By Vestnik Kavkaza
Mstislav Rostropovich, cellist, pianist, conductor, social activist, human rights activist, would have marked his 86th birthday. He was born in Baku, where his family moved to from Orenburg at the invitation of the famous Azerbaijani composer Uziyer Hadjibekov. Over several decades Rostropovich became a citizen of the world. The head conductor of the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra, Moriss Jansons, shares his memories about the maestro.
“It is thought that outstanding people are always a bit odd. Mstislav Leopoldovich had no oddities. He was a wonderful person. He could communicate to anyone. He immediately opened his soul. Once we came to some official part and someone asked: “Where is Slava?” Galina Vishnevskaya replied: “Look where people are kissing, Slava will be there.” He was an open person. I witnessed how he arrived in Norway to give a concert, and the queen was in the hall. He was in Norway for the first time, the queen was sitting there, the moment was very official. But in three minutes they were chatting like friends: Slava was kissing her, the queen was kissing him. In three minutes! An open-hearted man,” Jansons remembers.
“At the same time he was a very demanding person. He didn’t allow codswallop or something of low quality. We didn’t see each other frequently, but when we talked we discussed a lot of interesting things. Concerts with him were amazing. I think such people are born once every 200-300 years. He was a unique and very interesting musician. He had outstanding musical imagination. When you are dealing with music, it means you don't simply play musical scores; to play what is written is too little. One would play everything right and a concert would be nice. But when you appeared in an absolutely different world, I call it the space, when you take off the material and are present in the world of images, content, atmosphere, and associations, each musician can have his own associations, this is a very different performance. Mstislav Leopoldovich had this terrific feeling,” Jansons says.
“Not long before his death we met in Munich with Slava, when it was Shostakovich’s anniversary. I invited him to participate in an evening devoted to Dmitry Dmitriyevich; and we know how he adored Shostakovich. We talked about the fact that people had no time to think and that silence helped musicians. And he told me: “Once I had a remarkable story. I was sitting at home in Moscow, and Shostakovich called me and asked to come. I came to him at once. He greeted me and asked to sit down. I sat. He said: “Let’s keep silent.” We were sitting and not talking for 45 minutes. Then Shostakovich rose and said: “Slava, thank you for spending this time with me.” And I left.” It was the deepest moment. It is a special moment when you keep silent and think, analyze. And I thought that we had no much time to think. We are running, experiencing stress, but don’t have time to analyze our life,” Jansons think.
