evasharman Music is a story. Tales can be told without words. Music, and its ability to communicate different things to different people, is amazing.
Sometimes, I see little scenes in my head when I listen to music; other times, I do not. The setting must be just right for me to hear something outside of the musical lines. Old music and old recordings have a certain nostalgic atmosphere to them that allows me to feel so many emotions. Specifically, I find Kreisler’s old recordings of his original pieces, recorded in the mid-20th century, bring special feelings into my day. I’ve known these beautifully simple Old Viennese Melodies, or Alt-Wiener Tanzweisen, for such a long time, but I felt like writing down some scenes that I envision as I listen today. Enjoy!
Liebesfreud | Love’s Joy https://youtu.be/LWV2WFW0PVQ
In the midst of the small clearing in the woods, a girl dances. She jumps about in a lilting waltz step, holding up her dress carefully as to not dirty the hem on the damp ground. From behind the trees, a castle stands full of dinner guests. Music from the quartet pours from a partially opened window. She’d been told she wasn’t old enough to dance yet, so off to the woods she went. Here, she could dance on her own, like an elegant lady. Occasionally she pauses to hear the music in the distance: it’s far away, and the sound arrives a little bit distorted, carried by the wind.
She stops dancing, and rests her head onto her hands. Despite her choice to leave the dinner party, she wishes that she leaps across the ballroom floor and not the forest grounds. If only she knew how to dance! What a sophisticated lady she would be. She loves the music greatly, and dreams she knew how to dance in that beautiful way. But, for the moment she must be content with the precious and innocent almost-waltz of her own creation.
She sees a handsome and charming man appear in front of her. He kneels to the floor, bowing his head and grabbing her dainty hand. “May I?” he asks. He leads her, cautiously at first, through each step, so that she does not appear confused in front of the crowds of guests. Timidly, she grins. The music picks up in the background, and the other dancers join in. “See,” he tells her. “You can dance, and quite well too.” She grins, and wakes from her slumber-like daydream. Through the fields, she waltzes, for now, all by herself.
Liebesleid | Love’s Sorrow https://youtu.be/AqQ2_2qd-5Y
In the darkening sky of the evening, he walks. The air chills, but bites gently. He hums a simple tune, one he’d heard while dancing. Beautiful nights alone, so sweet! All of a sudden, up ahead, he sees a little wisp of a silhouette, some frail body who twirls as if her feet are afraid of the cold earth. The hint of a shadow reminds him of the girl he had loved once. He quietly sings an aria into the cold night – but he can’t bear to make it past the first phrase. Without requited love, it seems that the aria can never be finished.
But then he remembers, and he smiles. His image of her will never be broken: she is holy, perfect, forever unreal. How happy is it be in love, but in love alone!
He walks away under the cold moon. As he turns, the moon whispers to him, far off into in the distance. If he holds still, he can almost hear. Away, into the night, finally content, he disappears.
Schön Rosmarin | Lovely Rosemary https://youtu.be/RTNeHzzF8i8
Once you look to the far other side of the lake, you’ll see him, resting gently on that park bench. His ankles are crossed, and tilted back slightly – he seems to be enjoying the sky. The lake is in the middle of that grand park, and near his feet the pigeons nibble at bits of crackers and corn that’ve fallen to the ground. The corners of his mouth twitch and dance. He tells a story to the people that walk past him. It’s a nonsense sort of story, about how the moon tried to talk to him last night after he saw the shadow of that girl. But to him, of course to him, it makes total sense. He repeats the beginning of the story, again, because he thought of a better way to tell it. No one seems to listen: not out of disregard for his words, but because they have no reason to listen to him. But he doesn’t care, the story is for himself, mostly, and he tells it the world only for a reason to say it out loud. Every once in a while, the wind turns over, and someone briefly stares in his direction from the other side of the lake, until they turn away when something else catches their eye.
He stands up, brushes off his coat jacket, and takes a step across the nice paved walkway, walking through the grass lined with blankets and people on dates with picnic brunches. He walks to the edge of the lake and bends down, looking for the duck who swims with her little ducklings in the water. “Oh, how lovely, to be a duck!” he cries, and reaches out his hand to pet her. She swims away, and his face darkens briefly. But then he remembers, that he is not a duck, so why should he be said that she only felt like stopping by briefly to say hello? “Goodbye, little duck,” he cries, because he knew the duck was friendly, after all, she had seemed to smile when he reached out his hand. “What a beautiful life in that pond you must live!”
Back to the park bench he returns. He closes his eyes, and smiles. His face is so warm and friendly, and he thinks back to all the other times he sat on this bench in the warmth of the sun. Once more: he blinks and stares at the sun. Life is happiness!
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Thanks for reading! Let me know what you hear while listening to this gorgeous music! ?
