Listening to her recordings, one would find it difficult to believe that the unmistakably original artistry of Lola Bobesco did not set the world afire. Her lushness of tone, intensity of expression, rich phrasing, and the seemingly natural ease with which she commanded her instrument—as if it were an extension of her physical self—all would seem to augur a career that would have at least been every bit as starry and glamorous as that of any of the 20th century’s greatest masters of the violin. Instead, when she died in 2003 at the age of 82 in her adopted home of Belgium, her name by then had mostly become faded from international recognition (save for her home country of Romania and also in Japan, where interest in her art had bloomed late in her life).
Tutored first by her father, Bobesco eventually entered the Paris Conservatory where she counted Ginette Neveu among her classmates. After graduation she made the rounds of the competition circuits, avoiding the Wieniawski Competition, but making distinguished efforts at the Queen Elizabeth and Ysaÿe Competitions. In 1939 she made her concerto debut by performing the Beethoven under Paul Paray, then soon followed that up with collaborations with conductors such as Willem Mengelberg and Ernest Ansermet. She also performed as a member of a short-lived, but star-studded trio with Antonio Janigro and Dinu Lipatti.
When hostilities broke out between France and Germany in 1939, Bobesco decided to stay in what by then had become her second homeland; when it was subsequently occupied, she served as a courier for the French Resistance. In 1944 she married Jacques Genty, pianist, chamber partner, and fellow Resistance member. After the war, Bobesco turned her focus onto Belgium, where she would permanently settle by the late 1950s. During this period, she and Genty would divorce. Nevertheless, they remained good friends and continued performing together long afterwards.
She was in many respects a citizen of the world, not only because of the wide distances she traveled during the height of her career, but also because of the sophisticated and cosmopolitan blend of influences which had shaped her as an artist. Georges Enescu and Jacques Thibaud both had been among her teachers, with each being the embodiment of what their respective national backgrounds imparted to the mature Bobesco: Romanian emotive power on the one hand, Gallic flexibility on the other. Of course, Romania itself has been fertile soil for artists; a gateway land where Latin, Slavic, and Ottoman civilizations all met, fought, and left their permanent imprint.
By the time these Cologne broadcasts from the late 1950s and early 1960s were made, Bobesco had established herself among the top practitioners of her instrument. The impression she made upon audiences in her German concerto debut was dramatic and immediate. One reviewer who was, evidently impressed as much by the violinist’s presence—heralding as a “mannequin slender, blonde-crowned star”—as much by her artistry, was luxurious in his praise.
“The bejeweled lace of sound, the honeyed sweetness of her singing line, the trills, double-stops, the entire effort of this violinist of art for the sake of art… here is the sparkling play of a fabulous violinist,” reported Hermann Lindlar of the Deutsche Zeitung. “The beauty of her glow, swept under the quivering hand of Bobesco, who sobbed on her Guarneri del Gesù.”*
Another critic behaved more circumspect, but nonetheless permitted himself to compare her to Heifetz and Menuhin. “Terrifying dexterity, musical sensitivity, and an endearingly beautiful, limpid, and warm tone,” lauded yet another.^
The repertoire she chose for these two broadcast sessions for WDR Köln demonstrate her lifelong affection for Franco-Belgian repertoire, much of which was rarely played during the mid-20th century, and remain on the fringes of the repertory today.
There is also on this compilation a touching tip of the hat to a friend who himself endured—and survived—the German occupation of his adopted homeland.
Ignace Lilien’s music begins the second disc of this set in the guise of a score which hardly betrays the darkness of the times from which it emerged. Originally from the Ukraine, Lilien settled after World War I in Holland. After the German invasion of the Netherlands in World War II, the composer was permitted to live a normal life, and was left unmolested despite his Jewish parentage. He also had developed a warm friendship with Bobesco and Genty; in 1955 he dedicated to them his Concerto for Violin, Piano, and Orchestra. His slim and elegant Violin Sonata No. 2 from 1945 glows with gentle light and whimsy, with only a moment or two in the central “Larghetto” darkening its otherwise cheerful countenance.
Bobesco and Genty handle it gracefully, allowing it to float overhead, where it charms the listener as does a passing flock of birds across a sunlit morning sky.
Play and sparkle, too, mark Albert Roussel’s Violin Sonata No. 1, Op. 11—an “early” score despite the fact that its composer was nearly 40 when he penned it. Later renowned for the sharp rhythms, biting harmonies, and bracing juxtapositions of instrumental color in his four symphonies, this early chamber work is suffused with a tender sensuality modeled on Cesar Franck and Vincent d’Indy. Yet already emerging is the mature composer that in time would erupt into the passionate roar of Bacchus et Ariane and the last two symphonies.
Also tending towards the mild and agreeable is Sergei Prokofiev’s Violin Sonata No. 2; although like the Lilien score it, too, is the product of war and its resulting chaos. It was originally composed for the flute in 1942 when Prokofiev was being evacuated from Moscow to Almaty because of the German offensive on the Soviet Union. Two years later the composer arranged it for violin upon the suggestion of David Oistrakh. (Bobesco herself had competed against the Soviet violinist in the 1937 Queen Elizabeth Competition. They both lost out to her classmate, Neveu.)
It is not surprising to find on this collection her teacher Georges Enescu’s Violin Sonata No. 2, Op. 6. During his life and even beyond, Enescu had defined the modern school of Romanian violin playing. Less appreciated, at least outside of the land of his birth, was his no less estimable genius as a composer. The opening theme of the work came to composer at the age of 14 while he wandered in the gardens of Prince George Mourousi. However, it took him another three years to finally devise the structure of the work that eventually became the Violin Sonata No. 2, whereupon he dashed it off in a matter of two weeks. Enescu was proud of the score and the stylistic breakthrough he felt it achieved. “I became myself,” he exclaimed.
The brief, evocative Cinco comentarios for violin and piano by Joaquín Nin round out this recital. Like Roussel, he counted d’Indy among his teachers. Later in life Maurice Ravel would be an admirer of his music, as well as a personal friend. During his lifetime, his art had been highly esteemed in Spain and Latin America. Posthumously, he is best remembered for the incestuous relationship he carried on with his daughter, the writer Anaïs Nin.
The partnership between Bobesco and Genty is here, perhaps, at its refined best here, beguiling the listener with teasing charm, polishing these miniatures to a lustrous gleam. It is often in the seemingly small works that the essential quality of a musician is sometimes revealed: One is left no doubt here that in the golden-lined clouds of violin paradise, Bobesco holds her own among in a place of honor.
*: Deutsche Zeitung; April 9, 1963
^: Kölner Stadt-Anzeiger; April 10, 1963
This essay will appear in a forthcoming Weitblick collection of Lola Bobesco’s chamber music broadcasts in Cologne. The author would like to cordially thank the Unternehmensarchiv des WDR for graciously permitting access to documents and reviews pertaining to Lola Bobesco.