As far as Freidenberg was concerned, the siege of Leningrad was a “double act of barbarity, Hitler’s and Stalin’s.” Typically, Hitler’s propaganda acted in unison with Stalin’s when it came to the city on the Neva. The Germans had a good picture of the horrible conditions inside the city but preferred not to publicize it. When they needed to make a propaganda point about hunger on Soviet territory, German newspapers published photographs of emaciated children in the city of Kuibyshev. There wasn’t a word about Leningrad. The German tactic was explained this way: “The population of Leningrad not only had to be wiped from the face of the earth, it had to be forgotten.”147
Soviet photographers in besieged Leningrad did their best to falsify the tragic situation. In the seventies, the Soviet writer Daniil Granin went to the official archives in search of photographs of the blockade years. He was particularly interested in pictures taken at Leningrad plants and factories. Granin recalled “factories destroyed by bombs, exhausted people who tied themselves to the lathes and machines to keep from falling.” He found nothing like it in the archives. “We went through thousands of photographs taken by reporters in those years. We saw people at work, laborers—men, women, stern or smiling, but invariably hearty. And very few signs of hunger or suffering.”148
One of the main acts of Stalin’s propaganda was the performance on August 9,1942, of Shostakovich’s Seventh Symphony in the besieged city. This performance had been prepared and carried out like a military operation. It was run by Alexei Kuznetsov, Zhdanov’s righthand man. Additional musicians were deployed from the front to the Leningrad Philharmonic over the objections of the generals, who asked, “Make music, not war?”149 But the Party bosses explained to the generals the political significance of performing the symphony. Its score was delivered by special military plane from Kuybyshev to Leningrad.
Because important Party and military leaders of the city were expected at the concert, Soviet forces had to protect the Leningrad Philharmonic from German fire. This was the task of Lt. Gen. Leonid Govorov (later marshal of the Soviet Union), commander of the Leningrad front. A few weeks before the performance, military intelligence actively searched out German artillery batteries and observation posts. Three thousand large-caliber weapons were provided for the operation—code name Squall. As a result, the Soviet artillery was able to open heavy fire on the enemy on the day of the concert. The stunned German artillery was put out of commission during the time of the performance.
The Leningrad premiere was broadcast on the radio. Before it started, the announcer stated solemnly,
Dmitri Shostakovich has written a symphony that calls for struggle and affirms faith in victory. The very performance of the Seventh Symphony in besieged Leningrad is evidence of the inextinguishable patriotic spirit of the Leningraders, their stalwartness, faith in victory, readiness to fight to the last drop of blood, and to win victory over the enemy. Listen, comrades.
As Bogdanov-Berezovsky later recalled, Philharmonic Hall (formerly the Assembly of the Nobility) was overflowing, and he had the impression that the whole city had turned out for the concert. In the boxes sat Kuznetsov, Govorov, and other party and military leaders. The weary and hungry Bogdanov-Berezovsky thought that
the brightly illuminated Great Hall of the Philharmonic, with its beautiful combination of blinding white, gilt, and gentle raspberry velvet tones, and its flawless architectural proportions, looked even more festive than it had during the most solemn prewar concerts. Compared to the facades of the buildings on the streets, full of wounds, it seemed like an apparition from a wonderful fairy-tale world.
The program said that the Seventh Symphony was dedicated to Leningrad. It is hard to imagine a more grateful audience. Everyone realized that this was a historic occasion. “No one will ever forget this concert on August 9. The motley orchestra, dressed in sweaters and vests, jackets and collarless shirts, played with inspiration and agitation.… When they played the finale, everyone in the audience stood up. It was impossible to listen to it sitting down. Impossible.”150
Many in the audience wept, as had happened during the premiere of Shostakovich’s Fifth Symphony. In both cases such a reaction was the result of shock created by the unexpected emotional attack, when the music spoke of common tragedy. To the sounds of the Seventh, Leningraders wept for their fate and that of their city, slowly dying in the grip of the most ruthless blockade of the twentieth century.
