It’s every performer’s nightmare, a moment of terror when only a combination of technique and instinct can save you. Paris, November 1964: Aaron Rosand arrives to perform the Khachaturian Violin Concerto at the Théâtre du Châtelet. “I came a day early and the weather was horrendous, the Seine had overflowed and the basement was flooded,” recalls the famed violinist, a New Canaan resident since 1980.
“They couldn’t heat the theater and the manager called to say there’d be no rehearsal that Saturday. We’d just do the Sunday concert like a public dress rehearsal.”
Delayed somewhat because of the weather and traffic, Rosand arrives minutes before the time of the performance. He rushes onstage and tunes his violin. The orchestra begins to play. But there’s something wrong. “It isn’t the Khachaturian,” he says. “And I’m wondering maybe it’s a bad dream, maybe I’m not really here.”
He walks over to the conductor and asks him what is being played. “Lalo’s Symphonie Espagnole” is the reply. “Maestro, what happened to the Khachaturian?” asks the bewildered violinist. “We changed that two months ago. Didn’t the management tell you?”
While the audience, bundled up in overcoats to keep warm, wonders what’s going on, Rosand retunes his violin. Then, he says, “I played the five movements of the Lalo without a hitch. But, every minute I’m thinking there’s going to be a trapdoor to take me down, take me away and I’m going to wake up to find that this is just a bad dream.”