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Mstislav Rostropovich the decree, which said Shostakovich's compositions and Prokofiev's were no longer to be played. Then we were told to go to a big meeting. Several Communist professors said, "What a wonderful decree. We were all in error. We thought Shostakovich and Prokofiev had talent. Now we understand that we were blind and deaf." I myself was forced to criticize Shostakovich and say he was a terrible composer. But I knew he and Prokofiev were geniuses, because these idiotic Communists had given me an excellent education. I remember being in Budapest with a group of artists on March 6, 1953, the day after Stalin died. A ballerina in my group took me aside and said, "I have bad news. Prokofiev died yesterday." Prokofiev was my second God, along with Shostakovich. I cried for several days. My tears blended with everyone else's. They were crying for Stalin, but I had absolutely dry eyes for Stalin.
In 1955-56 they sent three Soviet artists to the U.S. for the first time since the Revolution: Emil Gilels, David Oistrakh and me. Of course, we were watched by our KGB "nannies" to see that we behaved properly. We were a political weapon. We would give interviews saying that we had such a great life, that we were very happy. We would blind people. We knew the truth, but we were afraid to say it even to one another.
PHOTO CREDIT: VANGELIS RASSIAS-GAMMA LIAISON |
