The Year is Almost Over

The Music Lover

"Love... And tragedy. How often the two seem to go together."

When I travelled through Europe, I was not a young man, but I still had enough years left to see the countries, and pay attention to the people, and experience more of life than I had done in the many years before. I am old now, I've seen the world at war twice, I've seen my wife pass away, I've seen close friends pass away. Sometimes life is lived well, and sometimes it goes to waste, but only rarely does it end in peace and dignity. Whenever I dwell on that fact, or whenever the snows blanket the town outside, I remember Graz, I remember walking to the Concert Hall, along a street where every sound disappeared into the snow, like a living Christmas card.

The concert was a performance of the Prelude and Liebestod from Wagner's Tristan und Isolde. As I moved with the other people in the hall to sit down, I noticed a woman, standing in the aisle, watching me. She was a large lady, well dressed, with a long nose holding spectacles, and a receding chin. I guessed that she was in her mid to late fifties, but I could have been wrong. Her eyes seemed to be searching for something, for recognition, perhaps, of me or from me. I returned her gaze, and she smiled. It turned out that she had the seat next to me.

"Guten abend!" she said.

"Er, good evening."

"Oh, you are English. But you do not mind German music?"

"Of course not. The music is timeless, and the war was long ago."

"You have a kind heart, sir. It is music of love, after all."

"Yes. Music of young love."

"Love... And tragedy. How often the two seem to go together. Do you come to the symphony often?"

"Well, I'm travelling. But my late wife and I did occasionally go to concerts in London. I was always fond of Brahms."

"Ah, another German," she said. "Surely you love Elgar too?"

"Oh, yes. And Puccini."

She gave me a lovely smile, and nodded.

"So! Your tastes in music are cosmopolitan. I too love music. But I love most to see music played. I listen, and listen, and then, as the music comes to an end, the conductor holds the silence, holds his hand so that the applause may not begin, to let the music's natural life end, then with a subtle gesture of assent, the audience is allowed to show its thanks. Such silence, where so many are holding their breath, transported by what has been heard, such a concentration of emotion focussed on one tiny moment! I close my eyes, and I feel it. Maybe it has some power, something we can't see or understand, that can make something special happen."

"Yes, I think I know what you mean," I said.

"And your wife, she loved music too, then?"

"Oh, yes! We had similar beliefs about almost everything. We rarely argued. I was a very lucky man."

"I was lucky, too," she said. "My husband and I knew each other from when we were little. I could never understand people who became unhappy with each other. Jules loves coming to concerts too, but his work often calls him away. He frequently travels overseas, so I have to fill in my own time."

"And what does Jules do?"

"He works in the French Embassy. He is much loved and respected, and very important!"

"I've no doubt! And do you have children?"

"Yes," she said, "a son and a daughter. They both live away from us - Pierre is an artist, and he has found much success. He lives in Paris. And Anna has moved to England, to live with her husband. They are both scientists."