In April, Mstislav Rostropovich's body was laid to rest in Moscow's Novodevichy Cemetery with scarcely less public attention than that accorded his friend Boris Yeltsin, who was buried there just four days before. Such a finale for the great musician would have seemed inconceivable at the point in his life where Elizabeth Wilson ends her book. She brings his story down to 1974, when he was, for all practical purposes, kicked out of the Soviet Union. The government had made life difficult for him since 1969, when he gave refuge to Alexander Solzhenitsyn. Learning that the writer was ill and living in an unheated apartment, Rostropovich lodged him in a flat on the grounds of his dacha in exclusive Zhukovka outside Moscow, at the very time authorities were stepping up their campaign against the dissident. Rostropovich went on to write a fervent condemnation of official attacks on Solzhenitsyn, who had recently won the Nobel Prize. He mailed it to four Moscow publications before embarking on an international tour, and upon returning he too was persona non grata.
The pages Wilson devotes to Rostropovich's steadfastness and growing despair in the face of governmental pressure are among the most gripping of her book, as one would expect. Restricted in his travel and performing opportunities, and ostracized by many fellow musicians, the once lionized musician wrote directly to Leonid Brezhnev for permission for him and his family to leave the country for two years, which was granted. Traveling ahead of his family with a suitcase, two cellos and his Newfoundland dog, he experienced a final indignity at the airport when customs officials wouldn't let him take his medals. Sixteen years elapsed before he returned to Russia, and when he did the Soviet regime was no more.
This book, which appeared shortly before Rostropovich's death, deals with his Soviet career, and Elizabeth Wilson, who is perhaps best known for her biography of Dmitry Shostakovich, as well as one of the cellist Jacqueline du Pré, is uniquely qualified to write it. She actually studied cello with Rostropovich at the Moscow Conservatory from 1964 to 1971 and, in addition, was the daughter of Sir Duncan Wilson, Britain's ambassador to Russia when Rostropovich's situation became acute. The book deals extensively with Rostropovich's work at the Conservatory, where he joined the faculty soon after completing his post-graduate work there in 1948, at the age of 21, and remained until his departure from Russia. Wilson's fellow students Natalia Shakhovskaya, Alexander Knaifel, Misha Maisky, Natalia Gutman and Ivan Monighetti are a few of his illustrious protégés.
To hear his students tell it, studying with Rostropovich was not just an education in cello playing but an education in life. He disliked dealing with purely technical aspects of playing, insisting that they be bound up with the musical result. Even playing with a beautiful tone was unimportant if not backed by musical purpose. Instead of telling students to play softly here or change their bowing there, he sought to inspire their musicality with images from life. Although he sometimes gave private lessons, he favored a classroom approach in which all his students participated and benefited from his work with a given individual. When he was having trouble explaining a point to Maisky about Pyotr Tchaikovsky's "Rococo Variations," he finally said "look at all those beautiful girls sitting there. Pick one and just play for her," knowing full well, as did everyone else in the class, that Maisky had a crush on one of them. Like most great musicians, Rostropovich had innate, superhuman musical skills, in particular a phenomenal memory -- all put to staggering use in a 1963-64 cycle of 11 concerts embracing 44 works for cello, including more than 20 premieres.
For a musician of such prodigious gifts and boundless energy, the limitations of a single instrument were understandably confining. He responded both by expanding the possibilities the cello offered as an outlet for him and by broadening his own musical pursuits. He worked determinedly to win greater acceptance of the cello. Irritated that the instrument was excluded from the first Tchaikovsky Competition in 1958, he ensured that a new division devoted to cello was in place for the Tchaikovsky's second installment four years later. Above all, he was a catalyst for new compositions, giving the world premieres of more than 200 works.
Early on he tried his hand at composing, though he quickly concluded that his efforts were outclassed by those of his idols, Shostakovich and Sergei Prokofiev. An accomplished pianist, he often accompanied his wife, the soprano Galina Vishnevskaya, in recital, and he regularly illustrated points in class on the piano, not the cello. His m?tier became conducting, but primarily after he left Russia. "I have always dreamed of a cello with one hundred strings," he once wrote. "I have envied conductors who inspire orchestral musicians in an artistic vision for which no single instrument possess sufficient means of expression." His father, who was also a cellist but died when Mstislav was only 15, had urged his son to become an instrumentalist before turning to conducting so as to win the respect of his players. The younger Rostropovich made his debut as a conductor only in 1962, later conducting at the Bolshoi Theater until his work there was unceremoniously curtailed.
Wilson is generous in allowing her fellow students to relate their own experiences with the maestro. But the cumulative result is repetitiveness, as they spin yet more variations on the theme of what a fount of inspiration he was or relate further anecdotes about the demands he placed on them. A fair amount of the book is for the cello aficionado, and portions even seem pitched to Wilson's own circle. But the author's discussions of interpretive issues relating to individual works are often illuminating, and a comprehensive index makes them readily accessible as a reference source to the student or serious amateur.
Rewarding, too, are Wilson's discussions of Rostropovich's relationship with three 20th-century giants, Prokofiev, Shostakovich and Benjamin Britten. Rostropovich was only 26 when Prokofiev died, yet the composer created significant works for him, perhaps most important the Symphony-Concerto (Sinfonia Concertante), whose later incarnations reflect Rostropovich's suggestions. Shostakovich's wife told Rostropovich in confidence that if he wanted Shostakovich to write a piece for him he should never ask him to. The strategy worked, and in a touching moment Shostakovich sought to make sure that Rostropovich really liked a new piece (the First Cello Concerto) before he asked Rostropovich's permission to dedicate it to him. Rostropovich was less reticent about badgering Britten, who also became a close friend; the composer's companion, tenor Peter Pears, jokingly complained that Rostropovich was a bully who wanted Britten to write exclusively for him.
Rostropovich was nothing if not strong willed, and had zero tolerance for incompetence. Regarding an early tour, an official chided him for directly informing the American impresario Sol Hurok what he would play, rather than going through the Culture Ministry. Accordingly, Rostropovich phoned the ministry to tell them what works he planned to program, information that was duly passed on to Hurok: Bach's Suite No. 7 in F minor, the Mozart Fourth Cello Sonata, Scriabin's Cello Sonata -- all nonexistent, of course. More serious was his revulsion at the official attacks on Prokofiev, Shostakovich and others in 1948, which must have been a formative event in shaping his attitude toward the regime. He later asserted that, unlike many other musicians, he never expressed the slightest doubt about these composers, and they responded by writing music for him. Wilson gives a real feeling for this indomitable personality. There is a reference to Vishnevskaya singing at the Bolshoi in a new production of Tchaikovsky's "Francesca da Rimini" -- it was Sergei Rachmaninoff's "Francesca" that she sang -- but otherwise the book is thoroughly researched and fluently written.
George Loomis writes about classical music from Moscow and New York.
The pages Wilson devotes to Rostropovich's steadfastness and growing despair in the face of governmental pressure are among the most gripping of her book, as one would expect. Restricted in his travel and performing opportunities, and ostracized by many fellow musicians, the once lionized musician wrote directly to Leonid Brezhnev for permission for him and his family to leave the country for two years, which was granted. Traveling ahead of his family with a suitcase, two cellos and his Newfoundland dog, he experienced a final indignity at the airport when customs officials wouldn't let him take his medals. Sixteen years elapsed before he returned to Russia, and when he did the Soviet regime was no more.
This book, which appeared shortly before Rostropovich's death, deals with his Soviet career, and Elizabeth Wilson, who is perhaps best known for her biography of Dmitry Shostakovich, as well as one of the cellist Jacqueline du Pré, is uniquely qualified to write it. She actually studied cello with Rostropovich at the Moscow Conservatory from 1964 to 1971 and, in addition, was the daughter of Sir Duncan Wilson, Britain's ambassador to Russia when Rostropovich's situation became acute. The book deals extensively with Rostropovich's work at the Conservatory, where he joined the faculty soon after completing his post-graduate work there in 1948, at the age of 21, and remained until his departure from Russia. Wilson's fellow students Natalia Shakhovskaya, Alexander Knaifel, Misha Maisky, Natalia Gutman and Ivan Monighetti are a few of his illustrious protégés.
 Itar-Tass Rostropovich (right) honors Shostakovich at a gala for the composer in 1966. |  |
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For a musician of such prodigious gifts and boundless energy, the limitations of a single instrument were understandably confining. He responded both by expanding the possibilities the cello offered as an outlet for him and by broadening his own musical pursuits. He worked determinedly to win greater acceptance of the cello. Irritated that the instrument was excluded from the first Tchaikovsky Competition in 1958, he ensured that a new division devoted to cello was in place for the Tchaikovsky's second installment four years later. Above all, he was a catalyst for new compositions, giving the world premieres of more than 200 works.
Early on he tried his hand at composing, though he quickly concluded that his efforts were outclassed by those of his idols, Shostakovich and Sergei Prokofiev. An accomplished pianist, he often accompanied his wife, the soprano Galina Vishnevskaya, in recital, and he regularly illustrated points in class on the piano, not the cello. His m?tier became conducting, but primarily after he left Russia. "I have always dreamed of a cello with one hundred strings," he once wrote. "I have envied conductors who inspire orchestral musicians in an artistic vision for which no single instrument possess sufficient means of expression." His father, who was also a cellist but died when Mstislav was only 15, had urged his son to become an instrumentalist before turning to conducting so as to win the respect of his players. The younger Rostropovich made his debut as a conductor only in 1962, later conducting at the Bolshoi Theater until his work there was unceremoniously curtailed.
Wilson is generous in allowing her fellow students to relate their own experiences with the maestro. But the cumulative result is repetitiveness, as they spin yet more variations on the theme of what a fount of inspiration he was or relate further anecdotes about the demands he placed on them. A fair amount of the book is for the cello aficionado, and portions even seem pitched to Wilson's own circle. But the author's discussions of interpretive issues relating to individual works are often illuminating, and a comprehensive index makes them readily accessible as a reference source to the student or serious amateur.
 Itar-Tass Rostropovich returns to Moscow in 1990. | |
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Rostropovich was nothing if not strong willed, and had zero tolerance for incompetence. Regarding an early tour, an official chided him for directly informing the American impresario Sol Hurok what he would play, rather than going through the Culture Ministry. Accordingly, Rostropovich phoned the ministry to tell them what works he planned to program, information that was duly passed on to Hurok: Bach's Suite No. 7 in F minor, the Mozart Fourth Cello Sonata, Scriabin's Cello Sonata -- all nonexistent, of course. More serious was his revulsion at the official attacks on Prokofiev, Shostakovich and others in 1948, which must have been a formative event in shaping his attitude toward the regime. He later asserted that, unlike many other musicians, he never expressed the slightest doubt about these composers, and they responded by writing music for him. Wilson gives a real feeling for this indomitable personality. There is a reference to Vishnevskaya singing at the Bolshoi in a new production of Tchaikovsky's "Francesca da Rimini" -- it was Sergei Rachmaninoff's "Francesca" that she sang -- but otherwise the book is thoroughly researched and fluently written.
George Loomis writes about classical music from Moscow and New York.