Elisabeth Leonskaja – A Portrait

It goes without saying that her performances of Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto in B flat minor, that special gem of pianistic virtuosity and Russian provenance, have gone down in history for their rapturous reception. It is a matter of honour, too, for an artist with her roots, to delight audiences with the other two Tchaikovsky piano concertos and his Concert Fantasy – works that have remained relatively unpopular in the West. Her wide-ranging repertoire also encompasses Shostakovich, Prokofiev, Chopin, Mendelssohn, and much more.

Yet still it is Elisabeth Leonskaja’s performances of music concerned with the »last things« that always come to mind first. Like Beethoven’s last three piano sonatas, the »shortest programme in the world« as she calls it with a grin, especially in light of the fact she likes to play them without any break in between. The idiosyncratic two-movement structure of the final opus 111 with its monumental variation movement, which fades away quietly at the end, seems to aim in a previously unheard and deeply impactful way entirely at rapture, profundity, farewell and transcendence – a domain of Leonskaja.

And then there’s its counterpart, the »longest programme in the world«, consisting of the last three Schubert sonatas. Leonskaja’s thoughtful, loving approach to Schubert’s epochal piano epics and her respect for his otherwise often ignored repetition marks transport us right to the epicentre of this great novel in three volumes. Leonskaja not only possesses the calm and staying power for such an undertaking. She also masters the paradox of portraying Schubert’s instability, as it were, in a precisely tared balance. Meaning, for instance, that seemingly cheery dances and dreary restlessness flow seamlessly into one another, that the surprise of the harmonic deviations is neither overplayed nor emphasized, which would otherwise mean that the whole thing loses itself in details. On the contrary, it is precisely the narrative flow that makes Leonskaja’s interpretations so captivating – and this is where all the details are carefully incorporated. It is as if she is like a sleepwalker, intuitively following the path into Schubert’s inner soul.

Nobody thinks about technical brilliance or mere dexterity here anymore. A more obvious example is Leonskaja being named »Priestess of the Arts« in 2016 by the Republic of Georgia, her former homeland that she continues to love so much. »That’s not my fault though,« she laughs in her fine Viennese German with distinctly Russian overtones – only to then, quite typically for her, carefully analyse the words having uttered them with such spontaneous emotion: »A priest is different to a king, but even a king is a kind of servant. I wouldn’t want to be a queen, that is a terrible fate. But a priestess ... It’s always about responsibility. For music and for people.« Elisabeth Leonskaja is in no doubt that her vocation is inextricably linked to service, interpreting texts and serving the work: »Music is a sacred art.«

The Grande Dame celebrates this sacred art both alone at the piano and together with orchestras. She is a particularly passionate chamber musician. Here, too, she manages time and again to touch on that which cannot be spoken. A good example here is when she joined the three surviving members of the Artemis Quartet on a concert tour in 2015 to commemorate the late violist Friedemann Weigle. »Not only did they have to come to terms with the loss of a friend. They also had to go back on stage without him. A thousand emotions ...« It is hard to imagine a more empathetic and supportive partner than Elisabeth Leonskaja for such a physical, emotional and musical tour de force – expressed of course through music in a predominantly tender way, expressing grief and melancholy, but also the gratitude that allows us to look to the future.

Very much in the spirit of Thomas Mann, who once wrote about »two ways of embracing life«. There is »one that is unaware of death; it is rather simple-minded and sturdy, and another one that is acquainted with death, and only this way, I think, is of true spiritual value. It is the way of embracing life chosen by artists, poets and writers.« The artist Elisabeth Leonskaja has truly embodied this embracing of life – ever since her musical beginnings in Tbilisi, where she was born in 1945. Her parents had fled Odessa to escape the pogroms. For her mother in particular, who had studied singing and piano and then lost everything, it was her heartfelt desire to hear her daughter make music. »Papa always used to say: let the child live happily for longer! But I didn’t feel any pressure.« Little seven-year-old Lisa passed the entrance exam at one of the more than 300 (!) music schools in Tbilisi without ever having played the piano before. This is nothing particularly special though and Leonskaja waves it off: »Every child in Russia starts off at the age of seven, and every child is a child prodigy in the eyes of their parents.« However, not every child makes their debut as a soloist playing Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 1 at aged eleven.

Leonskaja went on to study at the Moscow Conservatory. It was there that Sviatoslav Richter recognised her eminent talent and took her under his wing. This marked the beginning of a musical partnership and, at the same time, the start of a precious and ever-deepening friendship. The 1993 joint recording of Edvard Grieg’s arrangements of Mozart piano sonatas – or to put it another way: Grieg’s freely composed accompaniment by a second piano to the »Sonata facile« K. 545, the C minor Fantasia K. 475 and the Sonata K. 533/494 – is a captivating example of their artistic relationship. »Richter always used to say that the timing was especially challenging with Mozart, that he was much less forgiving than Beethoven, for instance,« says Leonskaja. She goes on to reveal that she is tending nowadays to believe that the emotional content of Mozart’s performance needs to be just as fast-paced as the extreme speed of his composing. And sometimes you overshoot the mark or don’t reach it: »That is what makes it so tricky.«

When she was permitted to leave the USSR at the last minute in 1978 and rushed straight from the airport to rehearse at the Vienna Konzerthaus, the programme included Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 5 with the Vienna Symphony Orchestra under the baton of Erich Leinsdorf, a work that opens with grand imperial gestures. »At one point, Leinsdorf said: ›Undo your belt‹,« Leonskaja recalls with a laugh. It really is little wonder though, under such circumstances, that she was only gradually able to find her usual looseness, thanks to the utmost concentration. She had only recently received a visa invitation from Israel, which was immediately registered by the Soviet authorities and countered with a ban on leaving the country. »Sviatoslav Richter’s wife then vouched for me, and I think that’s why I got the passport I needed after all – on the very morning of this rehearsal. So I immediately boarded the plane for Vienna.« Vienna it was to be, and Vienna was to remain the new base and home for this passionate walker to this day.

She is just as much at home here in the »Musikverein« as she is in the Konzerthaus, and our meeting is held in the Konzerthaus at her request, as »you can always find a quiet corner there«. The porter has mail for her, and, sat on the bench in the foyer, employees keep passing by, smiling and nodding in greeting. A rehearsal of Brahms’ violin concerto emanates from the Grand Hall, making us feel at home.

»Every morning when I open my eyes, I’m happy to be in Vienna. This city is phenomenal, there is a love for music, a love for theatre. I owe it an incredible amount for my development, my spiritual growth.« That said, Leonskaja has also retained a certain critical distance – and smilingly quotes the actor Gert Voss, who once said that you can quickly become like a piece of Sacher cake here if you’re not careful: »You contemplate a lot here. You get sleepy. You have to fight with yourself. And what I miss is more emotional exchange between people – beyond superficial niceties. I was pleased and felt reassured when I read about this in works by Stefan Zweig and Arthur Schnabel, who felt the same way.«

Leonskaja reveals that her recent focus on the music of Arnold Schoenberg in particular has propelled her forward: »It is so extremely polyphonic and absolutely brilliant. Sometimes you almost want to give up because it’s so difficult to understand everything and find the line. Only once you can hear through everything, and grasp the different intensities of all the voices, does everything become clear.« She has also immersed herself with a passion in the correspondence between Schönberg and Alma Mahler-Werfel.

»I find the mentality of Schönberg’s time within reach. Alma Mahler was an amazing individual who helped many people from her almost omnipotent position. But I was very fascinated by one particular sentence that Schönberg once wrote to her: ›Believe me, madam, that I am not arrogant, but rather that I am feeling my way forward every step of the way like a blind man‹.«

Schönberg, the supposed master constructor, who – as it turns out – is groping around in the dark and proceeding intuitively: Elisabeth Leonskaja is moved by such things. That’s because she too sees herself as the antithesis of a strategically superior person who thinks with their head alone. She sees herself instead as though she were on a hike. If something potentially attractive appears in the distance, she will head over towards it until her expectations are either confirmed or not.

From the Brahms admirer Schönberg, it is just a small leap back in time to Brahms’ early and only three piano sonatas – another of Leonskaja’s beloved »mono-programmes«. Brahms was practically still a teenager when he wrote them and was full of energy, like a young racehorse. Everything flowed out of him immediately and miraculously, but there is nonetheless an enormous development. In the end, you can already recognize the great symphonist in him.« When it comes to new works in her repertoire, she is currently vacillating between Debussy and Spanish music. »It would be wrong to say: ›I’m thinking about it‹. It’s more of a feeling, an intuitive process. And if it feels like it fits, then I look into it more in practice. Life begins on stage.«

This article appeared in Elbphilharmonie Magazin (Issue 2/24).
Translation: Robert William Smales