Another time Zoshchenko both touched me and distracted me from my worries. It was at the end of 1937. I came to the Philharmonic Hall for the first performance of my Fifth Symphony. The atmosphere at the première was highly charged, the hall was filled – as they say, all the best people were there, and all the worst, too. It was definitely a critical situation, and not only for me. Which way would the wind blow? That’s what was worrying members of the select audience – people in literature, culture, and physical culture. That’s what had them in a feverish state. In the first part of the programme, Mravinsky played Tchaikovsky’s 'Romeo and Juliet', among other works. My Fifth was in the second half of the programme. I felt like the gladiator in Spartacus or a fish in a frying pan. I remembered Oleinikov’s ditty, ‘Tiny little fishie, fried little smelt, where’s your smile from yesterday, remember how you felt?’ 'Romeo and Juliet' was over. Interval, and Zoshchenko ran in, all smiles, dressed nattily as usual. He headed over to me and congratulated me on the success of my composition. / It turned out that Zoshcenko liked my new work, it was melodious. ‘I just knew that you weren’t capable of writing anti-people music,’ Zoshchenko praised me. I was flattered of course, and had a good laugh, and even forgot about the second half and the fact that the Fifth was yet to come. << less