Great Historical Novels (97 page)

Authors: Fay Weldon

BOOK: Great Historical Novels

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Below the window, the street is quiet and empty, but he can still see her walking there, threading her way past the broken houses, transforming the world. When he closes his eyes, his fingers feel the smooth coolness of her face. Behind him, the stove has become a small point of warmth, a leaping blue flame, and there’s the bubbling roar of water coming to a boil.

Later, after a breakfast of strong unsweetened tea and black bread, he’ll read over the stack of paper, listening with his eyes, moving his hands in the air, shaping something invisible to others. If the day stays fine and there are no air raids, he’ll walk along the canal, just a few bridges, and then back home. It’s important not to meet or talk to people in the hours before.

Later still, he’ll walk the long stretch of Nevsky Prospect all the way to the Philharmonia Hall, slip in a back entrance and shut himself away in a small one-windowed room. Shortly before 6 p.m., while putting on his white shirt (not pressed as perfectly as he’d like, but clean), he’ll turn on the radio to experience the odd sensation of hearing himself speak.
‘Comrades,’ announces his voice in crackling tones, ‘a great cultural occurrence is about to take place in Leningrad. In a few minutes you will hear live, for the first time, the Seventh Symphony of Dmitri Shostakovich, our outstanding fellow citizen.’ And he knots a threadbare black tie around his neck, pulls on his jacket and slips a folded piece of paper into his breast pocket. Because he’s clearing his throat, he misses a few sentences of his first pre-recorded public address.

Opening the door, he walks steadily down a narrow corridor, leaving behind his radio-self still addressing the city of Leningrad. Or, at least, addressing those not already waiting for him in the auditorium, row upon row, stretching to the very back of the hall. ‘Europe believed that the days of Leningrad were over,’ the voice behind him is saying. ‘But this performance is witness to our spirit and courage. Listen!’

Pausing in the wings, he listens, too. What does he hear at this moment? The scraping of chairs, the small twang of violin strings, a quick arpeggio from a clarinet; and, beyond these, the rustling of clothing and shifting of bodies, some coughing and murmuring, the sounds of anticipation. When he cranes slightly forward, he can see a row of microphones pointed like guns towards the stage, ready to catch the Leningrad Symphony and broadcast it to the world.

He takes a deep breath and steps into the blaze of electric light, far brighter than any sun. Sweat leaps on his back, the orchestra rises to its feet, and the audience also stands, a dark gleaming mass of military badges and medals, and pearls.

Soon the fluttering will stop and the musicians will become still with concentration, their backs straight, their fingers in position, their bows and mouthpieces raised — and their eyes also raised to him. For one perfect complete moment he stands, poised on the edge of silence. The only sound is the telegram in his pocket, rustling as he breathes, moving as steadily as a beating heart.

Acknowledgements

I have found a number of books and articles about Shostakovich and the Leningrad Symphony extremely useful while working on this novel. They include: ‘Orchestral manoeuvres’ by Ed Vulliamy published in
The Observer Magazine
, 25 November 2001;
Shostakovich: A Life
by Laurel E. Fay;
Shostakovich and His World
, edited by Laurel E. Fay;
Shostakovich: A Life Remembered
by Elizabeth Wilson;
Story of a Friendship: The Letters of Dmitry Shostakovich to Isaak Glikman 1941–1975
, with commentary by Isaak Glikman, translated by Anthony Phillips;
Testimony: The Memoirs of Dmitri Shostakovich
as related to and edited by Solomon Volkov, translated by Antonina W. Bouis;
The New Shostakovich
by Ian MacDonald.

I would like to acknowledge W.W. Norton & Company for permission to quote from the poem ‘As if through a straw, you drink my soul’ in
Anna Akhmatova: Poems
, selected and translated by Lyn Coffin, 1983.

I am grateful to the following people for their help in varying ways, including general advice and support, close readings of the manuscript and the invaluable offer of quiet writing space: Jill Foulston, Sarah Lees-Jeffries, Rachel Paine and Rob Wilson, Sebastian Schrade, Dulcie Smart, Jon Stallworthy, John Wilson, and Antoinette Wilson. Many thanks to my agent Simon Trewin, my editor Jane Parkin, and Harriet Allan and the team at Random House New Zealand.

Special thanks to Margaret Quigley, Rachel Quigley, and Gustav Hellberg for their constant support and encouragement.

About this Book

June 1941: Nazi troops surround the city of Leningrad, planning to shell and starve the people into submission. Most of the cultural elite is evacuated, but the composer Shostakovich stays behind to defend his city.

That winter, the bleakest in Russian history, the Party orders Karl Eliasberg, the shy, difficult conductor of a second-rate orchestra, to prepare for the task of a lifetime. He is to conduct a performance of Shostakovich’s Seventh Symphony – a haunting, defiant new piece, which will be relayed by loudspeakers to the front lines.

Eliasberg’s musicians are starving, and scarcely have the strength to carry their instruments. But for five freezing months the conductor stubbornly drives them onwards to perfection, depriving those who falter of their bread rations. Slowly the music begins to dissolve the nagging hunger, the exploding streets, the slow deaths… but at what cost? Eliasberg’s relationships are strained, obsession takes hold, and his orchestra is growing weaker. Now, it’s a struggle not just to perform but to stay alive.

This is a profoundly moving novel about the resilience of the human spirit and the emotive power of great music.

‘Superb. An extraordinary period of history brought to life by a daring novelist’
Lloyd Jones, author of
Mister Pip

‘In a besieged city, a starving orchestra brings to life a great new symphony that will speak for Russia at war. Quigley’s novel, like the story it tells, is a heroic enterprise’
C.K. Stead

‘Deserves to be mentioned alongside Jane Smiley, Andrea Levy and Rose Tremain’
Sunday Herald

‘A symphony on the power of love – the love of music, home, family, city… A triumph on every level’
New Zealand Herald

‘Quigley’s story of the creation and performance of a masterpiece is a masterpiece in itself’
Nelson Mail

About the Author

Sarah Quigley is a New Zealand-born novelist, poet and critic. She has a D.Phil in Literature from the University of Oxford, and has won several awards for her writing.
The Conductor
was the highest-selling adult fiction title in New Zealand in 2011, remaining at number one for twenty weeks. Quigley lives in Berlin.

About Head of Zeus

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First published in New Zealand in 2011 by Vintage.

This edition first published in the UK in 2012
by Head of Zeus, Ltd.

The moral right of Sarah Quigley to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN (TPB): 9781908800022
ISBN (E): 9781908800824

Printed in Great Britain.

Head of Zeus, Ltd
Clerkenwell House
45–47 Clerkenwell Green
London EC1R 0HT

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