SLAVA!

Cellist Mstislav Rostropovich, or ‘Slava’ as he was known to beloved friends and musicians the world over, left an overwhelming and enduring musical legacy upon his death in April 2007, aged 80. His accomplishments have influenced cellists from all corners of the globe. As our Honorary Patron and inspiration to the London Cello Society, his presence remains a vital force, urging us onward to open new frontiers and opportunities for the cello and for music.

On 30th November 2008 at London’s Cadogan Hall, we will celebrate his legacy with a concert, film excerpts and a forum comprised of his friends and colleagues. Elizabeth Wilson, author of Mstislav Rostropovich: Cellist, Teacher, Legend, will moderate the panel. Below are extracts from her superb and very readable biography.

In fact, Slava could easily have become a composer, for when he was twelve, an accident nearly put an end to his cello-playing.

One day my mother made my favourite dish – a vinaigrette salad. Times were hard, and we lived poorly, so for me it was a real treat. She told me to go into our room and not touch anything on the table until she had finished preparing dinner in the kitchen. As we lived in a communal flat, eight other families shared the kitchen, which of course was the scene of daily domestic scandal.
I was so excited at the anticipation of this treat that I started dancing around the dining table. At a certain point I jumped on to the wooden stool which I used to practise on. The stool toppled over, I lost my balance and fell forwards on top of my right arm. I felt a terrible pain in the wrist, and cried out.

On hearing some shouts my mother thought nothing of it, assuming that it was just a normal ‘communal flat’ scandal. She didn’t appear at once, but when she did she was horrified at what she saw. When I got up and disentangled my arms from under me, we saw that there was a break, since my right hand was clearly at a tangent with the rest of my arm. The ambulance was called, and at the hospital it was discovered that I had a double fracture of the wrist. I was operated on under general anaesthetic. When I came to, my forearm was under plaster.
The plaster was removed six weeks later, and I then discovered that I had lost the ability to rotate my wrist and forearm. My hand was turned away from my body and this meant I couldn’t make the necessary forearm rotation to allow me to place the bow on the strings. It looked very bad, and it seemed that I might never play the cello again.

A second operation was suggested, but my father wouldn’t allow it, as he thought it too risky. Bathing the hand and forearm in hot water was suggested. A little wooden trough was made for this purpose out of an old fruit box lined with oilskin. I discovered that I got relief from these immersions, and continued them three or four times a day for the next six months. Gradually I won back this rotating movement millimetre by millimetre.

In the mean time I got on with my composition studies at the Conservatoire high school. I remember writing some rather good pieces for violin and left-hand piano which I could perform.
Six months later I managed at last to put the bow on the string, even if it was at a fairly odd angle. I have never thought about this, but it might be true to say that this fracture affected my bow position, which always had a hint of outward rotation in it, with the elbow somewhat lowered. It’s true to say that as I have long arms, this also makes it natural for me to keep the elbow low.

All in all, this experience was a great lesson to me in life-manship. I realised that it was my intense unflagging desire to play the cello which gave me such dogged determination. Without this desire I would have had to become a composer I suppose!
P18, p19

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