A biography of a person who has already written two volumes of their memoirs seems somewhat superfluous. Yet Harvey Sachs realises the paradoxical nature of autobiography and authorised biography: the teller of the tale relates only what he or she wants the reader to know. Unless the subject is particularly vainglorious, or thick skinned enough to expose those embarrassing (to themselves and to others) little incidents that many people would choose to ignore or gloss over for various reasons, then their "life" remains, for better or for worse, an abridged version.
Harvey Sachs claims to have written this book not as a replacement to Rubenstein's own lengthy volumes, My Young Years (1973) and My Many Years (1980), but as a reflective adjunct to them. Cutting out all the verbiage in Rubenstein's selective recollections, and inserting Sachs's revelations regarding the more distasteful aspects of the pianist's lifestyle, allows the reader to have a fuller, somewhat more realistic picture. "One of my basic tasks," writes the scholarly Sachs in his preface to this minutely detailed, slightly tedious and pedantic book, "has been to compare Arthur Rubenstein's official self portrait with the unofficial portrait that his papers, the people close to him, and outside observers have created cumulatively."
Rubenstein was born (after his mother's intention to abort him was thwarted by his aunt) into a middle class family of Polish Jews in 1887. Possessed of a musical talent so prodigious and obvious that it was recognised and nurtured from when he was three, he first played the piano in public when he was seven, and made his formal debut in Berlin in 1900, where he was hailed as an inter pretative genius. Yet before he left his teenage years behind, Rubenstein had chosen to neglect the technicalities of piano practice, concentrating instead on enjoying the merits of a bon vivant lifestyle and the all pervasive company of adoring women two by products of his fame that he continued to indulge in for the remainder of his life.
From the age of fifty Rubenstein was recognised as one of the great masters of the piano, yet his public persona of a consummately elegant musician who was dubbed "the last romantic" ("I am not a good looking man, he told an interviewer in 1962; "You must remember that to win a woman you do not need looks.") was constantly at odds with his family life. For a man who committed adultery on his wedding day to prove to himself that the wasn't trapped by his marriage it comes as little surprise to discover that his arrogant, adolescent, and deeply rooted obsession with romantic sex knew no bounds.
Despite assuring his wife, Nela, that his promiscuous days were over, Rubenstein continued to conduct affairs with numerous' women throughout his married life. Other bizarre behavioural" contradictions abound: he could never go to sleep in the bed of a paramour or prostitute because he wanted to remain in full, wakeful control. According to his daughter, Eva, he possessed a "tremendous amount of charm, huge charm; he could be killing you and charming you at the same time".
Narcissism is a natural component of the celebrity make up, as is self preservation. Thoughtless cruelty isn't. Rubenstein's last, ailing years were spent in the company of a woman young enough to be his granddaughter, after he had parted from his wife of over forty years with the words "You never loved me." For a man dedicated to discovering the intrinsic quality of each piece of music he performed, Rubenstein was conversely adept at looking into the souls of those who loved him - and who desperately wanted to love him.