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By:
Bilgin Site
- September 21, 2025 11:00
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The orchestra was not yet fully assembled, and now he had to find a choir of 100, half of whom had to be women! He needed an entire army of sopranos, altos, tenors, and basses. And as if that weren't enough, he had to protect this unarmed army from snipers, mortar shells, and tank fire... he had to keep them alive!
The answer to the question above – how can a world-famous conductor be contacted… from a besieged city – You'll read about it a little later, but now let's turn our attention back to the Resistance.
In the now-famous archive of the Leningrad Radio Orchestra, there is a precious document: an order issued by the leaders of the Leningrad Communist Party:
"Whatever happens, get the score of the 7th Symphony from Moscow. Transport it to Leningrad as soon as possible."
(Before reaching Leningrad, the symphony traveled a long route: from Kuibyshev to Moscow, and through another route from Egypt to England...)
Towards the end of the second year of the siege, on June 2, 1942, 20-year-old pilot Litvinov successfully carried out the order. Flying a light aircraft over the Nazi blockade, he landed in Leningrad and handed over the symphony scores to conductor Karl Eliasberg!
"This can never be played" – was Eliasberg's first reaction as he glanced at the notes.
What worried him most was the large number of brass instruments and the orchestration with an extraordinary, almost frightening volume. The first rehearsal was a torture of true. The spirits could only last 15 minutes, exhausted by cachexia and hunger, some fell unconscious, others felt dizzy, and some rebelled...
But, no matter what; there was no other way. This concert would be held, at all costs.
Conductor Eliasberg, earlier, provided the 250 grams of bread he had promised the artists. This 250 grams was not just food! It was faith, courage, and a symbol of endurance.
Thus, day after day, the musicians began to recover. The hands that had once trembled were now gripping the instruments again. A new glow was appearing on their pale faces. Now there was very little time left until the big day: August 9, 1942!
The Italian brothers heroes, Stochino
In Sarajevo, Ljubijankić had mobilized all foreign representations, launching an intensive campaign of what was called “concert diplomacy.” After extensive research, they finally managed to obtain the phone number of the Italian brothers who produced the concert, Michele and Francesco Stochino. They then immediately forwarded it to the Bosnian conductor Emir Nuhanović. The Emir, via satellite phone, called Michele:
“Michele, I am Emir Nuhanović, the new director of the Sarajevo Philharmonic!”
Surprised, Michele replies: "Yes, hello!"
Emiri continues: "Dear friend, we need to contact Mario Dradin. Can you help us?"
Michele tries to calm the situation: "Emir, are you really in Sarajevo right now? What's going on there? How are you?" (Gunshots and bomb explosions are heard in the background.)
"A little noisy, but we're fine," Emiri calmly greets him and repeats in the blaze of flying time: "Mario Dradi... We definitely have to find him!" Even though Michele finds the organization Emiri had in mind impossible, he does what he was asked to do.
So who is Mario Dradi?
He was the man who, in 1990, in Rome, during the grand opening night of the FIFA World Cup, laid the foundations for a project that would go down in history: the legendary “Three Tenors” concert. It was he who conceived and brought this idea to life.
On that unforgettable night, Pavarotti, Domingo and Carreras performed together, led by the famous conductor Zubin Mehta.
And so, the chain was closed: Michele told his brother Francesco. Francesco contacted Mario Dradi, while Dradi conveyed the Emir's invitation to Zubin Mehta to go to besieged Sarajevo.
Conductor, mercilessly!
Zubin Mehta accepts the invitation without hesitation. But there is one condition: Mozart's "Requiem" must be played. As soon as this request is conveyed to Emir, he lets out a typical Bosnian curse, sweet in sound, but very heavy in weight. Such a big name as Zubin Mehta has agreed to come to a besieged city: (even though the way he will arrive is an equation in itself, almost like quantum mechanics!) but Emir cannot even be happy about it.
What does Requiem mean?!
The orchestra was not yet fully assembled, and now they had to find a choir of 100 people, half of whom had to be women!
He needed an entire army of sopranos, altos, tenors, and basses. And as if that weren't enough, he had to protect this unarmed army from snipers, mortar shells, and tank fire... he had to keep them alive!
Indeed, Mehta, with extraordinary sensitivity, had made this proposal, which was also deeply significant, considering the large number of dead. So, he had suggested the “Requiem” as a magnificent homage to those who were no longer among the living. But the Maestro, completely focused on his art, a perfectionist to the end, had not thought at all about what an extraordinary burden this represented for Sarajevo.
The ruthless president!
The Emir tries to find a way out, an alternative to the “Requiem”, for example, why not play Beethoven’s “Eroica”? And immediately in his mind he starts to weave a plan. The goal is to convince President Izetbegović to cancel the Requiem, and instead propose something else.
This way, the Emir would be able to easily convey the "official request of the president" to conductor Mehta, which would not even seem like hesitation on his part.
The next day, the Emir is expected at the Presidency building to discuss the latest developments. When he enters the office, President Izetbegović is in a meeting with the Foreign Minister and a senior military officer. With a calm wave of his hand, the President signals the Emir to sit down. The Emir sits down. After a moment, the President addresses his interlocutors: “Let’s take a break, gentlemen.” Then he leans back slightly in his chair and turns his gaze to the Emir:
– I'm listening to you!
– Mr. President… We will be able to realize the concert as you wished… And it will be conducted by the famous conductor Zubin Mehta.
(The President walks to the chair, rises slightly from his seat.)
– Is it safe?
- Yes!
– This is the best news of these days, Emir!
– But Mehta has a request for us!
– What request?
– The concert wants to perform Mozart's "Requiem"! They ask if there are any obstacles?
(The Emir looks at the president hopefully).
– Why are there obstacles?
– Maybe they thought that, because we are Muslims, we wouldn't want it played... After all, "Requiem" is a funeral elegy that Catholics write for the dead.
(The Emir eagerly awaits a negative response from the president. A silence of several seconds follows.)
– How did Mozart's "Requiem" begin, do you remember?
(The Emir does not understand the reason for the question at first, but without hesitation he begins to recite the passage in English:)
- "...grant them eternal rest, Lord, and let perpetual light shine on them".
(The President approves with a slight nod of his head and begins to recite it himself, calmly and confidently, by heart, in Latin:
- "...requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis".
- This concert itself is an elegy, Emir… I see no obstacle in interpreting the “Requiem”. On the contrary, it is a striking choice, it matches the the soul of this city.
(The Emir bows his head so as not to show his disappointment, and with restraint, a little bewildered, he says:)
– As you wish, Mr. President… So, without wasting time, let's start with the preparations!
But, Emir, I have a request for you too!
The Emir stops and waits attentively, stunned by curiosity. The President tells him in just one sentence. The young conductor's blue eyes open as if struck by lightning. He can't believe his ears. The President has just made a request that would never have even crossed his mind... and that, perhaps, should never have come from him.
The young conductor, helpless in the face of authority and the situation, accepts this request. Although completely devastated, he does not give up at all. He salutes with a military salute and leaves.
Just half an hour ago he was trying to escape Zubin Mehta's impossible "Requiem", now Alija Izetbegović's incredible request weighs on him.
As he walks through the corridors of the Presidency, the Emir lets out an old-fashioned curse to vent his anger: "Sjebali with starch!"
To be continued in the next issue of the Culture Supplement
Dr. Bilgin Sait was born in 1977 in Gjilan, Kosovo. He completed his high school education in Prishtina, while in parallel, for a period of six years, he also attended classical music education, focusing on violin. In 1997, he won the state scholarship of the Republic of Turkey where he continued his studies at the Faculty of Medicine at the University of Ege. While he completed his specialization in internal medicine at Hacettepe University. Currently, Dr. Sait practices as a specialist in internal diseases at the American Hospital in Istanbul. His special field of interest includes the management of complex clinical cases with multi-systemic problems.
In addition to medicine, he has a special passion for the history of music in the context of humanitarian crises. For years he has been working on a novel and a scholarly monograph dedicated to the 1994 Sarajevo concert; an event of particular symbolic importance in the context of war and cultural resistance. This article was originally published in Turkish, in the newspaper “Oksijen” (see link: Saraybosna's cadre changed 'ağıt')
Translated into Albanian: Fjolla Spanca