Baroque Notes: Flowers and Duets

Erdi surveyed the small room. "Yes, Philip, the biography does not describe such a place, because it seems-this is the souvenir shop of your museum. God, surrounded by so many postcards, statuettes, and crafts that look like you , I can hardly imagine..."

"It's hard to imagine that I'm as narcissistic as you? Yes, I'm happy to admit my narcissism. What composer doesn't spend a little time in the dead of night intoxicated in the musical world he created, thinking that he is that small world What about the center of the center?" Telemann said, "However, if I were to decorate the souvenir shop myself, apart from things related to music, what I would like to sell most would be flowers, all kinds: forget-me-nots, white magnolias, begonias, marigolds Flowers lilies carnations tulips cauliflower."

"brocoli?!"

"It's also a flower, cauliflower! Cauli flower—I hope my little humor didn't confuse you." Telemann giggled, and Vivaldi couldn't fathom what Telemann's strange joke was about.Looking at the distorted Vivaldi, Telemann returned to the original topic in a clear voice: "Flowers and gardening have always been my hobbies, and sometimes this love for flowers even surpasses my love for music. In one's life, how many misfortunes and sorrows a person will encounter, although the beautiful music is good, it is still created by man, while listening to it, it is inevitable to think about the troubles in the world - flowers, they are created by nature, innocent and innocent... For me For me, nothing comforts me more than flowers."

"Your words remind me of Mr. Jean-Jacques Rousseau." Vivaldi said slightly mockingly.

"Mr. Rousseau's tastes are so wide that I cannot comment on that. But, my dear Antonio? Have you ever wondered why people, besides their careers, often have hobbies which have nothing to do with their careers?"

"Love is not enough to overcome material considerations. People often choose careers beyond their control. Hobbies may be a kind of psychological comfort for them to revisit the path they gave up in the future-but I don't understand, Philip, isn't music your favorite thing?" things"

"Antonio, I absolutely agree with what you said. Yes, possibility and time can never match. There are countless opportunities and possibilities in the world. We always want more than our lives can bear. I love it so much music, so much so that I turned my back on my family arrangements, my law degree, and the chance to become rich... When I sacrificed these opportunities, I have to admit that I love music even more, and even despair, because That was probably the last straw. You had a similar experience, Antonio, am I right?"

"Yes. I received 10 years of education in a seminary, but in the end, I only served as an incompetent priest for 3 years and almost gave up."

"—after I've done music full-time, I still worry sometimes. My energy is so [limited] that I can't be a gardener outside of music."

"Philip," Vivaldi was speechless, "Your energy is not [limited] at all, how can a composer who can create more than 3000 works have no energy?! You just spend too much energy on composing music— — How about being a musical gardener? Under the attributive, I think you already are, and you are a gardener with a royal garden.”

"That's true, Antonio," said Telemann, "but music has more than one gardener... Maybe I'll share with you a little secret of mine... Yes, music and flowers changed my life, but the truth is Basically, it all started with Fred, whether it was the music or the flowers, or basically because of him..."

"Mr. Handel?" Vivaldi didn't seem surprised at all, "I vaguely remember reading in your biography that in your later years, Fred was completely blind, but he dictated letters to you: he Shocked by the news of your death, then realized it was a misinformation, he promised to send you the best exotic flowers on the first ship from England..."

"Yes, yes," Telemann blushed a little, "Why do the biographies start to write these now? What else are written in those biographies?"

"You are Telemann, a good friend of Bach and Handel."

"Hmm..." Telemann was a little nervous, he knew that the cunning little red hair hadn't told the whole truth, "Maybe it's time for me to read my own biography - I obviously underestimated the ability of scholars now, they have left Music history is so far away...Antonio, I hope you don't get bored with my fluffy narration and wacky sense of humor, but my old nostalgia is at it again."

"I don't mind at all, Philippe," Vivaldi said. "What could be a truer biography than the composer himself?"

Telemann blushed.He and Vivaldi sat down at the checkout counter of the souvenir shop.Taking Vivaldi's hand, Telemann said, "Antonio, you won't believe how much chance has played into making me the Telemann sitting before you today. Almost all my biographies start with According to my mother's instructions, I went to Lai//Bi//Xi to study law//Law major Speaking of: It was the summer of 1701, and I went to university with the mentality of becoming a lawyer//teacher disheartened …It was a long journey from my hometown Magdeburg to Le//B//Sin, so I decided to stop for a few days. I chose the small town of Halle as my base.”

"Then?" Vivaldi asked with interest.

"I met him."

Orpheus

Travel back three centuries to 1701, when our protagonist was still alive.

Halle (or translated Halle) in Saxony-Anhalt, Germany.

Georg Philipp Telemann, a promising lawyer of the future, is dragging his luggage on the dirt road after a rain in Harley.His luggage is very light, his age is in the prime of his life, his future is bright, but his steps are extraordinarily heavy.Light luggage, it really is too light!This is unbearable lightness, because almost all of his life, just like the weight of this luggage, has been sealed forever in the dank basement of the old house in Magdeburg, and the silent face of his mother is like a block of lead. The same blackness lay over the discarded things—all the kid's music books, instruments, sheet music...everything about music.

Telemann almost lost all hope in the struggle with his mother, but he was still lucky enough to secretly carry a copy of the religious music he composed for Psalm [-] in the suitcase, written in "an avant-garde style that is completely unacceptable to society." ".However, with every step closer to the law department of the University of Leipzig, Telemann felt more and more ironic in his tattered little work.His only friend, Music, is dead!But this ignorant child couldn't bear to believe that his friend was dead, so he stubbornly kept his body beside him, even ignoring the rotten stench and the maggots all over his body.

He keeps persuading (hypnotizing) himself to accept the fate that he must leave the fate he loves forever, so that sometimes, he is surprised to find himself imagining how he, as a lawyer, has a decent A perfect social circle, a happy family, a glamorous house... However, as soon as this beautiful vision occupied his mind, a small dark thought burst out from the bottom of his heart. This thought loudly reprimanded him, why he was so weak After agreeing to his mother's arrangement, why didn't he resist or even cheat...!

These two thoughts whizzed through the poor boy's mind like a storm, making him completely uneasy, and even his body lost strength.After bumping in the carriage for a few days, Telemann almost collapsed. He begged the coachman to let him rest on the way for a week, and then he came to the small town of Harley for a short stop.

Arriving at the temporary hotel, Telemann mechanically filled out the registration form and paid the money, exchanged a few words with the hotel owner expressionlessly, stepped up the stairs like a wind-up doll, opened the door, put down the luggage, closed the door and sat down. Looking at the floor in bed.Halle is only 30 kilometers away from Leipzig.Telemann stared blankly at the lifeless floor, as if he had seen through the 30 kilometers and saw his equally lifeless future.It's so ridiculous and sad, a person who can't even insist on what he loves, a person who bows to material fame and fortune...

Telemann's eyes flicked to his suitcase.He could feel the hidden little work of himself inside... Those pages of music were like a tiny beetle, with round eyes like obsidian, spying on its owner.At this moment, it was not the creation of his own music, but the content of the poem itself, which deeply tormented the young Telemann, reverberating tirelessly in his frail mind that was about to collapse, and appealing almost frantically.Psalm Six, that's the Psalm of David, the cry of the despairing.

"O Lord, do not reprove me in your anger, neither punish me in your wrath!

O Lord, have mercy on me, for I am weak.

Heal me, O Lord, for my bones tremble. "

"O Lord, how long will you save me?"!

When David's wail whizzed round and round until it exploded in his mind, Telemann suddenly came back to his senses.He found himself sitting on a chair in the small square opposite the entrance of the Halley Opera House, and the time had passed.