Love Lost and Passion Vivante

Absence de Théophile Gautier

Reviens, reviens, ma bien aimée!
Comme une fleur loin du soleil
La fleur de ma vie est fermée
Loin de ton sourire vermeil.

Entre nos cœurs quelle distance !
Tant d’espace entre nos baisers !
O sort amer ! O dure absence !
O grand desires inapaisés !

Reviens, reviens, ma bien aimée !
[…]

D’ici là-bas, que de campagnes,
Que de villes et de hameaux,
Que de vallons et de montagnes
A lasser le pied des chevaux !

Reviens, reviens, ma bien aimée!
[…]

Absence by Théophile Gautier

Return, return, my much beloved!
Like a flower far from the sun
The flower of my life is closed
Far from your vermillion smile.

Between our heart what a distance!
So much space between our kisses!
Oh bitter fate! Oh cruel absence!
Oh grand desires unappeased!

Return, return, my much beloved!
[…]

From here to there, only countryside,
Only cities and hamlets,
Only valleys and mountains
To tire the feet of the horses!

Return, return, my much beloved!
[…]

“Reviens, reviens, ma bien aimée.” These were the words that echoed through my head all of last night. Along with two images: two boys hugging and an old man stepping slowly towards the podium.

Yesterday, I was happily surprised to receive two phone calls, one directly following the other, from friends I knew from Kunming who had just arrived in London. One of them, Aaliyah, a brilliant musician, called with the idea of heading to the London Philharmonic Orchestra to hear a well-known mezzo soprano. “It’s in French,” she taunted, “and I thought you’d appreciate that.”

And so I found myself meeting Aaliyah at Waterloo station just past six to walk over to the Queen Elizabeth Hall. When I was in London several years ago, I got lost wandering the streets from Waterloo to the National Theatre (the Queen Elizabeth Hall and the National Theatre are all part of the same South Bank Complex), missing an opera that I was supposed to see. This time, we found it easily with at least half an hour to spare, so we decided to grab a sandwich to go and to people watch along the Thames as we caught up on a summer of being apart.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but walking down a semi-secluded alleyway, we stumbled upon a scene that set the mood for the evening: a boy with red rings around his tear-filled eyes. He was crying, but trying not to. I say boy, but he was probably somewhere from 16–18 years old. Smartly dressed, he was meant to be going out for the evening. It was a Saturday evening afterall. Next to him stood another “boy” about his age in jeans a blue sports coat, trying to be comforting, but failing. The boy in the blue coat shifted awkwardly at being so exposed in public. After we had passed, I turned around to see the boy in the blue sports coat hugging the crying boy.

I can’t say for sure, but it looked to me very much as if the boy in the blue coat was breaking up with the crying one.

Later, as we sat in the concert hall listening to the mezzo-soprano sing the words above (part of a work by Berlioz called “Les nuits d’été,” “The Nights of Summer”), all I could think of was the image of the two boys hugging. I could imagine the words “return, return, my much beloved,” running through the crying boy’s head as he tried to deal with the shock of being dumped.

That was love lost, but there was a more inspiring moment from last night as well. It came as the conductor of the orchestra, Paavo Berglund, took the stage. In a scene that reminded me so much of the old man who I would pass on the way to work every morning (see American Anecdotes Part III, he came on supported by a cane in one hand, and a man in a tuxedo in the other. The man escorted him through the orchestra to the podium where, after some difficulty, he was seated on a rather high rotating chair. After he was settled, he swung around and began wihtout a word.

It seemed obvious. One doesn’t require the use of one’s feet to conduct, so why should that stop him? It was beautiful to see him continue to do what he is passionate about despite the difficulty he faces when doing it. A love not yet lost.