The Healing Life of a Music Genius - Chapter 201



Only Noblemtl

201 Essence

* * *

A lyrical and beautiful melody repeats endlessly.

The left and right hands each have their own theme and create a story.

A type of fugue form.

Beethoven used multiple independent voices to express complex human emotions.

⌜Piano Sonata No. 33⌟ was clearly slow music, but each note of the score contained a variety of sounds, making it by no means easy to play.

Just when I thought I understood one topic, another one would appear, and just when I was getting used to that topic, another one would pop up.

The sounds each had their own voice.

They willingly express their emotions as if they were living creatures.

At that time, the sound of the violin located in that high melody is expressed through the piano.

Such a delicate sound.

It’s so terribly sad and pitiful······.

Even after so many years had passed, it still felt like I felt pity for him.

But Beethoven tried to make this piece beautiful.

Traces of notes being modified to avoid being consumed by sadness and loneliness remain in this score.

Traces that I wouldn’t have noticed if I had seen the score in a published version.

I didn’t have time to write neatly······.

It was as if the moment I created this score was being pictured before my eyes.

I played the last part of the third movement of the Piano Sonata No. 33.

Music that should never end like this.

Beethoven hasn’t even finished telling his story yet······.

The melody fades away without any trace.

After I finished playing, I spent some time with my hands still on the keyboard.

Thinking back to Beethoven’s last moments, I slowly read the sentence he scribbled at the end of the third movement.

“Selbst das Verständnis des Herzens einer Person scheint unmöglich zu sein······.”

You may not even be able to properly understand one person’s heart.

“Ich will das, was ich in meiner Hand habe, noch nicht loslassen······.”

Because I still don’t want to let go of what I have in my hands.

“Have I a chance?”

Do I have a chance too?

Since I discovered that this piece is related to String Quartet No. 16, I have made a lot of progress.

First, we can now see all the instructions and notes that Beethoven wrote on the score.

⌜String Quartet No. 16⌟, which scholars have studied for a long time.

⌜Piano Sonata No. 33⌟, which is believed to have been composed around the same time.

I tried to figure out the intention of this piece by recalling the thoughts and feelings that Beethoven had at the time, and by thinking mainly about sentences that he might have written, I was able to read the score without difficulty.

A vague picture of Beethoven’s story began to form in my head.

I was slowly changing his music into my own.

He took his hands off the piano keys and stood up from his seat.

The calendar hanging on the wall had seven red check marks drawn on it.

Now you have a week to spend at Music Chapel.

‘I have to practice the concerto from time to time during the remaining period······.’

It seemed very tight to complete ⌜Piano Sonata No. 33⌟.

Chapel began to feel increasingly deserted.

Participants who used to frequently appear in the lobby or study interpreting Beethoven’s scores began spending most of their time in their rooms, concentrating on practicing.

The number of people who eat lunch boxes delivered to their rooms for breakfast, lunch, and dinner has also increased.

I walked down the quiet hallway and into the lobby.

There was no sound other than the faint hum of the air conditioner.

I opened the wooden door in the lobby and went outside.

In a small garden filled with blooming flowers, several nameless birds were chattering among themselves.

I turned my head and looked at the second floor of the mansion.

Someone must have opened the window slightly, as the melody of a piano could be faintly heard here.

A sad and yet sad melody.

The piano was expressing despair, if not sadness.

I listened to the sound for quite a while and then continued walking as usual.

While thinking about various things.

* * *

“You have to pay more attention to legato there.”

“You have to treat rests like notes. This song definitely has a lot of pauses.”

“Can’t you play a little softer? You have to follow what’s written in the score faithfully.”

A boy about ten years old sitting on a windowsill.

He kept talking to Jankovsky.

Jankovsky tried hard to ignore the man’s approach and played the ⌜Piano Sonata No. 33⌟ with great concentration until the end.

The boy clapped his hands as if he was happy to see that.

Yankovsky stared at him and then said quietly.

“Come to think of it, the window was open······. I didn’t notice because of my brother.”

“Oh. Sorry. I’ll get out of the way.”

The boy playfully got up from his seat and pressed himself against one of the walls, and Yankovsky trudged over to him and closed the window.

After entering Music Chapel, his appearance began to become clearer.

Since I was out and about with a lot of people, there were quite a few times when I didn’t notice him unless I was conscious of it.

In Chapel, he was becoming more and more realistic, perhaps because he spent most of his time in this room.

Yankovsky absentmindedly reached out to him.

The boy tilted his head slightly and then grabbed Yankovsky’s hand tightly.

“how is it?”

“······.”

“Don’t worry. I will always protect you.”

“······.”

Jankowski’s shirt with the sleeves slightly rolled up.

There were burn scars on his arms, and the boy looked at them with a bitter expression.

“I’m sorry, Oleg. I should have done better back then.”

“······.”

“Were you sick?”

Yankovsky lowered his sleeves and shook his head.

“No. If it weren’t for my brother, I would have died in that fire. And I’m not sick. The doctor said there was nothing wrong.”

“But Oleg, your hands shake sometimes. Is it because you’re sick?”

“that······.”

“I’m sorry. I should have been more like you. You’re hurting your little brother like this.”

“······.”

Oleg Yankovsky’s older brother, Ivan Yankovsky.

Ivan patted Oleg on the arm.

Oleg closed his eyes tightly.

A feeling that feels real.

It’s been a long time already······.

Looking at my brother who still looked like that, I felt like I forgot that it was a welcome sight and wanted to hug him.

Otherwise, I felt like I was going to burst into tears.

Fantasy.

Hallucination.

But Oleg knew full well that he was like that.

He wasn’t crazy.

This is just······.

just······.

Oleg opened his eyes.

The man who had been comforting himself until just a moment ago was gone.

There was no trace of him anywhere.

In the past, his older brother Ivan, who saved Oleg from a fire and lost his life instead.

Ivan Yankovsky was a pianist who was called the ‘Star of Russia’ and was a genius among geniuses who performed with the Mariinsky Orchestra at the age of 10.

My brother was very kind.

Ivan introduced Oleg to music and the piano, and Oleg always liked his older brother.

Oleg could not keep up with Ivan, who had been showing overwhelming skill since childhood.

The gap in skill is clearly visible.

People only paid more attention to Ivan, the older brother.

But every time that happened, Ivan took better care of his younger brother.

Even with his busy performance schedule, Ivan prioritized time with Oleg.

We shared delicious snacks, went to the playground together, and talked about music.

That guy······.

It disappeared in a minor fire accident.

It was about two years after the accident that Oleg began to have visions.

At first, I really thought my brother had returned.

For some reason, he felt that people were lying to him.

Still, it was good.

Because I was able to be with the brother of my dreams again.

but.

Reality was cruel.

‘Oleg. What do you mean? My brother is back alive?’

‘Honey. I think we need to take you to the hospital······.’

‘There is no such thing. Look at reality. Oleg. You are now a star of Russia.’

‘You can do it like your brother. Now you can play the piano just as well as him.’

‘Get rid of it. You’re the most popular person in Russia right now!’

Oleg decided to keep his mouth shut.

I didn’t bother to tell my doctor about my hallucinations, and even though he was suspicious at first, he soon concluded that it was probably due to stress.

That’s how Oleg Yankovsky lived until now.

The music that my brother couldn’t finish······.

Instead, to continue.

To play the piano all my life, until I die.

Oleg Yankovsky absolutely had to win first place in the competition.

Second place wasn’t enough.

If he wanted to get even a little closer to the fame of his brother, who was called the Star of Russia, that wasn’t enough.

Jankovsky sat down at the piano again.

And I pressed the keys while looking at Beethoven’s score.

‘I may not even be able to properly understand one person’s heart······.’

‘I still don’t want to let go of what I have in my hands.’

‘Do I have a chance?’

Thinking back to the last words Beethoven left in his Piano Sonata No. 33······.

He continued playing.

* * *

Time spent at the Music Chapel passed equally for everyone.

Among the 12 participants, there were some who had a good understanding of Beethoven’s music, while others did not.

Some people gave up on analyzing the score halfway through and interpreted the piece in their own way.

Some people have found connections between ⌜Piano Sonata No. 33⌟ and other works and created quite excellent performances.

Some people have interpreted this work in a completely different way.

But they all faced this music confidently as musicians.

Each person creates their own unique music by reflecting on their own experiences.

Those who are suffering from loss.

Even those who are overcoming loss.

There are also musicians who have been consumed by the past.

A pianist who lives today through the past.

Everyone is making music.

In this Music Chapel, cut off from the world and where time seems to have stopped.

They all sat down at the piano.

Neither sorrow nor grief could stop them.

Joy and happiness may excite them, but they cannot hold them.

Some say.

Don’t musicians who play instruments like the piano or violin just look at the sheet music and play it?

He asks whether anyone can become a great performer if they only have machine-like skills.

But this is wrong.

Musicians’ performances are filled with thoughts and emotions.

Even if one note is played, its meaning can be interpreted completely differently depending on the person.

Even if you play the same piece of music, the results can be completely different depending on the performer’s tone.

The difference is so obvious that you might ask, ‘Is this really the same music?’

The people who try to create such things every day are the performers.

Of course, the goal of those who came to Music Chapel was clear.

To win the competition by completing unique music that is on a different level from others.

however.

They were musicians before.

Those who want to express their thoughts and emotions through music.

They were gathered at the Music Chapel, which could be called a gateless hall.

A boy here leaves the room after a long time of thinking.

And after walking a few steps, I find myself standing in front of a door.

Two knocks.

After a little more time had passed, two more knocks followed.

The door opens.

The boy asked him.

Would you like to go for a walk?

Would you like to cool your head for a moment?

The boy who felt a deep sadness in his music······.

I reached out to him first.

As fellow musicians.

As perhaps the one person who understands his music best.

Just as someone had breathed life into the soulless boy, the boy also wanted to do the same.

In this place, completely cut off from the outside world.

They try to get one step closer to the essence of music.

As if he knew all the reasons why Music Chapel was created.

The boy behaved like that.