musicians of old

Chapter 899 Nighttime Travelogue (Part Two): A Picture of Stars including Chopin, Schumann, and Mendelssohn

Both of Liszt's double images disappeared.

He transformed into a complete starlight that blended brilliance and tranquility.

Then, another long, silvery-white "stardust tide" was silently drawn together, drawn by those later followers who had struggled with the contradiction between skill and introspection.

Almost at the same moment that the "stardust tide" merged into the lamp, Fanning "heard" another sound.

Layers appeared in the deep sea where the light points were suspended, and a sound seeped out from a melancholy dark river below—a pale blue gem, trembling slightly like a heart, emitting a delicate and sorrowful luster, like frozen tears, with endless distance and a homeland that could never be returned to solidified within.

Polish piano poet Frédéric Chopin.

Fan Ning followed the glimmer of light into the dark river, reading and writing the fragmented lines of poetry within, which carried the chill of snowflakes.

Chopin's ghost sits before a piano made of memories, his fingers hovering over the keys, unable to fall, gazing only at the blurry phantom outside the window.

Fanning gently plucks and taps the guitar, using the rustic mazurka rhythm from Polish country dances as an introduction.

The rhythm was clumsy, even somewhat rough, yet it carried the scent of the homeland's soil and the fragrance of the pine forest.

"My heart wandered and drifted, and was left behind on the banks of the Vistula River." The pianist's melancholy eyes were filled with tears.

“No, you’ve taken it to every corner of the world, and it beats every night when I’m homesick.” Fan Ning shook his head solemnly.

Chopin's figure also vanished silently, and the pale blue jewel-like starlight merged into the "Night Watchman's Lamp," infusing it with a clear and profound spring.

In the deathly silent "Sea of ​​Sounds and Remains," various elements of light with "meaning" began to stir even more.

Although "emptiness" remains the primary element, and "light is no light," these faint echoes have already created distinct layers between different regions.

The "Sea of ​​Sound Remains" has become a "Land of Echoes".

Fan Ning looked at a peculiar layer beside him, a strange crack cleaved open by an invisible force. On one side was a boiling, dark red filled with chaotic whispers, and on the other side was an overly regular silver-gray with a cold metallic luster.

Robert Schumann, another "New Moon" of the Romantic era, is also one of the most important music critics in music history.

He used fictional characters such as "Florestan" and "Eusebius" to criticize current affairs and introduced emerging talents such as Chopin and Brahms in the form of dialogues. He emphasized the literary and poetic expression of music, and his concept of "future music" became the forerunner of Wagner's music drama reform.

But these two layers of reasoning flickered even more intensely as Fanning approached, projecting a heartbreaking scene where paradoxical rationality and restlessness intertwined and tore at each other, almost on the verge of disintegration.

Schumann's ghost seems to still linger by the Rhine River's phantom, the whole world is an endless, eternal noise, his expression is extremely split, switching rapidly between ecstasy and pain, his hands smashing countless broken musical phrases on the invisible piano keys.

“Master, we have heard both of your voices, and we love them both deeply.” Fan Ning spoke calmly, as if taking a walk along the river, as he navigated through the dangerous and contradictory torrent.

“They are singing in my head, so loudly, so loudly!” Schumann’s vocal cords trembled painfully.

"Then let them sing! The world needs Florestan's flame, and it needs Euthybius's starry sky!" Fanning responded with a moment of reminiscence in several musical phrases, unleashing the passionate torrent of "Carnival" and paying homage to the vast starlight of "Dichterliebe".

Those dangerous and tangled layers floated up in sync with Fanning's stroll.

"The star map of romanticism, how magnificent and beautiful." Fan Ningjing smiled quietly.

He strolled through the crystal-clear courtyard, where the fountains stood silent, the water frozen in mid-air, like frozen time. Mendelssohn's ghost stared blankly toward the archway.

"They love my perfection, yet they seem to think those dreams aren't profound enough," the ghost sighed softly.

“Masterpieces created in one’s youth are themselves the purest and most miraculous geniuses, needing no heavy ‘depth’ to crown them,” he said during the pilgrimage.

He saw a frozen lake, on which a masquerade ball was being held. People wearing smiling masks twirled around, while Tchaikovsky's ghost stood alone in the center of the lake, his gaze tormented, staring through the ice at the burning black flames below. "Look how beautifully this dance is performed, doesn't it resemble an elaborately planned funeral?" the ghost mocked himself.

“I have also written about funerals. Only in the deepest, most deathly darkness can the light of redemption and resurrection shine through,” he told me during his pilgrimage.

He then entered a study filled with sheet music, where the ghost of Brahms, a dignified old man with a large beard, was pondering the rough score of his First Symphony. The firelight from the fireplace illuminated him, while the intimate, love-letter-like fragments of the Intermezzo were always restrained and suppressed beneath the score.

"I build my church, with silent bricks and stones, and with a lifetime of retreat," the ghostly voice said bitterly.

"Your silence became the most sincere confession, and your retreat built another peak that no one can surpass," he told the pilgrim during his pilgrimage.

He was still walking through a warm yet melancholic band of light, the thick fog like the white breath exhaled in winter. Schubert's ghost sat at the end of the tavern, his face showing signs of illness and fatigue, gazing longingly at the people coming and going outside the window.

"I have too many songs, and the night is too short." The ghost's words carried a heartbreaking sincerity and sorrow.

“Every song of yours has become a spark for a sleepless night,” he told the pilgrim during his tour.

He genuinely appreciated the grandeur of this era, admiring the magnificent sunset that filled the entire sky, a tapestry of gold, red, and indigo.

As he approached the end, he looked back and heard the ghost of Richard Strauss singing a tune on the mountaintop of the horizon there, "Twilight" from "The Last Four Songs".

The sorrow of parting, the sadness, the unspoken words, yet the inevitable words.

"I composed the sunset, using all the colors in the world." The ghost's voice at the end carried a hint of pride, yet also a touch of sorrow.

“I have also experienced ‘the end,’ which is the inevitable path Zarathustra took on the journey to becoming ‘Superman.’” Fanning said, glancing one last time at the fading light.

Yes, Nietzsche once said, "Love fate."

As a truly great soul, he not only accepted his fate, but also loved it all, including its inevitable end.

Richard Strauss, who was also at the end of his rope, would surely understand this.

The dazzling "starlight" converged into a strange and brilliant torrent, heading towards Fanning's direction.

And there's more, and more.

Those corners that Fanning never had a chance to explore.

All the sparks of light possessing the qualities of Romanticism were spontaneously drawn to this strange torrent. He saw Shelley's radical pursuit of freedom, echoing Keats' eternal song of yearning for beauty. He saw Delacroix's canvas of color frenzy, merging with Turner's bizarre and turbulent storms!
After experiencing its most magnificent and dazzling spectacle, this deep sea has finally quieted down again, returning to its ancient, dark, and lifeless state.

Just like when the guests have left a banquet, the drinker sits alone in the hall.

Fan Ning had experienced this feeling before. In the first segment, "Night Pilgrimage," this sense of loneliness and loss was so profound and chilling that it felt like being separated from all things in the world and falling.

But that was once.

Fan Ning's mindset is different now.

The afterglow of those myriad stars never faded; I held them all in my hands, using them to illuminate the darkness and guide my way.

Fanning's heart is calm and full.

Moreover, since the decision has been made to undertake the most thorough pilgrimage, and since it is necessary to continue descending into the deepest parts of the void realm...
In such an unusual environment, he suddenly had a whimsical idea.

"Could we take this opportunity to cross the fifth level of the 'Gate of Polar Night'?"