<<  -- 5 --  Jennifer Paull    REMINISCENT RETROSPECTIVES

In those days, wearing one earring was simply not done. The entire wind section shuffled their feet and kept straight faces. Unable to applaud, both hands on instrument; whispers impossible, instrument in mouth, concert under way; the foot shuffle is the bush telegraph of the orchestral wind-player when on the job. I have never blushed so deep a crimson, or wanted the floor to swallow me up more than I did then as I continued with one earring until the final applause. I just knew Boulez had heard it fall. Of course, I was convinced I would never play under his baton again. Fortunately, it was never mentioned, and I had learned another lesson.

In fact, I did play the same work again with the same conductor in the same setting a year or two later. This time when I got to the same place in the score, I blushed with the memory!

Here I am today, living so close to where Stravinsky wrote this masterpiece. The view from his home in Clarens by Montreux where The Rite was composed, is the savage mountains of the Massive du Mont Blanc at very feet of which I now live. His home is still there, less than ten minutes away by car from mine, but nearly ninety years back in time since he was there writing it.

One's memory stores these little miniatures, as years later, with a smile, one is happy and grateful to relive the magic moments. I have never again worn dangling earrings either on or off stage, and just somehow know that I never shall!