The Universal Language
On Friday night, we went to a concert that I'd bought tickets for at Christmas, but it took on a special significance this week: the NHK Symphony Orchestra of Japan, conducted by Andre Previn, with Kiri Te Kanawa singing the "Four Last Songs" of Richard Strauss.
Before the concert, with the orchestra seated onstage, a spokesperson for the Place des Arts made a short speech. In typical Montreal fashion, it was delivered frst in French and then in English, expressing our sympathy to the Japanese people and acknowledging that the concert was an opportunity for us to be together in sadness and support. She welcomed Japan's ambassador to Canada, who was present, and the Japanese consul in Montreal. Then the orchestra's president came onstage, and spoke in Japanese, followed by a Japanese translator who repeated his words in French.
And then the conductor came on stage, supported by a cane - the aged, stooped and shuffling Andre Previn - and the orchestra began Bach's Air on the G String, in memory of those who have died. At the end, the entire audience rose to its feet.
Living in Montreal, I'm constantly aware of my language deficiencies. I've heard it said that some 130 languages are spoken here; at lunch with friends yesterday the conversation moved rapidly from French to Spanish to English and back again with an ease I envy and admire. After several years, my French is definitely improving; I read it well, can communicate in simple sentences, and understand much more of what's spoken than I ever thought possible. I've got a long ways to go.
But there is one written language in which I'm absolutely fluent, and that's music. Nobody talks about it very much as a language - of course we do, in general, but in the literal sense of a written language consisting of signs that the brain must learn and practice until one can easily decipher it, reproduce the symbols in one's head or in sound and thereby make meaningful -- not so much. Yet is there any language as universal as this? Western musical notation isn't the only way of writing symbols for musical ideas, but it is accepted, taught, and used all over the world by musicians who cannot begin to communciate with each other in a shared, spoken language. I find that incredibly wonderful. And for music that is not written down, skilled practitioners from any part of the world can still listen, pick up the rhythm or melodies or musical patterns, and join in -- and listeners can share it.
What we experienced last night was not a question of extraordinary music or performance, but of the unity of emotion that music can evoke. After singing the final words of the sublimely beautiful Strauss songs, -- "ist dies etwas der Tod?" / "is this, perhaps, Death?" written at the very end of the composer's life, Kiri Te Kanawa stood motionless as the orchestra played to the end. Then she turned to Andre Previn, and to the first violinist, who had played so well, and wiped tears from her own eyes. There were many Japanese people in the audience, who like me had probably bought tickets long ago, never expecting the catastrophies of last week. But the audience was representative of Montreal, too. We didn't share a spoken language, but it made no difference at all.
This is my contribution for the Language and Place Blog Carnival, hosted this month by Parmanu.
