Julian Barnes - The Noise of Time

‘But not one, coming from the First Secretary, that you could possibly refuse.’

‘I am not worthy of such an honour.’

‘Perhaps it is not for you to judge your worthiness. Nikita Sergeyevich is better placed than you in this regard.’

‘I could not possibly accept.’

‘Come, come, Dmitri Dmitrievich, you have accepted high honours from across the world, which we have been gratified to see you accept. So I cannot possibly see how you can reject one offered by your own homeland.’

‘I regret I have such little time. I am a composer, not a chairman.’

‘It would take very little of your time. We would see to that.’

‘I am a composer not a chairman.’

‘You are our greatest living composer. Everyone acknowledges you as such. Your difficult years are behind you. That is why it is so important.’

‘I do not follow you.’

‘Dmitri Dmitrievich, we all know how you did not escape certain consequences during the Cult of Personality. Even though, if I may say so, you were more protected than most.’

‘I can assure you that it didn’t feel that way.’

‘And this is why it is so important that you accept the chairmanship. To demonstrate that the Cult of Personality is over. To put it straightforwardly, Dmitri Dmitrievich, the changes wrought under the First Secretary, if they are to be made secure, need to be supported by public declarations and appointments such as the one proposed.’

‘I am always happy to sign a letter.’

‘You know that is not what I am asking.’

‘I am unworthy,’ he had repeated, adding, ‘I am nothing but a worm beside the First Secretary.’

He doubted the allusion would be picked up by Pospelov, who indeed chuckled disbelievingly.

‘I am sure we shall be able to overcome your natural modesty, Dmitri Dmitrievich. But we shall talk more at another time.’

Each morning, instead of prayer, he would recite to himself two poems by Evtushenko. One was ‘Career’, which described how lives are led beneath the shadow of Power:

In Galileo’s day, a fellow scientist

Was no more stupid than Galileo.

He was well aware that the Earth revolved,

But he also had a large family to feed.

It was a poem about conscience and endurance:

But time has a way of demonstrating

The most stubborn are the most intelligent.

Was that true? He could never quite decide. The poem ended by marking the difference between ambition and artistic truthfulness:

I shall therefore pursue my career

By trying not to pursue one.

These verses both comforted and questioned him. He was, for all his anxieties and fearfulness and Leningrad civility, at base a stubborn man who had tried to pursue the truth in music as he had seen it.

But ‘Career’ was essentially about conscience; and his own accused him. What use, after all, is a conscience unless, like a tongue probing teeth for cavities, it seeks out areas of weakness, duplicity, cowardice, self-deception? If he went to the dentist every two months, always suspecting that something was wrong in his mouth, then he examined his conscience on a daily basis, always suspecting that something was wrong in his soul. There were many things to accuse himself of: acts of omission, fallings-short, compromises made, the coin paid to Caesar. At times he saw himself as both Galileo and that fellow scientist, the one with mouths to feed. He had been as courageous as his nature allowed; but conscience was always there to insist that more courage could have been shown.

He hoped, and tried, in the subsequent weeks, to avoid Pospelov, but there he was again one evening, coming towards him among the chat and the hypocrisy and the brimming glasses.

‘So, Dmitri Dmitrievich, have you thought the matter over?’

‘Oh, I am quite unworthy, as I told you.’

‘I have passed on your agreement to seriously consider the chairmanship, and told Nikita Sergeyevich that only your modesty is holding you back.’

He paused to consider this distortion of their previous conversation, but Pospelov was hurrying on.

‘Come, come, Dmitri Dmitrievich, there is a point at which modesty becomes a kind of vanity. We are counting on you to accept, and you will accept. Of course, as we both know, the chairmanship of the Russian Federation Union of Composers is not what this is about. And that is why I completely understand your hesitation. But we are all agreed that now the time has come.’

‘What time has come?’

‘Well, you cannot become chairman of the Union without joining the Party. It would be against all constitutional rules. Of course you knew that. It was why you hesitated. But I can assure you, there will be no obstacles put before you. It is really no more that a question of signing the application form. We shall take care of the rest.’

He felt, suddenly, as if all the breath had been taken out of his body. How, why had he not seen this coming? All through the years of terror, he had been able to say that at least he had never tried to make things easier for himself by becoming a Party member. And now, finally, after the great fear was over, they had come for his soul.

He tried to collect himself before replying, but even so, what he said came out in a rush.

‘Pyotr Nikolayevich, I am quite unworthy, quite unsuitable. I do not have a political nature. I have to admit that I have never truly grasped the basic tenets of Marxism — Leninism. Indeed, they once appointed a tutor for me, Comrade Troshin, and I dutifully read all the books they provided, including, as I remember, one of yours, but I made such poor progress that I fear I must wait until I am better equipped.’

‘Dmitri Dmitrievich, we all know about that unfortunate and — if I may say so — unnecessary appointment of a political tutor. So demeaning for you, and such a characteristic of life under the Cult of Personality. All the more reason to show how times have changed, and that members of the Party are not expected to have a deep grasp of political theory. Nowadays, under Nikita Sergeyevich, we all breathe more freely. The First Secretary is still a young man, and his plans extend over many years. It is important to us that you are seen to approve these new paths, this new freedom to breathe.’

He certainly felt little freedom to breathe at the moment, and reached for another defence.

‘The truth is, Pyotr Nikolayevich, that I have certain religious beliefs which, as I understand it, are quite incompatible with Party membership.’

‘Beliefs which you have wisely kept to yourself for many years, of course you have. And since they are not publicly known, this is not a problem we need to overcome. We shall not be sending you a tutor to help you with this … how shall I put it, this old-fashioned eccentricity.’

‘Sergei Sergeyevich Prokofiev was a Christian Scientist,’ he replied musingly. Aware that this was not strictly apropos, he then asked, ‘You do not mean that you are going to reopen the churches?’

‘No, I am not saying that, Dmitri Dmitrievich. But of course, now that sweeter air surrounds us, who knows what we shall soon be free to discuss. Free to discuss with our new and distinguished Party member.’

‘And yet,’ he replied, swerving from the numinous to the particular, ‘and yet — you will correct me if I am wrong, but there is no overriding reason why a Union chairman has to be a Party member.’

‘It would be inconceivable for this not to be the case.’

‘And yet Konstantin Fedin and Leonid Sobolev were high up in the Union of Writers, and they were not Party members.’

‘Indeed. But who has heard of Fedin and Sobelev compared to those who know the name of Shostakovich? This is not an argument. You are the most famous, the most celebrated of our composers. It would be inconceivable for you to be Union chairman without being a Party member. All the more so as Nikita Sergeyevich has such plans for the future development of music in the Soviet Union.’