The Mem Oirs of Soidmon Volkov
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THE MEM OIRS OF DMITRI HOSTAKOVICH "The tragic horror of a trapped genius."-Yehudi Menuhin SOIDMONas related to and edited VOLKOV by Translated from the Russian by Antonina W. Bouis AtShostakovichs Moscow apartment: (from the left) the composers wife Irina, his favorite student, Boris Tishchenko, Dmitri Shostakovich, Solomon Volkov. On the wall, a portrait of Shostakovichas a boy byBoris K ustodiev. The inscription on the photograph reads: "To dearSolomonMoiseyevich Volkov in fond remembrance. D. Shostakovich.13XI1974. A reminder of our conversations about Glazunov, Zoshchenko, Meyerhold. D.S." LIMELIGHT EDITIONS NEW YORK TESTIMONY The Memoirs of Dmitri Shostakovich as related to and edited by Solomon Volkov Translated from theRussianbyAntonina W. Bouis All photographs except where otherwisecredited are from thepersonal collection of Solomon Vol lr.ov. First Limelight Edition, October 1984 Copyright© 1979 by Solomon Volkov. English-language translation copyright© 1979 by Harper&: Row, Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conven tions. Published in the United States by Proscenium Publishers Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Fitzhenry &: Whiteside Limited, Toronto. Originally published by Harper&: Row, Publishers, Inc. ISBN 0-87910-021-4 Manufactured in the United States of America Designer: Gloria Ade/sun Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Shostakovich, Dmitrii Dmitrievich, 1906-1975. Testimony: the memoirs o.f Dmitri Shostakovich. Includes index. I. Shostakovich, Dmitrii Dmitrievich, 1906-1975. 2. Composers-Russia-Biography. L Volkov, Solomon. II. Title. ML410.S5!1A!I 1984 780'.92'4 [BJ 84-4399 Contents Preface x1 Introduction xix TESTIMONY 3 Major Compositions, Titles, and Awards 277 Index 283 Illustrations Frontispiece: Irina Shostakovich, Boris Tishchenko, Dmitri Shostakovich, and Solomon Volkov Following page 86: Shostakovich and fellow students at Leningrad Conser- vatory The young Shostakovich Leningrad Conservatory Alexander Glazunov, composer and longtime director of the Conservatory Shostakovich with the great director Meyerhold With Meyerhold, Mayakovsky, and Rodchenko, 1929 Shostakovich's patron, Marshal Tukhachevsky, and his wife, Nina Nikolai Akimov, director of a scandalous production of Hamlet Mikhail Zoshchenko, the influential satirical writer Nina Varzar, Shostakovich's first wife With musicologist Ivan Sollertinsky, his closest friend Boris Asafiev, the great Soviet musicologist Stali� and Zhdanov at the bier of Sergei Kirov Time cover portraying Shostakovich in a fire fighter's ix helmet during World War II With his favorite student, Veniamin Fleishman Prokofiev, Shostakovich, and Khachaturian Playing for bomber pilots during World War II Khrennikov assailing Shostakovich at the first Compos- ers' Congress, 1948 The Congress in the session that condemned many lead ing composers Following page 182: In New York, 1949, to attend the Cultural and Scientif ic Congress for World Peace Shostakovich with his wife, Nina, in a box at Leningrad Philharmonic With his mother, Sofiya Vasilyevna, 1951 In the dressing room of his son, conductor Maxim Sho stakovich Paul Robeson and actor Solomon Mikhoels in Moscow Title page of Yiddish song collection edited by Shosta kovich, 1970 Accompanying a performance of his cycle, From Jewish Folk Poetry The composer at work With his third wife, Irina With the composer Muradeli, listening to folk musi cians in the Kirghiz Republic, 1963 The New York Philharmonic, under Leonard Bern stein, on its first visit to Moscow, 1959 Receiving a certificate from Aaron Copland in Moscow, 1960 With Solomon Volkov, 1965 Score of the Thirteenth Symphony inscribed to Volkov, 1972 With conductor Gennady Rozhdestvensky and Volkov, 1975 At a performance of his last quartet, 1974 With his young grandson Reading one of his many official speeches The funeral of Shostakovich, August 14, 197 5 x Preface MY personal atquaintance with Shostakovich began in 1960, when I was the first to review the premiere of his Eighth Quartet in a Leningrad newspaper. Shostakovich was then fifty-four. I was sixteen. I was his fanatic admirer. It is impossible to study music in Russia and not come across the name Shostakovich in childhood. I remember when, in 1955, my par ents returned in great excitement from a chamber concert: Shostako vich and several singers had performed his "Jewish Cycle" for the first time. In a country that had just been lashed by a vicious wave of anti Semitism, a prominent composer had dared publicly to present a work that spoke of the Jews with pity and compassion. This was both a musical and a public event. That was how I came to know the name. My acquaintance with the music came several years later. In September 1958,. Y evgeny Mra vinsky conducted Shostakovich's Eleventh Symphony at the Leningrad Philharmonic. The symphony (written after the 1956 Hungarian up rising) is about the people, and rulers, and their juxtaposition; the sec- xi ond movement harshly depicts the execution of defenseless people with naturalistic authenticity. The poetics of shock. For the first time in my life, I left a concert thinking about others instead of myself. To this day, this is the main strength of Shostakovich's music for me. I threw myself into studying all scores of Shostakovich that I could get. In the library, furtively, the piano reduction of the opera Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk District was taken out from under stacks of books. Special permission was required before I could get the mu.sic of the First Piano Sonata. The early, "left" Shostakovich was still officially banned. He was still defamed in music history classes and in text books. Young musicians met secretly, in small groups, to study his mu sic. Every premiere precipitated a struggle-hidden or overt-in the press, in musical circles, in the corridors of power. Shostakovich would rise and make his awkward way to the stage to respond to the loud calls from the audience. My idol would walk past me, his small head with its cowlick held carefully in balance. He looked very helpless, a misleading impression, as I later learned. I burned to help him in any way I could. The opportunity to speak out came after the first performance of the Eighth Quartet, an extraordinary work and in a sense his musical autobiography. In October 1960, the newspaper printed my ecstatic review. Shostakovich read it-he always read the articles about his premieres closely. I was introduced to him. He said a few polite phrases and I was in heaven. Over the next few years I wrote several other articles about his music. They were all published and they all played their part, great or small, in the contemporary musical process. I came to know Shostakovich during the years when he was perhaps most dissatisfied with himself. One could get the impression that he was trying to distance himself from his own music. The inner-not the external-tragedy of his situation became clear to me when, in the spring of 1965, I helped to organize a festival of Shostakovich's music. It was the first festival of its kind in Leningrad, the composer's native city; symphonies, choruses, and many chamber works were performed. I spoke with Shostakovich about festival-related activities in his rather elaborate hotel room. He was obviously nervous and avoided questions xii about his latest works. With a wry grin, he said he was writing the film score for a biography of Karl Marx. Then he stopped talking, and drummed his fingers feverishly on a table. The only concert of the festival that Shostakovich was willing to ap prove was the evening devoted to his students' works. He strongly im plied that I should agree with him about its importance. It was impos sible not to obey. I began studying the music of his students, burrowing deeply into the manuscripts. One of them in particular caught my eye: Veniamin Fleishman's opera, Rothschild's Violin. Fleishman had entered Shostakovich's class before the Second World War. When the front moved up to Leningrad itself, he joined the Volunteer Brigade. These were condemned men and almost none returned. Fleishman left behind no grave and no compositions except for Rothschild's Violin. The story of this opera, based on a Chekhov story, is full of tantaliz ing loose ends. It is known that Fleishman, at Shostakovich's sugges tion, had begun composing an opera of that name. Before he left for the front, he allegedly finished the reduction. But the only thing avail able to researchers is the score, written from beginning to end in Shos takovich's characteristic nervous handwriting. Shostakovich main tained that he had merely orchestrated the work of his late student. The opera is a marvel, pure and subtle. Chekhov's bittersweet lyricism is presented in a style that could be described thus: mature Shostako vich. I decided that Rothschild's Violin had to be staged. I could not have done it without Shostakovich, of course; he helped in every possible way. He could not come to Leningrad in April 1968 for the premiere; his son, Maxim, the conductor, came in his stead. It was a stormy and rousing success with glorious reviews. A marvelous opera was born onstage, and with it a new opera theater-the Experi mental Studio of Chamber Opera. I was the artistic director of the Studio, the first such group in the Soviet Union. A week before the premiere I had turned twenty-four. Then the official administrators of culture accused all of us of Zion ism: poor Chekhov, poor Fleishman. Their resolution read: "The stag ing of the opera pours water on the enemy's mill"-and it meant an irreversible closing of the production. This was a defeat for Shostako- xiii vich as well as for me. He wrote me in despair: "Let's hope that Fleishman's Violin will eventually get its due recognition." But the op era was never staged again.