Eighth in Words

DMITRI SHOSTAKOVICH'S

8th SYMPHONY

- USSR 1943 -

		Jean-Christophe LE TOQUIN	

DMITRI SHOSTAKOVICH
1906 - 1975

8th Symphony
1943

Leningrad Philharmonic Orchestra
Conductor Evgeni Mravinski
March 1982 live recording, Leningrad
1 C.D. Philips 422 442-2

ADAGIO
(1st Movement)

(0'03) Hymn. Blackness. Open eyes cannot penetrate the darkness. (0'15) The city is in fervour. (0'36) It knows. Feelings of fear and fury stifle each other.

(0'59) High above, a light is burning. It is still weak and sheds no light (1'23). Its immanence imposes its pace. 

(1'36) It brightens; becomes blinding, inflicts pain. Bodies are bent, its icy breath blows, its roar eats away the flesh.
(2'38) It fades away, (2'50) the dimly lit sky remains dull, featureless. (3'00) Through the fog can be seen a straight and narrow pathway, the fine spidery branches of some Winter tree. (3'16) A man and a woman, the town around them seems distant; the consciousness of the forthcoming tragedy engulfs them in waves.

(3'51) They stand in a dazed quietness.

(4'06) From beyond the skylines rises a call to ruin, it pervades them; (4'49) dislocating force.

(5'07) A couple, (5'17) bound together. (5'24) Shoulder to shoulder they feel safe. In their chest, their voices sink and drown. (6'10)  Embraced, they are submitted.

(6'55) Anguish. (7'20) A thick blood seizes the brain, they are breathless. 

(7'51) Rest is a worn-out paralysis. (8'06) The news is spreading far and away by word of mouth.

(8'26) Their lives are folded back on themselves. (8'47) The echo softly brings back the foggy horns.
 
(9'09) An upsurge of love holds them, tighter.

(9'35) The oblivion that surrounded them dissolves into thin air; awake now, they remain still,  ultimate stillness.

(9'54) The hour of parting. (10'22) A whole people is hypnotised converging. (10'56) Long steam whistles are getting closer, (11’16) the crowd standing on the embankments (11'33) intends to approach, (11'44) here it comes rushing, heavy, black with soot under the beating drums. (11'58) The locomotive's unsteady pace takes him away (12'05) in a blaze of bugles. Victory already has a bitter taste.
(12'22) These soldiers are no longer parading, (12'31) in the dead of night the carriages cling to the rails. (12'42) Bawdy songs are exorcisms against fear; (12'59) when they die out,  each of them has to face his own fears, sitting in front of blind openings, (13'35) anticipating the terror.
(14'03) The train stops and is emptied, the fifes set the pace for the dazed men. (14'38) Decaying lights fly over the mountains. (14'52) That is where they are driven. (14'58) An aura, a swarm of lightning underlines the crests. (15'09) All is gone in a flash. The column is swallowed by the tunnel, bound for the final battle. In the smoke, the dust, the drifts of gasoline, it pierces through rock, bumps, speed, heroes. (15'48) The end of the tunnel is getting nearer, (16'00) and nearer.
(16'07) Nobody will stir; (16'16) the convoy is in the city itself. (16'27) They shall all behold the same wasteland. 
(17'06) The place is deserted. 

(17'15) In the early morning light. A flag, some barbed wire encircled by frost, a seated sentry. The man, far from his beloved, talks to her as if she could hear him. 
(17'52) He cannot forget what he has lived through, what his eyes have seen, (18'04) his strength gone, he tells his tale; (18'30) a stray animal, (18'42) his bewilderment is transmogrified into pain. (19'03) He is subdued. Alone. 
(19'22) ... An indescribable ointment; (19'27) she seizes him, warms him. He rises again for her.  
(20'06) She is replaced with the falling snow, (20'31) that spins like the world, (20'41) all around him. 
(21'07) Black smoke glides like a dead thing. (22'08) The wide road goes white to the horizon. (22'23) Trumpets celebrate the soldiers who took it. (22'46) Now these men are gone, their friends and families are scattered. They play for nothing.
(23'06) The man survives in the vast landscape. (23'56) His ravaged hope is still alive (24.30). 

ALLEGRETTO 
(2nd movement)

(0'01) A marching band ! White gloves, necks and bugles. In perfect marching order, they all follow the beating of the drum major's heavy stick. Metal shoulder pads, boots, shining belts, the dripping gold of medals. 
(1'11) Minds are haunted by other visions. (1'21) The city hided in the heart of its foundations is caught with hope. 
(1'38) Right in the middle of main street an impertinent presence, it dares defy the musical column that is muted a far.
(2'08) And here comes another, (2'27) and another again, they are about to start marching. (2'40) From the other end of the street somebody appears, approaches, passes, they turn around, mesmerized; (2'55) He is an oriental official, he has returned their salute.
(3'00) Behind him the marching band overtakes the recruits, swallows up them whole. (3'15)  They pick up speed, the sun right ahead. Chests heaved - left - right - (3'34) the drum-major raises his cane at the highest, the cohort rises up at his order; bracing up against gravity, they set foot on the first step of the stairway to the sky, they no longer touch the ground. Step by step they march by the balconies, the roofs, the hills. (3'54) Once in the heights, the wind rushes in to dislocate them, (4'00) they must resist, there is no turning back; a fight for JUSTICE, the FUTURE in their bosom,  their glorious DEATH. (4'21) The sceptical ones are thrown like puppets in the void.

(4'30) By taking its flight the army has set the town free. Suddenly the streets are crowded with pale, beardless uniforms. (4'47) Bayonets expel to the square mixed soft bodies, tears from women's hair and old caps, smalltousled heads, graceful arms, shirts cold with sweat.
(5'01) The sun is shining; from up-there everything seems quiet. The peaceful countryside passes by. A few snatches of salvos come through the thickening smoke. (5'33) We are far now. (5'42) Down here a child is peeking at the marching band, small centipede in helmet undulating in the sky, (5'55) glitters, so intense; bursts apart (6'04).

ALLEGRO NON TROPPO
(3rd movement)

LARGO
(4th movement)

ALLEGRETTO
(5th movement)

(0'02) Precise hands cut, sew, cook, pour, screw, wield, trim, weave, assemble clothes, metal, acid, gunpowder, all over the country. Struggling over their task, women repeat the same gesture to which they are devoted. Indifferent to what is not related to to their task, the days go on and on under pressing calls to increase production (1'26). The floor, swirls with exhaustion, mesmerizes those who are weakening; (1'42) stand up!
(1'48) Threatening gestures, the workers spit out their anger.
(2'06) All around the cannons, they are hushed by their gnawing heartbeats. (2'26) Work restarts. The thought that they have stifled themselves will no longer slow down the pace.

(2'57) From above the bays the order is given, twice. (3'06) An invitation to the show. The huge hall is stealthily filled. (3'23) The red curtains disappear in the ceiling, the regiment's orchestra is stationed on the stage, above them the official trumpet player is awesome and glitters. (3'50) Below him, the ballet of soldiers in formal uniforms is exhilarated; they dance static,crouching, with enormous tireless smiles. (4'20) Once the show is over, the spectators leave in the dark.

(4'32) Under the battlefield, (4'46) men have to face the need for heroes. (5'11) Their entrails become snake pits. (5'26) - Go forth. Here they come. To the front line. They are progressing, looking for the final sign, in a row, (5'50) - the order comes ! The infantry rush, towards the crest, legs furiously pumping, burdened by their gear, they climb, (6'06) reach the top of the hill exposed they overlook over around, (6'13) the adverse storm stands before them, aiming them, (6'16-0'00) fire it burns, fire it spurts them out of the ground; (0'13) they are lost. Senseless, arms outstretched they are looking for a landmark, an obstacle.

(0'51) Over there, a corpse..

Lying on the earth, chilled, it lets the frost bite it. It is a woman. She has fallen there, exhausted. Her senses, darkened by the haunting sweetness of her dream, sink into the ice.

(4'00) In her hollowed ribcage, the dispels radiance of a star dispels her bitterness; the acrid humour that oozes from her sets her vessels free.

(4'57) The intense sky-blue spirit of her childhood breathes on her, (5'40) the peaceful sinking feeling leaves her.

(6'20) She is restored to life; (6'56) - but what for?

(7'09) Breathing reclaims her lungs, expels slowly the stagnating vapours that asphyxiate her.

(8'00) A stubborn force brings her back to the world. (8'45) She wants to fade away, (9'00) like her own relatives. (9'22) She raises her eyelids, (9'37-0'00) her love is on the way back.

(0'14) The  grounds ploughed in all directions are smoking, the furrows filled with spring rain are shining ditches, the sopping ruts wind up around the truck's broad tires. (0'47) The packed veterans are gently rocked. They are far from the front. (1'14) When the engine stops, they hear the forest. Prisoners on the uncovered truck, they are tense, wide-eyed to catch a glimpse of the marvels that tower above them.
(1'41) Where that road takes them, (1'47) the war rages on in the displaced factories. During the whole trip, the fixed destination is the only thing that counts.
(2'26) The sky bears no sign of danger, a bird accompanies them at hand's reach. Free, his wings are untuned. (2'58) Their thoughts let loose cannot resist the pressure of remembrances. The unscarred memory sends them back to the fight. (3'21) They have known  the departures at night, they have left the camp with starring eyes and packs in hands, the darkness covered by the harsh noise of warming engines, (3'41) the nausea caused by the vertigo of hunger and cold, (3'54) shaken they have been driven under the cold morning's eyes.
(4'14) It's all over now. They have come back through the frontlines.
(4'24) Some rest in a peaceful idleness, as when after having danced on a summer night they were walking home under the moonlight, in the alliance of drunkenness with their life.
(5'34) When they had formed the first cohorts, (5'55) when they had been called to serve in the ranks, those who where going to fight for truth, (6'23) they knew what they would commit to. Yes, they knew.

(6'41) The wounded soldier, lying among his fellow travellers, cannot blame himself for having failed. When he was charging, a bullet, some shrapnel hit his helmet. Having lost his balance, he confusedly saw himself fall down. He did not feel the soaked earth give way under his feet. He lay still, nobody dug him up.
(7'09) He lifts his hand to his bandage, tries to slip it underneath. (7'15) His whole head is bandaged, he cannot slip his fingers in between. The slit in his skull widens, he presses it with his palms. His fellows around him do not notice him. The crack opens wide, the released liquid, trickles like a warm syrup, on his forehead.
(7'40) The soldier lies in the mud again, stiff, outstretched arms, calling the others, the stretcher-bearers, an enemy, without pride, for help, with blood-shot eyes.

(8'04) He is lying in the truck; his bandage hardly stained. (8'50) The comrades who are almost home are stepping down. Their stiff legs, surprised, pick-up speed. (9'10) They are expected, they will be celebrated, in the tradition.

(9'32) In the warmth of a general ward, the sunshine waves on the wall through the young leaves and the frosted glass. (9'46) The wounded man is resting. He no longer feels the pain, as if he was already saved. He sees himself back on the road, (10'26) finally making it to his home. (10'40) On the ceiling his frantic eyes follow the details of the dreams he endlessly pursues.
(10'48) He walks under the pink birch-trees, around a dark pond, barns; the red sky is paved with huge powdered clouds, (11'17) the door at last. Is she there.  (11'35) He steps inside.

The twilight covers over their house, like all the others.

Translation : Tiphaine Catel 1997, revised by the author in 2003