In early 1936, Sergei Prokofiev, one of the most celebrated composers of the 20th century, decided to leave Paris and settle in Moscow, returning to the USSR (see the timeline). His return has been widely interpreted as a highly symbolic event — one that has fueled conflicting narratives. A common claim in Western scholarship is that Prokofiev was deceived into returning, only to later find himself trapped by the Soviet regime. One of the most influential works advancing this view is Simon Morrison’s The People’s Artist: Prokofiev’s Soviet Years. But does the historical evidence support this interpretation?

Morrison presents a narrative in which Sergei Prokofiev was “lured” back into the Soviet Union under false promises that his international career would remain unchanged. He frames the issue as follows:

The reasons for his relocation are complicated and, in their own way, frightening. It emerges that the steel-willed composer never intended to remain in the Soviet Union. The regime needed celebrities, and he was lured into becoming one of them on the promise that nothing would change in his international career and that Moscow would simply replace Paris as the center of his operations. (The People’s Artist, p. 3)

I examined Morrison’s sources — in particular the the letters between Prokofiev and Levon Atovmyan between 1933 and 1934, the 1925 invitation letter from Nadezhda Bryusova, and Prokofiev’s lost of traveling permissions in 1938. The available evidence shows that Morrison’s story doesn’t hold up.

The Atovmyan correspondence: no evidence of deception

Morrison suggests that Prokofiev was actively recruited to the USSR through a concerted effort by Soviet officials. He states:

The forty-four letters and telegrams exchanged by Atovmyan and Prokofiev between 1932 and 1934 attest to the seriousness of the recruitment effort. A letter from May 4, 1933, finds Atovmyan meticulously tending to the logistics of Prokofiev’s latest visit to the Soviet Union. (The People’s Artist, p. 19)

Morrison himself published the translation in English of the correspondence between Prokofiev and Atovmyan from 1933 to 1952 available in the Russian State Archive of Literature and Art. The translations are available in Sergey Prokofiev and His World. Of these, only three letters, transcribed in the end of this article, date from before 1941. In the preface to the translations, written by Nelly Kravetz, we learn that some of the correspondence between Prokofiev and Atovmyan are archived in the “Glinka” Museum of Musical Culture (which was renamed in 2018 to Russian National Museum of Music, or RNMM) and some on the Serge Prokofiev Foundation Archive, currently at the Rare Book and Manuscript Library, in Columbia University (when the book was published, the archive lived in Goldsmiths College, London)

GTsMMK [The “Glinka” Museum - C.B.] possesses the letters and telegrams sent by Prokofiev to Atovmyan between September 16, 1932, and September 7, 1952, but only two letters from Atovmyan to Prokofiev, the first from the early 1930s, the second from July 12, 1943. The GTsMMK holdings also include fourteen letters sent by Prokofiev to Atovmyan between 1932 and 1934, which concern the programs of his concerts in Moscow, the dates of his visits to the Soviet Union, and performances of Soviet music in Western Europe. These fourteen letters have not been included in this gathering, since they are being prepared by GTsMMK for a separate Russian-language publication, and are thus inaccessible. In addition, the Prokofiev Archive at Goldsmiths College, London, contains forty-four pieces of correspondence between Prokofiev and Atovmyan, likewise not included here. This material, too, concerns Prokofiev’s Soviet commissions and performances between 1932 and 1934, before his permanent relocation from Paris to Moscow. (Sergey Prokofiev and His World, p. 192)

I couldn’t find references to this publication of the RNMM in the Museum’s website. I’m trying to contact them and will update this article if I have news on this. The material of the Prokofiev Archive is likewise not available online, as far as I know, and I suspect it should be harder to acquire because of its volume.

In any case, all three letters translated by Morrisson (two from Atovmyan to Prokofiev and one from Prokofiev to Atovmyan) discuss logistics and commissions — not a secret recruitment plan, much less a deception.

Additionally, Morrison cites a recollection from Atovmyan about a conversation with Prokofiev during his concerts in the USSR in 1932:

I found out during the conversation that [Prokofiev] had been obliged over the course of the year to give about 100 concerts and to compose in snatches, primarily on the train. Because of this he had to get used to writing [instrumental works] as piano scores and marking the instrumentation on them. When I suggested settling in Moscow he replied: ‘You should understand that I feel constrained in one country: even if I have 4–5 concerts in Moscow, Leningrad, or supposedly Kiev, Baku, and Tbilisi—that’s the maximum I can have. I’ll die here of starvation.’ ‘You won’t die,’ I replied, ‘We’ll guarantee you commissions for creative work.’ He took an interest in these commissions and, hearing the details, said: ‘Yes, it’s worth thinking about your offer.’ (The People’s Artist, p. 18)

This account comes from unpublished texts by Atovmyan that Morrison had access to through Atovmyan’s daughter. It also shows no plot to lure Prokofiev with false promises. Instead, it reveals a practical negotiation: Prokofiev’s was a professional composer, and Soviet officials offered commissions to incentivize him.

One might argue (as does Morrisson) that this was an active recruitment move by the Soviet State. But, so what? Actively inviting Russia’s best known artists to return to their country and offering commissions to do it doesn’t imply deception. On the contrary, the timing seemed to be right: the civil war had ended, the country was reindustrializing, and the dispute between nations were intensifying. This kind of move was not uncommon: Prokofiev found the Soviet offer more appealing, but Stravinsky, one might argue, was also “lured” (by wealthy patrons) to the US, where he enjoyed a comfortable life.

Judging by Kravetz’s description of the archival material, Morrisson is referncing the letters at the Serge Prokofiev Foundation Archive when he mentions the “fourty-four letters and telegrams”. Although we don’t have access to this material, Kravetz hints that this correspondence also “concerns Prokofiev’s Soviet commissions and performances between 1932 and 1934”. So it’s probaly safe to assume that they follow the same pattern as the 3 we have: financial and logistical discussion — not a plan to deceive Prokofiev.

The 1925 invitation: a promise kept, not broken

While Morrison argues that Soviet officials actively recruited Prokofiev in the 1930s, he also claims that deception began even earlier — with an official invitation in 1925. However, a closer look at this invitation reveals no broken promises.

In 1925, Nadezhda Bryusova, writing on behalf of Anatoly Lunacharsky, invited three Russian émigré musicians, Prokofiev, Igor Stravinsky, and Alexander Borovsky, to return to the USSR. The original letter is archived in the Russian State Archive of Literature and Art (Reference: Fund 2009, Inventory 2, Storage Unit 4) Morrison transcribes this letter in English, and a transcription of the original in Russian is available via Marina Frolova-Walker’s article Effekt prisutstviya: Prokof’ev v rossii 1920-kh godov.

In response to your address to the Director of the Arts Department of the State Academic Council comrade [Pavel] Novitsky, the People’s Commissar for Enlightenment Anatoliy Vasilyevich Lunacharsky instructs me to convey the following to you:

The government agrees to your return to Russia. It agrees to grant you full amnesty for all prior offenses, if any such occurred. It stands to reason that the government cannot grant such amnesty for counter-revolutionary activities in the future. It likewise guarantees complete freedom of travel into and out of the RSFSR as you desire.

I am certain that the entire musical world of our Union will sincerely welcome your return. (The People’s Artist, p. 18)

Правительство согласно на Ваше возвращение в Россию. Оно согласно дать Вам полную амнистию за все прежде совершенные проступки, если даже таковые имели место. Само собой разумеется, гарантии неприкосновенности в случае какого бы то ни было контрреволюционного поведения в будущем Правительство дать не может.

Гарантируется также полная возможность въездов и выездов из РСФСР по Вашему желанию (Effekt prisutstviya: Prokof’ev v rossii 1920-kh godov, p. 323 - Frolova Walker ommits the “Bryusova” part of the letter and transcribes only the official invitation, in the middle)

Morrison frames this as a false promise, suggesting that Soviet authorities later violated it by revoking Prokofiev’s travel rights. But this is misleading for several reasons:

  1. Prokofiev did, in fact, travel freely in and out of the USSR between 1927 and 1938. The Soviet government honored the guarantee for over a decade.
  2. He was not “lured” to the USSR; he willingly moved there permanently in 1936.
  3. When he lost his foreign travel rights, it was under circumstances that applied to all Soviet citizens — not as part of a secret plot against him.

So where is the deception? So far, none is in sight.

The 1938 passport exchange: standard procedure, not a conspiracy

Morrison makes a major point out of Prokofiev’s 1938 passport exchange, presenting it as a turning point where Soviet authorities revoked his ability to travel. 

Upon returning to the Soviet Union from abroad in early 1938, Prokofiev exchanged his external passport for his internal one bearing a Moscow residency stamp. Following this transaction, his ability to travel abroad came to an abrupt halt: the NKID henceforth declined to give him back his external passport, with various reasons being invented to explain the official change in his status from vïyezdnoy (allowed to travel) to nevïyezdnoy (disallowed). Even having the external passport would not have enabled him to leave the country, since he would also have needed to obtain an exit permit (razresheniye na vïyezd zagranitsu) from the police, issued on behalf of the NKVD. (The People’s Artist, pp. 85-86)

Was this the culmination of a long-planned effort to trap the composer in the USSR? No. In fact there was nothing unusual on what Morrisson describes.

  • Since at least 1926, Prokofiev knew he would eventually have to surrender his Nansen passport. His January 20, 1926 diary entry confirms this.

He [Arnold Zukker and Lev Zeitlin, referenced by Prokofiev jokingly as a single person “Tse-Tse”], by the way, says that it was Litvinov who allowed us to be given Soviet passports, without taking away the Nansen ones. Of course, they won’t persecute me, but it’s still better that I use the latter as little as possible.

Он, между прочим, рассказывает, что это Литвинов разрешил выдать нам советские паспорта, без отбирания нансеновских. Конечно, преследовать меня не будут, но всё же лучше, чтобы я поменьше пользовался последним. (Дневник, часть 2, с. 463)

  • A Soviet decree from April 22, 1931 disallowed dual citizenship. From that point on, any émigré who became a Soviet citizen had to surrender their foreign passport.
  1. Foreign citizens accepted as citizens of the USSR do not enjoy the rights and do not have to fulfill the obligations associated with the citizenship of another state.
  1. Иностранные граждане, принятые в гражданство Союза ССР, не пользуются правами и не несут обязанностей, связанных с принадлежностью к гражданству другого государства.

In order to better account for the population of cities, workers’ settlements and new buildings and to relieve these populated areas of people not connected with production and work in institutions or schools and not engaged in socially useful work (with the exception of the disabled and pensioners), as well as in order to clear these populated areas of hiding kulak, criminal and other antisocial elements, the Central Executive Committee and the Council of People’s Commissars of the USSR decides:

[…]

  1. To introduce a single passport system with mandatory registration throughout the USSR during 1933, primarily covering the population of Moscow, Leningrad, Kharkov, Kyiv, Minsk, Rostov-on-Don and Vladivostok.

В целях лучшего учета населения городов, рабочих поселков и новостроек и разгрузки этих населенных мест от лиц, не связанных с производством и работой в учреждениях или школах и не занятых общественнополезным трудом (за исключением инвалидов и пенсионеров), а также в целях очистки этих населенных мест от укрывающихся кулацких, уголовных и иных антиобщественных элементов Центральный исполнительный комитет и Совет народных комиссаров Союза ССР постановляют:

[…]

  1. Ввести единую паспортную систему с обязательной пропиской по всему Союзу ССР в течение 1933 года, охватив в первую очередь население Москвы, Ленинграда, Харькова, Киева, Минска, Ростова-на-Дону и Владивостока.
  • The first standalone Soviet Citizenship Law of August 19, 1938 defined who was a Soviet citizen and, crucially, declared that persons (1) living in the USSR, (2) that dind’t acquire their citizenship after this law and (3) couldn’t prove their foreign citizenship would be considered stateless.

Article 8. Persons residing on the territory of the USSR who are not citizens of the USSR by virtue of this Law and who do not have proof of their affiliation with foreign citizenship are considered stateless persons.

Статья 8. Лица, проживающие на территории СССР, не являющиеся в силу настоящего Закона гражданами СССР и не имеющие доказательств своей принадлежности к иностранному гражданству, считаются лицами без гражданства.

  • Prokofiev chose to settle in the USSR in 1936, meaning that he voluntarily became a Soviet citizen and, like everyone else, had to follow Soviet law.

  • Even after moving, he retained his international passport for two years (1936–1938). Not to mention the previous decade when he already ported a Soviet passport together with his international passport.

So, contrary to what Morrisson suggests, surrendering his passport was an absolutely standard procedure for someone in Prokofiev’s situation.

It should be noted in passage that Morrisson doesn’t provide primary evidence for “the official change in his status from vïyezdnoy (allowed to travel) to nevïyezdnoy (disallowed)”, but, assuming it is true, it’s important to keep in mind that it happened in 1938, during the height of the Yezhovshchina, under NKVD chief Nikolai Yezhov, who was himself later accused and convicted for conspiracy against the State. This was a period of intense political repression during which travel restrictions, arrests, and heightened surveillance affected many Soviet citizens. Given this broader political context, Prokofiev’s shift likely had more to do with internal security measures than any long-planned effort to trap him in the USSR.

Morrison suggests that the authorities “invented excuses” to deny Prokofiev a new international passport but offers no actual evidence for this claim. The only anecdote he shares is that his wife, Lina Prokofieva, sarcastically complained about waiting in line for bureaucratic matters in Moscow. That’s hardly proof of a secret political maneuver, not to mention it demonstrates the type of elitist mindset that perceives having to engage in day-to-day activities as having a “harder time [than Prokofiev’s].”

She wrote, with sarcasm surely intended, that instead of traveling to Leningrad to see Hamlet, she spent the day “standing in line with the polite citizens” of Moscow. (p. 86)

By 1940, Prokofiev’s planned tour to the United States was canceled because he was unable to obtain the necessary travel permits. While Morrison suggests this was due to the Soviet government’s control over him, the broader context suggests otherwise. By this time, Europe was on the brink of total war, and international travel had become increasingly restricted. In 1941, as Nazi Germany invaded the Soviet Union, Prokofiev was evacuated — alongside many other artists — to the city of Nalchik, in the Caucasus, further demonstrating that his situation was shaped by wartime policies rather than a targeted plan to keep him confined.

Conclusion: a false narrative without evidence

In summary:

  • Prokofiev was allowed to travel in and out of the USSR for over a decade.
  • He chose to settle permanently in 1936, knowing the legal consequences.
  • The surrender of his international passport in 1938 followed standard Soviet laws.
  • The loss of his foreign travel rights, in the same year, was unlikely related to a plan “lure” and trap him and likely related to the broader context of the Yezhovschshina.

The claim that Prokofiev was “lured” back under false promises is not supported by primary sources. The very documents Morrison cites indicate that Prokofiev’s move was a voluntary professional decision, shaped by commissions, artistic opportunities, and political events. The later restrictions on his travel were the result of broader Soviet legal and security measures, not a calculated trap.

In the end, Morrison’s argument relies more on assumptions, selective interpretation, and anti-communist bias than on concrete evidence. His narrative aligns with a long tradition of ideological readings of Soviet history, but when scrutinized, it does not hold up.

Appendix

Below is a timeline of Prokofiev’s tours through the USSR and the transcription of Morrison’s translations of the three Prokofiev -Atovmyan letters from the 1930s.

Timeline of Prokofiev’s Movements Between the USSR and Abroad

  • 1918 – Leaves Russia for the United States.
  • 1920 – Moves to Paris, becoming a leading figure in the European avant-garde.
  • 1925 – Receives an official invitation from Nadezhda Bryusova on behalf of Anatoly Lunacharsky, offering amnesty and freedom of travel.
  • 1927 – First return visit to the USSR (two months). Concerts in Moscow and Leningrad, warmly received.
  • 1929 – Second visit (three months). Meets key Soviet cultural figures and secures commissions.
  • 1932 – Third visit (four months). Explores permanent relocation, negotiates commissions.
  • 1934 – Fourth visit (six months). Receives long-term Soviet contracts but still resides primarily in Paris.
  • 1936 – Moves permanently to the USSR with his family, settling in Moscow.
  • 1938 – Exchanges foreign passport for an internal Soviet passport, limiting international travel.
  • 1940 – Planned U.S. tour is canceled due to travel restrictions.
  • 1941 – Nazi Germany invades the USSR; Prokofiev is evacuated to Nalchik with other artists.
  • 1953 – Dies in Moscow on March 5, the same day as Stalin.

Letters between Levon Atovmyan and Sergei Prokofiev

December 5, 1933 - Atovmyan to Prokofiev

Sergey Sergeyevich!

I’m forwarding your account statement. Unfortunately we don’t have a typewriter with a wide carriage, so we weren’t able to do it in the format you requested. But the enclosed statement is clear enough: the total income is shown above, then the total expenses, and finally the amount left over. Some clarification:

  1. The cost of the hotel (6 additional days in June), a total of 630 rubles, is included as an expense. In order to balance this sum, 500 rubles for student lessons is included as income.
  2. The 2,000 rubles you received from the Leningrad Union is not entered as income, because this sum, as explained, was not issued to the account for concert honoraria, but to the account for honoraria for public performances.
  3. The cost of the tickets to Negoreloe (the last time) and Leningrad is included as an expense, because these trips were not part of the plan. I have provisionally included them: if you find that they are incorrect, they will be written off.
  4. Also, the honorarium for your public concerts is not listed as income. This money will go to your account at the Administration.

Thus 12,650 rubles, 70 kopecks are in your account at the SSK. I will report back regarding your accounts at the Administration (honoraria for public performances) and the savings bank. That’s everything financial, it seems. Please let me know if something isn’t clear.

I’ll send you the six-volume Lenin edition on December 7. I delayed so that the package will reach you in Paris.

I’m forwarding a letter I received for you. They came again from Tairov. They insist on signing the contract as quickly as possible. I will ask about the projects at the accepted rates: if 5,000 rubles is enough, we’ll sign the contract.

I’ll write about the April and May concert plans in my next letter. Greetings to Lina Ivanovna. How was your trip?

Atovmyan

Moscow, Tverskoy Boulevard, Building 25, Apartment 10, Union of Soviet Composers

March 30, 1934 - Prokofiev to Atovmyan

Levon Tadevosovich,

In reply to your letter of the 17th I can report that Defauw has confirmed his intention to perform Shebalin’s symphony at the end of April or in May. I asked him to let me know when this performance will take place. After that we’ll send him a telegram requesting the material be returned.

I will arrive in Moscow by train from Negoreloe on the morning of April 8. Please meet me and reserve a room in a hotel — but if you can’t do so, take care that Gusman does. Since I’ll be bringing a lot of music it would be good to notify Negoreloe customs in advance.

See you soon.

Yours, SPRKFV

April 9, 1934 - Atovmyan to Prokofiev

Sergey Sergeyevich,

I’ve sorted out the “essentials” of your finances. The totals I show are rounded off:

  1. The Composers’ Union: 6,000 rubles (see the enclosed statement).
  2. Your current account at the savings bank: 5,500 rubles.
  3. Your royalty account at Vserosek: 6,000 rubles.

The 4,000 rubles I requested have not yet been transferred to the savings bank. The 4,000 will be transferred to the savings bank on 11/IV.

Then you will have 9,500 rubles at the savings bank and 2,000 rubles in the royalty account. As of today, therefore, you have 17,500 rubles at your disposal. In addition, you still haven’t received:

From GABT: 718 rubles.
From Lenfil: 3,000 rubles.
From Radio: 3,000 rubles. SSK should receive these funds (see the enclosed statement).
From Tairov to the Administration for the Protection of Authors’ Rights: 2,500 rubles

The total not yet received:
3,718 rubles
———————
6,218 rubles, 26,718 rubles including the previous sum.

These are all the “essentials.” The fee for the hire of Lieutenant Kizhe has not yet gone to your account. It will be disbursed to you in May.

You know what will be due to you after your arrival:

Ukraine: 1,500 rubles
Radio: 4,000 rubles [=] 5,500

If you have any questions, please let me know by telephone.

Greetings, Atovmyan

Forgive me for not typing. We will provide a typed accounting before you leave.