On February 14, 1940, Méret turned sixteen and entered the Imperial Academy of Music—still known to all musicians as the Konservatorium.
She had never auditioned for anything before. The youth orchestra had taken her on the strength of her first recital with Viktor.
She emerged from the audition having been politely told she was accepted. She found the reserve, the lack of response in the selection panel, disturbing.
“They’d never applaud a student,” Magda Ewald (trombone) told her. “It simply wouldn’t do. But I can tell you now old Hoffmann was almost in tears and Professor Magnes had to sit on her hands to stop herself clapping. You’re not just ‘in,’ Méret, you’re ‘it.’”
“It?”
“Oh, don’t be so dense . . . don’t make me fish around for a metaphor . . . you’re Viktor Rosen’s protégée . . . that should be ‘it’ enough. Were they ever going to turn down Viktor Rosen’s protégée?”
“Do you really think they remember Viktor?”
Magda didn’t answer. It was a stupid question.
The unstupid question, the only question that mattered, occurred unuttered to both of them.
Where is Viktor Rosen now?