A CONCERT by Gustav Leonhardt was not like anyother. He approached his harpsichord with the air ofa mortician, slightly flexing his long, delicatehands. As he played he sat bolt upright, gaunt andaquiline, unsmiling in his crisp, perfect suit, with hiselbows held close to his sides. No unnecessarygesture, no hint of emotion: senza baldanza, as acomposer might have marked it. He did not havethe look of a man on a mission. But he was.
古斯塔夫?莱昂哈特的演奏会与众不同。他带着一种殡仪师的气质慢慢走近他的羽管键琴,轻轻地扭动一下他那纤细修长的双手。在演奏时他的背挺得笔直,瘦削且轮廓分明,穿着一身干净得体的西装而表情严肃,手肘紧靠在身体两侧。没有花俏的手势,没有透露出一点情绪,作曲家可能会把这叫做缺乏自信。他看上去不像一个肩负使命的人,但他是的。
Mr Leonhardts life-work was to persuade the world how beautiful the harpsichord was, andhow the harpsichord repertoire should be played. When he first fell in love with it, in theshape of the fairly bad instrument his parents bought for their house at Graveland in theNetherlands, he recognised it as the king of keyboards. Organs were noble characters, and heplayed church organ for years. Virginals were pleasing; he wrote a book on Flemishexamples. But fortepianos were awful, the sound muffling all over the place when thehammer hit the keys, which put him off playing his beloved Mozart; and modern grands wereunspeakable. None had that direct pluck of plectrum on string for which he loved theharpsichordthough that mechanism was also fearsomely exacting, even diabolical, andthat was why he did not smile as he played.
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