(Taken from my 2013 Archive and translated with translation machine. May or may not be accurate from real history, and I'm too lazy to rewrite)
Moscow, 1928
The middle-aged man's steps quickened as he entered Red Square, his black shoes making a sound like a horse's gallop, and he repeatedly had to straighten his wind-blown military uniform. He knew he should have taken a tram or an autobus to Red Square at the previous terminal, but he chose to walk quickly to avoid traffic jams or stalled vehicles. He ignored the bustling surroundings, bustling with vendors, the Militia and Red Army patrols, and the small children who occasionally ran past him. To him, the reason he was walking quickly to Red Square was of utmost importance, and taking the fastest autobus wouldn't necessarily take him to the front of the grand palace not far from Red Square as fast as the wind.
Finally, he set foot in a gate, behind which lay a large palace. The gatekeeper immediately opened the door for the middle-aged man without asking any questions when he directly stated his name and occupation. He entered the palace's grand doors, and before him stood another middle-aged man, but with a younger face, accompanied by a young man who appeared to be his aide. They both approached and shook hands with formal, cold smiles.
"As usual, you're earlier than we promised, Alexander Vasilyevich," the man smiled.
"Oh... I thought... I'm late," the middle-aged man, named Alexandrov, said with a sigh of relief.
"There's no way someone like you would be late for anything. Let's go straight upstairs, okay?" the man smiled, then walked straight to the second floor without a word. The aide beside him motioned for Alexandrov to quickly follow him. Alexandrov complied, climbing the stairs ahead of the aide. After ascending the second floor, they turned right and walked a short distance to reach the man's office.
The man stood a short distance from his office door and motioned for his aide to open it. The aide nodded, opened the door, and ushered the two men in military attire into the room. Just as the aide was about to close the door from the outside, the man called him back.
"Oh, yes. Tell the maid to make two cups of tea. It won't take long," the man said. The aide nodded, then closed the door completely.
As soon as he closed the door, the man, who had seemed cold and humorless, transformed into the happiest man in the Soviet Union. He tidied up the papers scattered on the red sofa in front of Alexandrov and invited Alexandrov to sit down.
"Forgive my carelessness. I had so much work that I forgot to tidy up," the man said, still smiling kindly. Alexandrov merely grunted a yes, then sat down on the sofa the man had cleaned. Alexandrov watched the man place the stack of papers on his desk, almost covering his nameplate. Realizing it was covered, the man immediately pulled it back and placed it back on the edge of the desk. The man's name was written in gleaming silver ink on the white stone plaque.
Kliment E. Voroshilov. People's Commissar of Defense.
Voroshilov smiled proudly at the sight of his own name plaque, then proceeded to sit on the red sofa opposite Alexandrov's. They both stared at each other in silence, without changing their expressions. This kind of silence was actually commonplace in the cold Yellow Palace, Alexandrov thought. It always enveloped anyone, even if they were just looking at it from the outside. But this time, Alexandrov sensed that the silence in the Yellow Palace was unlike any he was used to. Alexandrov continued to stare at Voroshilov curiously, especially at his cheerful yet mysterious smile. What had happened to him that the Soviet Union's Defense Commissar had summoned him personally?
"So..." Voroshilov was about to speak when there was a knock on his office door. Voroshilov immediately shouted "Come in!" with a displeased expression. A waiter appeared with two cups of tea on a tray. The waiter, seeing Voroshilov's disapproval, immediately set the cups down and quickly left before Voroshilov could say anything. The door closed again, and Voroshilov's expression returned to normal.
"Please drink!" Voroshilov offered, returning with a cheerful expression. Alexandrov smiled slightly, then picked up the cup and took a sip of the still-hot tea. Voroshilov glanced around, making sure no one else was about to enter his office.
"Okay, Alexandrov. I'll just get started. Last week, I heard that you were planning to form a church choir ensemble. Is that true?" Voroshilov asked. Alexandrov was surprised, but quickly sipped the tea he had been sipping to avoid spilling the contents of his cup.
"It's true, Comrade Voroshilov," Alexandrov said. How did he know? He thought. This plan was only known to the Cathedral. But, of course, the government could pry into anything.
"And what name will you give the ensemble?"
"Alexandrov Ensemble. That's all," Alexandrov said briefly.
"It sounds simple, but the songs are not low-grade," Voroshilov praised, while Alexandrov looked down in shame at the compliment. "But what puzzles me is, why a church choir?"
Slightly nervous, Alexandrov opened up about his desire to form a church choir, a desire he had had since childhood. He then attempted to make this happen by studying classical and church music, creating songs, and eventually obtaining a license to establish an ensemble. Voroshilov nodded in understanding as he listened to Alexandrov's story. But after Alexandrov finished, he suddenly shook his head.
"Too bad, Alexandrov. I probably won't let you create that church choir. Your reasoning isn't very strong yet..." Voroshilov said weakly.
"What do you mean?" Alexandrov asked, confused.
"You can't just create a choir on your own... and church choirs are commonplace, Alexandrov. Every cathedral has one, and that's boring. Unless..." Voroshilov deliberately left the sentence hanging, then he smiled broadly, "You want to collaborate with me, to create the first Military Choir in the Soviet Union."
Shock began to mix with Alexandrov's previously confused thoughts. And the look of utter discomfort on Alexandrov's face at those words made the Defense Commissar smile even wider. He had already anticipated the expression Alexandrov would display upon hearing his words.
"You must be joking, Comrade Voroshilov. I have no military background, so I have no idea what life was like in the Red Army, and so on. I don't even know how to hold a weapon. Let alone army music... Their tunes are probably even more difficult to control than church music!" Alexandrov demurred. Then Alexandrov's cup was set down, its contents emptied. Voroshilov stared at Alexandrov disgruntledly, but still with a broad smile.
"There's no way someone like you can't compose such difficult military music," Voroshilov laughed. "Their music is just like any other. The difference is, it's sung and intended for soldiers."
"If you want to find a composer skilled in military music, why not ask someone who can? Like Knipper, Novikov, or someone else? Why did you choose me?" Alexandrov asked. Voroshilov laughed again, but kept his mouth shut to appear polite.
"I probably haven't told you yet. Did you know that the Vozhd and I have made you one of our favorite composers? Because after watching many concerts with golden-quality compositions, we also know that some of our favorites are the result of your training. And when we also found out that you were going to establish a church choir, the Vozhd predicted that your choir would not develop because it was only within the church. We decided to help you develop further, of course. Coincidentally, Felix Danilovich himself came a few days ago and said the same thing. After a long discussion, we agreed to make you the director of the ensemble," Voroshilov explained at length. Voroshilov's hand held his own chin, then winked at Alexandrov while saying "Actually, this is a secret between me, Danilovich, and the Vozhd. But because you look panicked, I'll tell you to calm you down..."
Voroshilov's explanation actually made Alexandrov even more panicked and uncertain. He clasped his hands together, trying to calm himself. He had promised the Cathedral that he would form a church choir. He was actually going to the Cathedral again today to select the members of the church for his ensemble. However, he was also afraid of disappointing Voroshilov and the Vozhd, who wielded greater power than the cathedral leader. The name Felix Danilovich, mentioned earlier, also made Alexandrov uneasy, considering that the man was also well-acquainted with him.
"As for how you'll select the members, let me handle it. Perhaps, to start, I'll promote it to some of the Red Army, accepting anyone who wants to enlist. Later, as the public becomes more familiar, registration will be opened to civilians. As for the selection process, it's entirely up to you, as you're more skilled in music than I am. If you have any difficulties, such as funding or permits, just come to me or Sang Vozhd. We'll help you as best we can."
Alexandrov was silent for a long moment, his annoyance mounting at Voroshilov's attitude, which was beginning to control him, just as the government always controlled Soviet composers and film producers. "No, Comrade Voroshilov," Alexandrov refused. "I'm sorry, but you'd better find another composer. My decision is final. I've already submitted a permit proposal and then decided on the program... Today is the selection of cathedral members, you know. Then the following days will be church singing training, instructed by me, as I specialize in church music. Not military music and organizing troops."
"Don't be like that, Comrade. The Vozhd believes you can train military personnel too..." Voroshilov coaxed.
"No, no, again. I don't want to take any risks." Alexandrov's brow furrowed even further.
"Come on..."
"No!" Alexandrov retorted harshly, but it didn't surprise or anger Voroshilov, oddly enough. Instead, it turned into a sincere smile, still trying to persuade the rock-solid Alexandrov.
"Calm your head first, Comrade. Why don't you think about it first?"
Alexandrov immediately flinched at Voroshilov's offer. Alexandrov's face returned to normal, though his disapproval lingered. He took a deep breath and let out a "Very well..." sound. He leaned back against the sofa, his head tilted upward as if he were about to give up on the argument between him and Voroshilov. He knew there was no such thing as a civilian victory, and he was forced to give in, like any other composer.
"You're free to think about it first or say yes right away, Alexandrov," Voroshilov smiled. "But remember! Decide quickly so that the Vozhd and I can help you manage the military choir we're creating. You know, the Vozhd isn't one to wait too long." Alexandrov stared at Voroshilov, increasingly irritated by Voroshilov's use of "we" in the choir, but he couldn't protest any further.
"Before I go home... I'd like to ask one more thing, which I find very unclear, even though you've explained it before," Alexandrov said with a cold stare.
"Is that it?"
"There are so many choirs here. Some are newly established, like mine. Some are long-established, like theater choirs. But why did you choose mine? A church choir?" Alexandrov asked.
"Tsk tsk! Didn't I tell you before?" Voroshilov asked disgruntledly, crossing his arms and legs. "Because every song you lead is of golden quality. Unlike the others, which are of low quality. From your question and your gaze, it seems you're afraid of anyone making negative comments? Or are you afraid you won't be able to accept the offer and challenge from Vozhd and me?" Voroshilov shot back, making Alexandrov lower his head.
"We'll see if I'm moved by your offer. And we'll see how people react, especially those who might criticize this military choir," Alexandrov snapped.
"Oh, as for those nasty comments, let the Vozhd handle it. If this plan goes through, you're guaranteed to be under my and the Vozhd's protection! Rest assured, Comrade Alexandrov! I'm sure you'll never regret turning the church choir into a military choir. Plus, perhaps from today on, I'll continue trying to persuade you to cooperate with me and the Vozhd. Whether through letters or by visiting the cathedral where you're 'hiding' from me..." Voroshilov cheered. Alexandrov smiled faintly again, then stood up from the red sofa.
"By the way, you're welcome to come at any time. In fact, we'll let you enter and exit this palace anonymously, for any business, at any time! Well, I suppose this concludes our meeting, Comrade Alexandrov!" Voroshilov said. Alexandrov shook hands, then waited for Voroshilov to open the door for him, and then walked away, leaving Voroshilov and the aide guarding the office. He exited the Yellow Palace, walking slowly as he pondered the Defense Commissar's plan.
Meanwhile, while Voroshilov and the aide were in the office...
"You know what, son?" Voroshilov teased the aide.
"What, sir?" the aide asked, confused.
"I've managed to gently persuade someone again in less than a day. Well, I do have a talent, huh?" Voroshilov boasted. "Earlier, I easily asked Alexandrov to convert his church choir into a military choir. He was adamant at first, but after I made a small threat, it seems he'll say yes the day after tomorrow. Ah, so the Red Army under my command finally has its own military choir! And the conductor is my idol, Alexander Alexandrov!" The aide, hearing Voroshilov's story, chuckled, as if trying to support Voroshilov.
Voroshilov sipped the tea he had forgotten to drink while with Alexandrov. He savored each sip. Because deep down, he was happy that his idol would soon be in the hands of the Soviet government without any resistance.
===
[A few weeks later at the Central House of the Red Army]
"Wow, Alexandra Vasilyevich. I knew you'd be interested in this ensemble. Although I also admire you, stubbornly resisting Voroshilov's persuasion for weeks. No composer has ever been able to defy authority and return in good health," the man said to Alexandrov. He read the proposal sheet in the black folder over and over again, until his initially confused face became deeply impressed. This was especially true when he saw the composer's signature and full name, Alexandrov Alexander Vasilyevich, listed as conductor of both the choral and orchestral ensembles.
"I don't know if I should take that as a compliment or what..." Alexandrov said.
"Of course I praise you! Your qualities and training methods are much needed here."
"Although I am quite surprised. Why did you choose me, Felix? Why not a military song composer?" Alexandrov asked curiously.
Felix Danilovich paused for a moment, then replied, "Because... I don't know... I don't know myself. Your name suddenly popped into my head when I was thinking about who would train the ensemble members. And funnily enough, Comrade Voroshilov thought the same thing," with a chuckle. Alexandrov stared at him coldly, a mixture of curiosity and annoyance at not getting a more rational answer than just gold-quality training.
"Don't worry. I know you're still awkward about the change from cathedral to military. I have only one piece of advice: maintain your true self while training the ensemble. I would greatly appreciate it." The old man stood and extended his hand, prompting Alexandrov to stand as well to shake Danilovich's. A tense silence formed between them, and finally, the leader of the Central House of Red Army himself spoke.
"Let me know when you're ready to perform here, in front of the people you and Voroshilov want to invite to see you."