised by Dupré. M^r Hoehn is a member of the commission, and we all discussed it together. Am now very familiar with the system of free combinations. Dined at the Webers, [and at] the Steinmanns.

* [Squeezed into the bottom margin:] Played: Handel’s 10^th Concerto; Dupré’s Prelude and Fugue in G minor; [my] 2^nd Étude; Franck’s 2^nd Choral and 3^rd Choral; Dupré, Variations on a Noël.

** [Squeezed into the bottom margin:] Dupré, Prelude and Fugue in G minor; a chorale by Bach; Franck, 3^rd Choral; Études 2, 6; Improvisation: prelude and fugue.

 

Thursday 19 September 1946

Yesterday evening, concert by Funk and the violinist Stefi Geyer at the Fraumünster. Chatted with Funk before and after. [He] played well, a bit hesitant. Stefi Geyer, very beautiful[ly]. [570]. Many introductions. I met Ziegler, the organ builder, recently established in Geneva. They took me by car to Huguenin^[469] where the Hoehns were waiting for me at a fashion show.

Today, something unexpected. For three days, I’ve suffered from a lump that appeared on my right hip. It was growing worse, so I decided to tell M^me Hoehn about it. Dr. Reckling, whose entire family already knows me, came this morning. An infected gland. Bed rest, and I’ll be fine. Reckling didn’t want me to go anywhere tomorrow. I pleaded with him, and he said that in this case, it needed to be opened [lanced and drained] and he would decide after. He’s coming again this evening.

Saturday 21 September 1946

All went well. Thursday evening, the little procedure. Very successful, but not fun. Broken sleep. A high temperature yesterday morning. M^me Hoehn was my nurse from first light, though I spared her from the most tiresome tasks. I somehow managed to come downstairs and found M^r Hoehn upset, ready to “weep like a child,” he told me. A taxi was waiting for us. Then the train as far as Bern, where I was taken by car to the Église française.^[470] I toured the organ, [571] played [Bach’s] Dorian Toccata and my Étude in octaves, and improvised—to the huge torment of M^me Hoehn, who had become my bodyguard, and to the stupefaction of M^r Hoehn. Lunched at the station. Train for Fribourg.^[471] Cathedral [St-Nicolas]. Beautiful organ but tonally heavy. No strings (!). Stupidly designed console. Played for two hours.* Was heard.^[472]

Back to Bern where we were awaited and driven to Burgerspital’s small organ (17 stops).^[473] Again, no strings. Dined at the Hôtel de l’Étoile, looking out over the Alps. Ideal weather. The entire evening at the Cathedral organ.^[474] Beautiful and balanced. Very sonorous mixtures. Clear electric console. Was heard. We again took the train and got back at midnight. Throughout the day, I played, always from memory, the Dorian Toccata, 6^th Étude, 2^nd Étude, Toccata and Fugue [in] D minor, Handel’s 10^th Concerto, a Bach chorale, Widor’s 6^th Symphony, and improvised two preludes and fugues and a choral varié. Made the acquaintance of Messieurs Schoerer, Gogniat, Senn.

Today, complete rest: I’m stretched out in the little organ room, pampered in a motherly fashion by Nelly Hoehn, while M^r Hoehn has left his office to play the organ for me and chat. Reckling came, got a little angry. I [572] responded with a lesson on [organ] building. (During my little procedure, he had said to me, “Heroic. What one won’t do for art’s sake.”)

 

* [Squeezed into the bottom margin:] Toccata and Fugue in D minor and a chorale by Bach; two Études; Widor, Toccata; improvisation.

 

Tuesday 24 September 1946

Funk, the organist of the Fraumünster and the [Zürich] Tonhalle, and organ professor at the Conservatory, asked me to play a short, private recital for his students. There were around thirty of them, plus some friends of Hoehn. This took place today at the Tonhalle, the scene of Dupré’s greatest triumphs this year. I played from memory (without rehearsal) the Toccata and Fugue in C [major], the first movement of Widor’s Sixth Symphony, Dupré’s Variations on a Noël, and my 2^nd and 6^th Études, and I improvised a prelude and fugue. Always in good form. Funk spoke before and after the recital, declaring me to be a typical representative of the “great French organ school” and “Marcel Dupré’s number-one disciple.” An ambience of respect that I found striking, even astonishing. M^me Hoehn, beside herself with emotion, forbade me from playing any longer, and only just allowed me to finish the program. After this, we returned home where I played yet again for a friend.

M^r Hoehn again told me he is [573] “proud of me” and that I “am scoring big points.” In a show of friendship, we made “a pact”: to always be sincere with, and sure of, one another, and to be of service to each other, “as with Marcel,” he said.

Friday 27 September 1946

After a few days of rest, we are leaving for Saint Gall. Tomorrow night we will sleep in the Rorschach district, near Lake Constance.^[475]

Monday 30 September 1946

Magnificent car trip. All we did on Saturday was visit Saint Gall in the company of M^me Hoehn’s sister, M^me Petertil, who lives there.^[477]

At dusk, we trekked through the mountains and stopped at an inn from which one can see Lake Constance appear and disappear in the valleys. Mist and the last flame of day: wonderful. Traversed fields and woods after having dined in rustic fashion, with much gaiety.

At Rorschach, at the Anker Hotel; I opened my lake-view windows yesterday morning. Mist, a beautiful yacht was moored. Saint Gall at 10:00 AM. Had time to [574] visit a farm and run through fields.

Meeting at the Cathedral [of Saint Gall] with the organist at 11:00 Mass. The sumptuousness of the place was astonishing. The Baroque style most definitely gets on my nerves. Later, I admired the [choir] stalls. I was offered the chance to play the postlude, and I played Bach’s Prelude in G [major]; then, after a moment, I improvised, upon general request. It was pointed out to me that the congregation was watching the gallery.

Lunch in a restaurant, where the organist and his wife joined us for coffee, offering us a return to the Cathedral at 3:00. It was then that I was able to admire the stalls, after which I climbed again to the organ with the intention of seeing the stops in detail (this old console amused me, too). Paul Hoehn feared this would be too tiring and did not want me to play. But, to our stupefaction, a whole procession of people flowed into the gallery. Widmer admitted that he had invited them to hear me and introduced me to each in turn, about fifteen. I went to the organ with good grace, despite the agitation of Nelly and Paul Hoehn. They asked me for an Étude (on this organ!). I [575] refused to engage in acrobatics on this ancient mechanism and played Handel’s 10^th Concerto, a Bach chorale, the first bit of Widor’s 6^th—having taken into account the manuals available—and I improvised a prelude and fugue on a chorale melody, memorized after it was played twice for me. Someone asked for the Fantasia and Fugue in G minor, and I had placed myself on the bench, taken by a playing frenzy, when Paul Hoehn rose almost apologetically, saying with his usual courtesy that I must not play another note. As an aside, I said to him: “Let me play, I feel like playing…” [He replied,] “Mademoiselle, you know how much I would like you to continue! But it’s enough; I am worried.”

Upon leaving, we had tea with several of the Hoehns’ friends, then headed home by car. I was invited to a Bach festival, to which I was escorted after dining in one of Zürich’s great restaurants.

Today, after writing one last time to Dupré, I packed my bags. I have found in Nelly and Paul Hoehn all the fond regard that Dupré’s closest friends could be expected to offer me and, I believe, also the start of true affection.

Wednesday 2 October 1946, Paris

Travelled by train all day yesterday. Left the [576] Hoehns with sincere emotion; M^me Hoehn was crying. Reunited with my parents at the [train] station. No time to go into detail. Huge [amount of] mail waiting for me, serious stuff.[486]^[486]

 

Sunday 6 October 1946

Reunited with St-Sulpice and my friends. The warmth of St-Sulpice!

 

Friday 11 October 1946

Tried out the Sacré-Cœur [organ] renovated by Perroux. Solid; symphonic in both details and the ensemble. Perroux showed me the inside [of the instrument].

Sunday 13 October 1946

Paul Hoehn in Paris. He lunched with us yesterday as if we were old friends. After that, [he] spent an hour at St-Esprit playing the little organ.

This morning, I offered him the keyboards of St-Sulpice at High Mass, having asked Dupré’s permission. He lunched with us again, happy and “proud” of his feat. A noble heart. This was “a big day for him,” he said.

[577] Saturday 19 October 1946

Received Berveiller at Meudon. He misses the master and wanted to see the dear organ hall again. A true friend. [I] played his Prelude and Fugue, despite his protestations.^[487] Played the “Meditations” 1, 2, 4, and 5.

 

Thursday 31 October 1946

Rolande Falcinelli recital at Chaillot. On her program, my 5^th and 6^th Études (their first performance in Paris since I played them). Rolande showed off Louis XV heels. Progress in pedaling, but she plays only with effort. Serious work done on the Études. Played Dupré’s Suite in F very badly;^[488] she understood nothing about the Finale and is not a performer. Lively applause after the Études. In the foyer, where I was first to arrive, I thanked her warmly for having played my music. She was very cold, and I had to force my way in to say this, rather hurt by her reception of me.

On the other hand, I was experiencing something I had not planned and that filled me with emotion. People who were soon entering the foyer spontaneously came to me. One might have though there was a misunderstanding. Many were unknown to me, and others were introduced to me. When I realized what was happening and that [578] Rolande was completely isolated, I gathered my parents and Guerner, faithful as always: “Let’s go… It’s time to leave.”

Berveiller had left at the last note, having spent his time smoking in the corridor—except during the Études. After the 6^th Étude, Guerner, sitting behind me, was moved, saying to me, “Now, there’s grandeur!” The chance occurrence of this concert has made me see myself more clearly and, without admitting this to anyone, I feel real confidence.

 

Monday 4 November 1946

Lunched at Claude Cézan’s with Fernand Divoire whose opera libretto, proposed through C. Cézan, I decided to refuse. A disgustingly snobbish circle. F. Divoire, speaking of “improvisation,” asked me,

“Is there really such a thing as an improvisation?” to which I responded calmly and straight away:

“I can certainly understand what you mean. There is such a thing as an improvisation when there is an improviser, and there is no improvisation when there is no improviser. An improviser cannot not improvise.”

“That’s obviously the best answer,” replied C. Cézan, rather [579] stiffly, while Divoire looked at me with the expression of someone who has let his mask slip.

I left as early as possible and rushed to Meudon to recover!

Excerpts from a letter by Jeanne Dupré to Jean Guerner, from the Stephen F. Austin Hotel in Texas:^[489]

Wednesday 13 November 1946

Yesterday, went to a recital by Lélia Gousseau. Warmly received. Beautiful pianist.

Friday 22 November 1946

Yesterday, dined at the home of M^r and M^me Berveiller, with [pianist] Jean Doyen and his wife, the Durand-Textes, and Félix Raugel and his wife. A long, interesting evening. Doyen and Raugel immediately feeling rapport with me. Doyen was asked to play. Very musical. Agile technique, like a gifted child. Very “childlike,” himself.

Around 1:00 AM, Berveiller drove me home after dropping the Doyens at their door. Chatted about plans for concerts.

Saturday 23 November 1946

Chatted for an hour with Van Wyck, who is in Paris for a few days. He wants [English concert organist] Thalben-Ball to hear me, and I’ve absolutely refused, for all the right reasons. Stubborn, but correct. He was struck by my frankness. For a moment, I [580] thought our discussion would turn angry, but it changed course and he understood. He was very enthusiastic and wants to present me in England in a big way [par la grande porte]. He’s very proud that permission was granted by Cardinal Griffin for me to play at Westminster Cathedral. For Thalben-Ball’s benefit, I compromised by saying I will go with Van Wyck to [meet him at] Notre-Dame tomorrow where he is playing for radio—a simple program.

Friday 29 November 1946

Jean Berveiller spent two hours at our house this evening and, upon my request, showed me his compositions. Chatted at length.

Sunday 1 December 1946

Back at St-Sulpice for all of December. The “last” month…!

Friday 13 December 1946

Yesterday, J. Berveiller was over chatting for two hours, again in genuine friendship. Seriously discussed his compositions. He took with him my Sonata for violin and piano,^[490] which he has wanted to play for a long time.

In the evening, I went to Mireille Auxiètre’s place to hear her play Chopin’s 24 Preludes. [581] Outstanding. She has definitely “matured,” and her personal style has taken shape. If she finally achieves consistency one day, she will be a striking, first-class artist. She made quite an impression.

Today, I had a meeting at Eugène Bigot’s to discuss the possibility of my playing a Lamoureux concert (Berveiller had put all this in motion). I found the door shut and waited for half an hour in the stairwell. At that point, I would have left if Berveiller hadn’t decided to fetch me by car, which he did. Astonishment. We toured Paris while thinking [about what could have happened], and I returned to Bigot’s house where someone finally told me that he was waiting for me at Gaveau.^[491] By then, it was 7:00 PM. J. Berveiller suggested driving me there. I refused; he was in agreement, and we returned to my house to finish the evening with my parents.

Sunday 15 December 1946

Yesterday, telephoned Bigot and let him apologize throughout the call. He is overwhelmed with work and said he’ll see me “after the holidays.”

Today I went with J. Berveiller to hear Honegger’s Ninth Symphony and La Danse des morts.^[492] The 9^th truly has the impact of [582] the Gospels. It is modern, or more precisely it is timeless, like the Divine Comedy. Profoundly moved by the philosophical message of this work. From the point of view of musical emotion, the first piece saw straight into the human heart. As for the last [piece], it is a prophecy of the Initiated.^[493]

 

Wednesday 25 December 1946

Christmas. Dupré still not able to return. Played Midnight Mass at St-Sulpice.^[496]