At the time London concertgoers
were responding to an impressionist fascination, and were ready for his works,
already cherished among Promenade favourites. Squire’s memory blended ancient
landscape with modern symbolism, evoking contemplative piano pieces and the
haunting beauty of Pelléas et Mélisande.
Legend and conductor Herny Wood recalled the event in his informative autobiography My Life of Music, originally published in 1938. Debussy’s 1909 Queen’s Hall concert featured the Nocturnes, but during Fêtes he lost his beat and tried to stop. The orchestra refused, performing flawlessly. The audience applauded warmly, prompting a repeat. Debussy was baffled, yet proud - leaving with admiration and a story to ponder.
Wood remembered:
In fact, nothing could have been happier for all of us; we liked him, and he liked us. So that when Newman suggested a return visit to Queen’s Hall on February 27, 1909, he was more than willing to come. We repeated L’ Aprés Midi because of the ovation it had received the previous year, but instead of La Mer we produced the three Nocturnes, Smallwood Metcalfe’s Eastbourne choir [1] undertaking the choral part in Sirénes.
Again, I had rehearsed the
orchestra until there was practically nothing left for Debussy to do. The
rehearsal went off smoothly enough but at the concert there was a peculiar
accident. I do not remember ever witnessing anything quite like it. In the second
of the Nocturnes (a movement called Fétes) the time changes a
good deal. To the surprise of all of us, Debussy (who, quite candidly, was not
a good conductor even of his own works) suddenly lost his head, and his beat!
Realizing what he had done, he evidently felt the best thing was to stop and
begin the movement over again. He tapped the desk and tapped again. Then the
most extraordinary thing happened. The orchestra refused to stop. It really was
an amazing situation. Here was a famous composer directing a work of his own
and, having got into difficulties, was asking the orchestra to stop and was
being met with refusal. They obviously did not intend to stop: they knew that
the audience would think the fault was theirs. Moreover, the work (which they liked
immensely) was going beautifully and they meant to give a first-rate
performance of it; which they proceeded to do and succeeded in doing. I never
knew them more unanimous. The audience by no means missed the fact that
something had gone wrong because it was so evident that he had tried to stop
the orchestra. At the end, in truly English fashion, they recorded their
appreciation to such an extent that he was compelled to repeat the movement.
This time nothing went wrong, and the ovation was even greater than before.
Debussy was non-plussed and certainly did not understand the English mind; but
I was proud of my orchestra that afternoon and had the satisfaction of seeing
that he had been proud to conduct it. “They wouldn’t stop!” he told me in the
artist’s room after-wards; I fancy he went back to
Paris with something to think about.
Henry Wood, My Life of Music, 1938, p.228f
Notes
[1] A distinguished vocalist and teacher, Smallwood Metcalfe (1868-1918) trained under his uncle, William Smallwood and at the Royal College of Music. He made his London debut in The Marriage of Figaro at the Royalty Theatre (1892) and was later a featured soloist at the Queen’s Hall Promenade Concerts (1904–06). For fifteen years he directed a choir in Eastbourne, establishing the Smallwood Metcalfe Concerts, which led to his appointment by Sir Henry Wood as chorus-master for Queen’s Hall, Nottingham, and Wolverhampton. He subsequently founded the Smallwood Metcalfe Choir, noted for its unaccompanied performances and London subscription series.
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