From "This is Leningrad"

By Olga Bergholts
From "This is Leningrad"

As Shostakovich was driving to the radio committee, air raids began, but people all over the country, desperate to hear from Leningrad, were unaware that beneath the roar of gunfire and explosions, Shostakovich was on the radio.

Fortunately, the bomb did not fall near the Radio Committee.

Shostakovich, trying to suppress his considerable excitement, spoke in a hushed but clear voice, and began his speech with a seemingly calm air:

--An hour ago, I finished writing the second chapter of my new symphony. If all goes well, and I can finish the third and fourth chapters, it will become Symphony No. 7.

I was able to write two chapters in a fairly short time in Leningrad during the dangerous wartime. Why am I telling you this story? Because I want to tell you, the people listening to the radio, that our city is safe. Everyone is fighting in their own position. The intellectuals are sacrificing themselves wholeheartedly and fulfilling their mission just like the other citizens of Leningrad.

Coffins began to be seen around the city from the end of November (1941). However, instead of being carried solemnly and aloft as in a traditional funeral procession, they were slid along the snowy roads on sleds. People's bodies were getting weaker and weaker, and many could no longer walk, so they gathered up clothes and blankets and lay motionless for days in dark, freezing apartments. The only way these Leningrad residents, who were weak even to the point of death, could connect with the outside world was through the radio. When they heard human voices coming from this black dish (antenna) on the wall, they felt like they were not alone!

At that time, all the theaters and cinemas in the city were closed. Many residents didn't even have the energy to read books. The radio didn't play music or songs at the time, but it aired literary programs almost every day. There were a lot of poetry readings in particular. People were inspired by the poetry and wrote letters to the radio station.

There were also requests for readings of classical literature and Soviet literature. In January, we did a series of readings. The actor in charge, M. Yankevsky, was in pretty bad shape, his face was black, and he was barely breathing. One day, when he was entering the studio, a radio station staff member whispered to me:

"He might not last the whole day today. I'll join him in the studio just in case."

But Yankevski finished the reading and continues to work today.

In 1942, Shostakovich's Symphony No. 7, known as the "Leningrad Symphony," was performed in Moscow, and was scheduled to be performed in Leningrad the same year. However, many of the members of the Radio Committee Orchestra fell ill, some were drafted, and some died of starvation.

"The first violin is dying, the percussionist died on his way to work, and the horn player is also dying," I will never forget hearing radio station employee Babushkin dictate to the typist in a robotic tone of suppressed despair.

Nevertheless, the remaining members continued practicing. Then, when the idea of performing the Leningrad Symphony came up and the sheet music arrived, it seemed like an impossible dream, but everyone still wanted to perform it somehow. However, this symphony required about 100 players, twice as many as an ordinary orchestra, to perform it. Only 15 members of the Radio Committee orchestra remained. Nevertheless, they decided to perform it.

The city's Communist Party committee also supported the orchestra members by increasing their rations. Then, an appeal was made over the radio for the musicians to gather. The musicians were exhausted, but they still had to respond. Nagorniuk, a 70-year-old veteran horn player who had once performed under the direction of Rimsky-Korsakov, showed up. However, there were still not enough musicians, so the military band was called in to help out.

On August 9, 1942, the Philharmonic Hall was filled with citizens as it reopened for the first time in a long time. Even though we had not cried even when a family member died that winter, we could not hold back tears of hot joy.

(Translated by Mitsuru Eguchi)