IN A RARE venture into eloquence, Russian President Vladimir Putin spoke this week of the late Boris Yeltsin as "a person of a scale and soul inherent to Russia." This was true of Mr. Yeltsin. But if spoken of another Russian giant -- Mstislav Rostropovich, who died yesterday at age 80 -- these words would simply be understatement. For Mr. Rostropovich transcended nationality and culture. He represented the true greatness of Russia, a country from which he was exiled, with which he reconciled and which he chose, in his last days, as the place where he would die.

He fostered and fought for that outward-looking spirit among his people that embraces openness, understanding and, above all, liberty.

It was not an easy fight, but it was one in which freedom had no better friend. Throughout the period of ideological idiocy that stifled not only Russia's political life but its music, literature and all other forms of artistic expression, Mr. Rostropovich stood by his embattled friends, defended them and risked his own standing in doing so. When he had to leave his homeland, he made a new life in this country, and in doing so he brought new life to the musical scene for those of us privileged to live in the nation's capital, where he served as musical director of the National Symphony Orchestra for 17 years.

In America, as in Russia, what Mr. Rostropovich stood for was far greater than ideology or propaganda. It was freedom of expression and a passionate devotion to the arts and to the universality of the idea of political liberty that allows the arts to flourish. Mr. Rostropovich came here speaking little English and wondering what he would do for a living. So he spoke with his cello. It seems to have paid the rent, and more: He's left this city and much of the world in his debt.

"The Washington Post"