Herschkowitz Encountered

Author(s): Viktor Suslin, Dmitri Smirnov, David Drew and Gerard McBurney
Source: Tempo, New Series, No. 173, Soviet Issue (Jun., 1990), pp. 39-43
Published by: Cambridge University Press
Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/946399 .
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Herschkowitz Encountered
An apostlesent by Webern...
(Extractsfrom an interview with the composerViktor Suslin,
conductedin London duringthe 1989 Almeida Festivalfor BBC
Television's films about Soviet music, Think Today, Speak
Tomorrow, directedby BarrieGavin.)
Herschkowitz ... was a quite brilliant theoretic-
ian and an interesting composer, who through
horrifying and unimaginable circumstances
found himself in the Soviet Union in I94I. He
had lived in Vienna for some years ... and had
been unable to emigrate to another country. I
do not know why this was so, but I think there
was a quota for Rumanian citizens going to the
USA. So he turned to the USSR. He found his
way to Central Asia and later came to Moscow.
Of course, he spoke not a word of Russian,
and many times during the War he was stopped
and his documents were examined because in
his outward appearance he was terribly like the
picture of the typical German spy in the poster
that was hung on walls everywhere - he had a
hat, spectacles, and because he was always cold
he always had his coat collar turned up, just like
in the picture. He looked very suspicious!
Filipp Herschkowitzwith Elena FirsovaandDmitri Smimov (photos:DmitriSmimov, courtesyofGerardMcBurey)
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His influence on new Russian music was
immense. I would not like to say that, if
Herschkowitz had not been there, then nothing
would have happened: that would of course be
an exaggeration. But if he had not been there,
then everything would have happened differ-
ently, becauseit was thanksto him that a number
of Moscow composers received, as it were, a
thread which led back directly to Webern, to
Schoenberg and to Berg.
I did not study with him for very long, only
for about three months. He would not accept
money for teaching me, and would not engage
in analysisof I2-note music. Insteadhe analysed
Beethoven. In particularhe analysed the struct-
ural significance of the pause in Beethoven, and
the connexion in Beethoven's music between
the motive and the pause. This was a complete
revelation to us, because the system of analysis
used by Herschkowitz was, you might say,
some kilometers away from the analytical
system practisedin the Moscow Conservatoire.
It was the deepest possible structural analysis,
the analysis of, as it were, the most minute
details ofmusical form.
40 HerschkowitzEncountered

He did not just work in Moscow, he went to what had become ofRadu Lupu?What was the
Erevan and to Leningradand readlecturesthere. concert repertoirelike in England?
He had material published although unfortun- Only when the tea things were cleared away
ately very little. But I think it will all be did Herschkowitz consent to answer my
published in time. questions. He quickly dismissed his period of
I consider that he is one of the most important study with Berg as valueless, except for its
theoreticians. It is thanks to their acquaintance having led him to Weber. Once he began to
with him that many composers (especially in talk about his real teacher, however, his eyes lit
Moscow, of course) came to understand what up; his face was taut and slightly staring into the
musical form is, and began to concern them- dark night outside the window. I sometimes
selves with it on a quite different level. This was found it hard to follow his Russian and was
not some kind of quantitive addition to their distracted by the curious sing-song of his soft
knowledge, but a great leap forward, into a new old-man's voice. But I remember being fascin-
order. I think that without Herschkowitz we ated and moved by his overpowering devotion
would not have works that are really interesting to Beethoven, and struck by his sense that the
from a formal point of view, such as certain really unhappy course his life had taken had
works by Schnittke, for instance, or Gubai- meant that he had writtenless than he would
dulina. Everything would have been quite have liked.
different. He was the seed. I saw Herschkowitz and his wife at one or
I myself would say that you could describe two concerts after that and visited them again at
Herschkowitz as an apostle sent by Weber to home before leaving for England in June. The
teach the barbarians. I do not think that the conversation always returnedto the same areas,
Russians are barbariansin a negative sense; but although I gradually became aware of others of
as far as comparison goes with the Central his enthusiasms - Mahler, especially - and of his
European, Germanic culture which produced betes noires:Soviet music being a particularly
for us men such as Wagner, such as Schoenberg, comic victim of his sarcasm.
Berg and Webern, what was happening in the In the autumn I returnedto Moscow for three
Soviet Union in the middle I950s can, I think, days and did not have time to see him. I was
without exaggeration be described by the word most surprised, about three months or so
'barbarism'. Herschkowitz helped many to tear afterwards, to receive a letter, apparently from
themselves free of this, and to stand up. a French diplomat, but written in Russian in a
Translatedby GerardMcBumey culturedbut almost illegibly crampedhand. The
diplomat had merely been the postman.
Herschkowitz began in a tone of high offence.
Herschkowitzremembered
Why had I not been to see them during my last
When I first arrived in Moscow in September visit? I had been rude and inconsiderate. He
I984, the name of Filipp Herschkowitz was then asked me to write from time to time -
unknown to me. But little by little, through my Write in English... we will understand - to tell
first winter in that city, I heard him spoken of him about musical life in the West, what music
more and more. Gradually I began to form was being played and how. I did not do this.
some impression of how important was this When I returned to Moscow in 1987 I felt
Jewish Romanian pupil of Weber in the musical guilty and avoided contacting him. Once I
life of Moscow - not the official musical life, of travelled on a bus with him for a mile or so and
course but the hidden life: 'our real life', as Sofia he stared at me balefully although I don't think
Gubaidulina has called it. he recognized me. Then quite suddenly came
But it was only in the spring of the following the news that after all these years he had been
year that I was finally introduced to him. Dmitri given permission to leave with his wife for
Smimov and Elena Firsova had arranged to Vienna. For Herschkowitz the opening of
take me to the tiny one-room flat on the Western perestroika had come late.
edgc of Moscow where he lived with his artist One day Dima Smirnov told me that
wife, Elena, and several cats. Herschkowitz had Herschkowitz had heard that I was there and
no telephone, and was notoriously wary of had asked me to ring him. Ironically, at the very
meeting foreigners. time that they were preparing to leave, he and
A formal Russian tea was laid on a miniature his wife had been allocated a slightly larger flat
table and we six squashed round. Conversation and a telephone. But before I could get a chance
was stiff. Where was I from? No, he had never to ring I met Filipp Moiseyevich and Lena at a
heard of any English composers. Did I know concert. They were polite but insisted that I

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should ring to make arrangements. Rather
gauchely, I told Herschkowitz that I was
particularly keen to talk to him because nearly
all the most interesting contemporary comp-
osers in Moscow had studied with him and I
wanted to hear about that aspect of his work.
Both he and Lena were furious. 'In the first
place I have never taught anyone in my life and
in the second place there are no such people as
Russian composers anyway so how could I have
taught them!' Lena chimed in: 'It's a complete
mystery to Filipp why everyone wants to claim
that they studied with him.'
When I did go and see them, however, such
irritations were forgotten. They were in the
midst of packing for Vienna and both the
atmosphere and everything Herschkowitz said
were fraught with mingled diffidence and
excitement at returning to the city of his youth
and of Webern (not to mention Beethoven). He
talked of his plans with all the enthusiasm of
someone half a century younger.
* * *
Within a year he was dead. And now the most
recent news is that his widow has reappearedin
Moscow with, it is said, the manuscript of a
book, apparently over 500 pages long. Those
who had doubted that he had actually been
working at anything over the years have been
proved wrong.
Amidst the accidents of war, Filipp Hersch-
kowitz had been swept East to spend nearly 50
years in a country where he did not want to be
and in which he could not be at home. But
despite that, he succeeded in bringing to many
Soviet musicians an immense richness of
thought, of musical ideals and aspirations.
Listening to Filipp Moiseyevich I was quite
often reminded of Hans Keller, another
musician from the same tradition. Certainly
both men brought a belief in the highest
standards and an unflinching faith, which they
were determined to pass on to others, in the
music of the great tradition.
GerardMcBumey
MOSCOW- VIENNA
Autumn 1986
A first visit to Moscow, in the first year of
Gorbachev: at the airport on arrival, a familiar
friendly face, and an unfamiliar one.
P., my official escort for the next six days,
speaks several languages and is expert in inter-
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HerschkowitzEncountered 41
national copyright. He claims no intimate
knowledge of the aims and achievements of
modem Soviet music, but confesses to being a
jazz fan, and gratefully endorses a Three Minute
Plan formulated after the discovery that it is
possible to stand in the shadowy entrance to the
gallery of the Tchaikovsky Hall, and either to
slip out unobserved, or quietly to take a seat.
The Plan is eminently democratic: after the first
three minutes of any new work, either party has
the right to signal a tactical retreat to the 'bar'
where tea and a lugubrious fruit juice are
available. But if, before any given piece, either
party can convince the other that there are
musical or extra-musical reasons for staying the
course, the escape-clausesare suspended for the
duration. To just such an arrangement- the first
of several- P. owes the pleasureof hearing in its
entirety a new concerto by Khrennikov.
Four days later, sitting with Firsova and
Smirov in their apartment on the outskirts of
Moscow, I happen to ask, naively, if they have
any knowledge of or acquaintance with
Herschkowitz. Of course we do, they cry - he's
a dear friend of ours, and he lives in this same
housing development a few minutes' walk
across the mud and puddles. How few? About
fifteen, they reply, I sigh: in less than twenty,
P. is due to take me back to a series of appoint-
ments and engagements that will last until 11 pm
or later; and the only gap in the arrangements
for the following day - my last complete one - is
too shortfor a returnvisit to thatremote quarter.
Aside from the honour of meeting Hersch-
kowitz, however briefly, the problem, I explain,
is that I had promised a colleague that I would
try to contact him and discover whether he had
received a letter of musico-biographicalenquiry
regarding his friend and fellow Webern-pupil
Leopold Spinner. But how is he to be reached?
Like everyone else in that cluster of unclad
tower-blocks, Herschkowitz is still without a
telephone and has to use a basement call-box.
Smimov generously suggests that the only way
of my reaching him in time would be via a
handwritten note which he would deliver that
very afternoon. On the understanding that
Herschkowitz is a night-bird and is not known
to rise before midday, I scribblea note in halting
German, suggesting that he call me at my hotel
around midnight that evening.
On the way to our afternoon appointment,
the ever-courteous P. listens sympathetically to
a brief account of Herschkowitz, and agrees
that there will be no chance of meeting him
before my final hour or two in Moscow. Since
street maps are unobtainable and evidently a
42 'Herschkowitz
Remembered'
"
'.it t^ I.Y .a . photographs.Few of the facesareeitherrecog-
E-
,.
::~
0 1=~~~~~~~~~~~ii~i;:
. .X : i:
state secret, I ask P. whether the road to Moscow
Airport leads anywhere near Herschkowitz's
home, and am hardly surprised to learn that it
does not. Nevertheless P. insists that a detour
will be practicable so long as the morning's
programme is completed more or less on
schedule, and provided we leave Herschkowitz's
apartment for the airport no later than 2 pm.
The phone in my room rings precisely at
midnight. 'Hier Herschkowitz', announces a
cavernous voice. On a purely pragmatic basis
and hence without inappropriate emotion, we
agree to a 2 pm deadline: if I haven't arrived by
then, Herschkowitz must assume that the plan
has misfired, and that I am already on the way
to the airport.
The timetable for my last complete day has
the kind of gap in the middle that Westerners
tend to associate with food. Having discovered
by the second day that Moscow is unfamiliar
with Western concepts of lunch in any form, I
have persuaded P. to accompany me on a
shopping errand - not, as he hoped, to the
tourist shops, but to somewhere specializing in
posters. 'You mean scenic posters?' he asks,
brightening. 'No', I reply, 'political ones'. He
looks anxious, and I haven't the heart to tell
with what motives a student-friend had begged
me to bring back a selection of current rubbish.
The emporium to which the reluctant P. has
led me is surprisingly busy, but is not designed
for Western tourists and plainly doesn't attract
them. After selecting about a dozen suitably
bombastic and strident items, I notice some
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soberportraitsof militaryandpoliticalpersons,
donein pencilor ink, anddoubtlesstracedfrom
nizableor appealing,but one of them bearsa
strikingresemblanceto a certainlong-departed
and in this context highly controversialpoli-
tician. Returningto the queue where P. is
keeping my place, I tell him, with studied
nonchalance,whatI believeI havejustseen:not
a ghost, buta portraitof Trotsky.
P.'s shockeddisbeliefis so sternlyexpressed
that I feel impelledto attemptan emollientif
feeblejoke. As the assistanthandsme the great
gun-barrelof my wrapped-upposters,I turnto
P. with a smileandwonderaloudwhetherMrs
Thatcher'scustoms officialswill allow me to
importsuch dangerousgoods. P. searchesmy
facefor some clue, but misconstrueswhatever
he sees there: 'I think', he says slowly and
gravely,'I thinkyou arebeing ...' (hehuntsfor
themotjuste) 'satirical'.
Everythingon the morningof the last day
takesslightlylonger thanit shouldhave done,
with the resultthat by middaywe are already
farbehindschedule.Undaunted,P. insiststhat
ourdrivercanbringus to Herschkowitzbefore
the2 pm deadline.But he hasn'treckonedwith
theuncharted wastesbetweenthetower-blocks.
Ten minutes past the deadlineour car is still
lurchingfrom potholeto potholeas I suddenly
realizethatI forgotto tellHerschkowitzaboutP.,
who in anycasespeaksno German.Nevermind,
saysthetactfulP., I'lltakeyou to his apartment
andthenreturnin about 5 minutes- you won't
miss your plane. At precisely 2.20 we arrive at
Herschkowitz's door and ring the bell.
Smirnov and Firsova have told me of
Herschkowitz's happy marriage with a young
Lithuanian painter; but it is Herschkowitz
himself who opens the door, 20 minutes after
our agreed deadline, and sees two raincoated
men, one older than the other. The frozen
second that elapses before I can identify myself
seems interminable.
While stuttering my apologies for our late
arrivaland imminent departureI am led through
the small hallway, with its Lithuanianpictures,
books, and crucifixes, into a room that seems
familiarless becauseof Vienna itself than because
of the familiar rooms of musicians who half a
century ago and more left that city and others
like it.
Tell me, tell me, is Spinner still alive? What
has he composed in England? Do they play his
music? Pity.
The questions are as sharp and dry as a page
of Fux, but the hands and eyes speak of
 'HerschkowitzRemembered' 43

innumerable other questions for which there double-basses in Spinner's string section, joins
will be no time. in, and is teased. No, he replies, you're quite
The doorbell rings. It is P. again. As we drivewrong, I like the piece very much; of course it
across the plain towards the airport our 'comes from' Webern; but for me it sounds
conversation is mercifully undemanding, for closer to late Stravinsky.
there is nothing in my thoughts but the look in And how would it have sounded to you, to
the eyes of a man who has experienced those whom - had we met againand become acquaint-
ed - I might eventually have dared to put the
dangers to liberty and even to life itself that can
be signified by the unexpected arrival on a thirteenth question*? For myself at this stage I
cloudless afternoon of two strangersin raincoats. only know that Ricercatawas written, by a
master, in indelible ink, without aspiration
Konzerthaus,Vienna,8 March1990 towards extramusical success and without
thought or fear of failure; that it sounds new
Although I certainly told Herschkowitz about because it is
original and original because of the
Spinner's last completed (though never fair- manner in which it
develops, extends and
copied) score, the op.28 Kammersymphonie,I the possibilities of what was otherwise,
didn't even mention his last work for full enlarges
at the time of composition, a lost art. In short, it
orchestra, the Ricercataof I965. Today, a quarter is successful in the
of a century later, Heinz Holliger conducts its only relevant sense; and I
believe you would have felt at home with it.
world premiere with the Austrian Radio
David Drew
Symphony Orchestra. 'It's great music' he
exclaims after the Generalprobe, and there
ensues a many-sided discussion about the
Webern relationship. Gruber, who has been free * See 'Spinner, Die Reihe,and Thematicism: Notes towards a
to listen to the rehearsal because there are no thirteenth question', Tempo No. I46, pp.9-I2.

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