My Favorte Pianists ルービンシュタインという
その本は当時原書(英語Faber & Faber 1984)を
A.R.: I’m taking this suite for the time being – for my stay in the United States. We used to keep an apartment in New York, but I am a born hotelier. I am a hotel man. I married only when I was forty-five, and I have always lived in hotels. I love them.
Mrs.Rubinstein: [serving Caffee]: You know something? So do I.
A.R.: You have the possibility of room service, breakfast in bed. In an apartment, you don’t have such services, and there is in a hotel a certain ani…anim…
A.R.:Anonimon-what’s it again?
Mrs.R.: Anonimity, my darling, anonymity.
A.R.: That’s it. There’s certainly that in a hotel.
G.G.:I’m a motel man myself. In my opinion, the motel is one of the great inventions of Western man. The idea of having one’s bill to society paid in advance, of having the option to check out whenever you feel so inclined – I think that’s a great psychological gift.
I have a couple of of motels that I go to twice a year or so along the north shore of Lake Superior – a fantastic route, the most extraordinary scenery in central North America.
A.R.: Lake Superior ? The north shore?
G.G.: Yes. There’s a town every fifty miles or so. Most of them are lumber towns or mining towns, and they have an extraordinary identity, each of these towns, because they have all grown up around one industry or one plant that has built up the town.
A.R.: A sort of hierarchy, then?
G.G.: Yes, yes indeed. They ‘re run paternalistically, and being there is like taking part in a scene from Kafka. But I go there to a motel and write for a few days , and if I could arrange it, it’s really the sort of place in which I would like to spend my life.
A.R.: You see, this is something that I have understood about you from the first moment when we talked. You remember my first question was " Why don’t you like to play?" I knew about you a long time before you came out with the " Goldberg" Variations – I was vastly interested. But suddenly you just abandoned the field, so to say, and that was a tremendous astonishment. It was very strange, and I ‘ve thought a lot about it because it is a great loss.
G.G.: Records don’t count?
A.R.: Of course, of course, they count, and radio and TV, but they all deprive us of that personal impact that I too, after all, need. But I have the feeling you will come back to it, you know.
G.G.: Oh, I ‘ll never go back to giving concerts.
A.R.: I would think so.
G.G.: No, no.
A.R.: Think of my words.
G.G.: I will, I promise. But I also promise that if this is a bet, you will lose it.
A.R.: But was there never a moment when you felt that very special emanation from audience?
G.G.: There really wasn’t. There were moments when I felt I was giving a good performance, but…
A.R.: But you never felt that you had the souls of those people?
G.G.: I didn’t really want their souls, you know. Well, that’s a silly thing to say. Of course, I wanted to have some influence, I suppose , to shape their lives in some way, to do " good, " if I can put an old-fashioned word on it, but I didn’t want any power over them, you know , and I certainly wasn’t stimulated by their presence as such. Matter of fact, I always played less well because of it.
A.R.: There we are , absolute opposites, you know. We are absolute opposites!See, I will tell you something. Don’t laugh at me , please, because it is ridiculous , maybe, but I cannot help it. Yo see, I have a feeling that we have a power in us. You know , there is always a word that nobody has been able to explain, there is no expliqué – nothing – to lead you toward an answer as to what it means, yet all the languages use it so frequently that it has become an everday word. The word " soul ," " l’ame", "anima" – what the hell is " anima"?Where is it?
to be continued to the next blog chapter....