One hundred years ago, on 1 April 1924, Schoenberg arrived in Florence to direct his Pierrot lunaire – one of the seminal works of early 20th-century modernism – at the Palazzo Pitti. Most of the audience had never been exposed to contemporary music, and to them the event seemed like no more than an elaborate April Fool; but at least two of those present sat listening intently.
One of them was Italy’s most famous living composer. Although terminally ill with throat cancer, he had driven in his brand new Lancia all the way from his home in Torre del Lago, some 50 miles away, and after the performance asked to be presented to Schoenberg. The other was a 20-year-old music student named Luigi Dallapiccola. Not for a further 25 years did Dallapiccola summon up the courage to contact Schoenberg and explain how that evening had been a defining moment in his life. In reply, Schoenberg regretted that Dallapiccola had had taken the trouble of coming to hear .
