Peter Diamand

Though the fees he offered them would elsewhere have been considered ludicrously low, and though the conditions under which they performed were not always to their advantage, they knew that the sound of Diamand's dry Germanic voice on the telephone always promised something very special.

It might have been the chance to perform an impossible feat, such as squeezing Zimmermann's enormously complex opera, Die Soldaten, into the tiny King's Theatre, a challenge accepted by the Dusseldorf Opera in 1972; or the scope to devote a whole evening to Beethoven's songs, a rare opportunity instantly grabbed by Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau when it came his way in 1970; or simply the chance to shine, at an early age, on an international platform, which Daniel Barenboim and Claudio Abbado were enabled to do through Diamand's acute awareness of their musical potential.

He achieved this through the magic of his personality, which some would have called secretive, but which was so utterly and instinctively musical that he seldom made mistakes. Though not a musician himself - he studied law in his native Berlin until forced to leave by the Nazis - he had been Artur Schnabel's secretary before the Second World War, gaining through him an impeccable knowledge of Beethoven and Schubert, as well as of learning how to deal with the vagaries of musical genius. The job entailed acting as Schnabel's chauffeur, a difficult task for someone as short-sighted as Diamand, who in addition had no sense of direction.

A sense of self-preservation, on the other hand, enabled him to outwit the Nazis, who were still in pursuit of him after he settled in Holland. Told to report to Amsterdam's central railway station for deportation to a concentration camp, he astutely went into hiding. The need for escape routes remained with him throughout his career. The Edinburgh Festival's London office in St James's Street, where he worked from 1966 until 1978, famously had two doors - one for clients and members of staff, the other a private one that permitted Diamand to come and go as he wished.

Short-sighted he may have been - he once mistook his own assistant director for a head waiter in an Edinburgh restaurant - but Diamand had a peerless sense of musical direction. First as director of the Holland Festival, which he founded and directed until 1965, and thereafter in charge of Edinburgh, he knew exactly what was worth doing and why. He was the first to recognise Kathleen Ferrier's talent, inviting her to Holland when she was still scarcely known in Britain. An early champion of Benjamin Britten, he gave Britten's music an opportunity to shine abroad.

He was also among the first to recognise Carlo Maria Giulini's qualities as the greatest Italian conductor of his generation. Giulini repaid him by coming to Edinburgh year after year, when other festivals were clamouring for his services. Then, when Edinburgh decided in 1978 that it wanted a change of director, Giulini immediately withdrew, not returning until after several other directors had held the post. His forthcoming performance of Verdi's Requiem in Paris will be dedicated to Diamand's memory.

Diamand's operatic aplomb reached its high-water mark in 1977 with the famous Carmen starring Teresa Berganza - who said she would learn the role only for him - and Placido Domingo under Abbado's conductorship. But before that there had been Wieland Wagner's great Stuttgart production of Berg's Lulu, Carlos Kleiber conducting Wozzeck (and walking out, through no fault of Diamand, after a single performance) and the Dusseldorf Moses and Aron.

But above all, in Scottish terms, Diamand was the first director to recognise the potential of Scottish Opera, giving the fledgling company the chance to stage Stravinsky's Rake's Progress as early as 1967, and following this up with productions of Britten's Peter Grimes, Henze's Elegy for Young Lovers, and Berlioz's The Trojans.

After leaving Edinburgh, he ran the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra in London, a task which did not really suit his epicurean personality, before moving to Paris as Daniel Barenboim's adviser at the Orchestre de Paris. Failing health and dwindling funds made his last years unhappy, but he will be remembered for the indelible performances given at his behest.