Professor Obedofel said, gesturing at the wall. Ma Sicong looked over and saw a magnified photo hanging there, with a huge head filling the picture. The skull resembled an inverted triangle, with a wide and large bare forehead, emaciated cheeks, and a pointed chin. This dignity is unfamiliar to Ma Sicong.
"His name is Bi Nengpeng, a composition professor with an eccentric personality, a withdrawn temper, and a peculiar style." Obedofel said, "His works, almost no one wants to play. It took me four months to rehearse his quartet – his work was very difficult. ”
Ma Sicong's brows couldn't help frowning, and he didn't understand why Professor Obedofell had found such a strange teacher for him.
"Silang, Xilang." Obedophil shouted.
The young man who opened the door just now came in response. Obedophil and the young man, his son Silang, one picked up the violin, and the other sat down at the piano.
"I'm sorry, but I can only replace the quartet with a duet today." Obedophil said to Ma Sicong.
The professor's father and son played Bi Nengpeng's work. Ma Sicong was immediately attracted by the sound of the piano, which caused a strong resonance in his heart.
"What a peculiar and deep melody!" Ma Sicong exclaimed.
"How, do you like his style?" Obedophil asked.
"Great!" Ma Sicong smiled.
Another week passed. It's still Sunday. Early in the morning, Ma Sicong left Paris, took a half-hour train ride, and came to a quiet farmstead. In a woods covered with thick shade, Ma Sicong heard the sound of the piano, followed the sound of the piano, and found a wooden villa. Although the brownish wooden beams indicate that the house is old, the upper and lower floors are very spacious. Around the house, the grape trellis is clear, as if carved out of jasper.
A balding old man cast a bright glance at Ma Sicong, his head larger than in the photo.
Ma Sicong took out Professor Oberdofer's handwritten letter.
"Oh, horse, please be seated. I am very happy to accept a student from China. The old man did not read the letter, but said, "Obedofer is an old friend of mine, and he has told me what you mean." I heard that you wrote "Seven Ancient Words", you can pull it to me..."
Under the grape trellis, Ma Sicong played "Seven Ancient Words".
"What else do you have?" After hearing this, he seemed to be in high spirits.
"There are a few more, more childish." Ma Sicong said embarrassedly, "That was a song I wrote when I was twelve years old. One is called "The Sorrow of the Moon", which I wrote after reading a Chinese fairy tale; The other is called "Xiang Yu Wujiang Self-Killing". Xiang Yu was a defeated hero in Chinese history, riding a thousand-mile horse, and after his defeat, he killed himself in Wujiang. My elementary school history teacher told the story of Xiang Yu. With my own imagination, I wrote about the sound of horses' hooves, the sound of the river, the sound of neighing, and the sound of sorrow. ”
"Okay, please use your violin to tell me these fascinating Chinese stories..."
Ma Sicong picked up the violin again.
Unlike Professor Oberdofer, Professor Bünenpong kept his eyes on the performers, tilting his huge head slightly and listening carefully.
"I appreciate the Chinese style of your work. For a composer, it is most important for the work to reflect the style of the nation. "Of course, from your works, you can hear that you have not learned harmony, counterpoint, and lack the most basic composition skills. Well, let's start with harmony and teach twice a week. Either you come up to me; If I have something to do to go to Paris, I'll give you a lesson in your dormitory. You have to be careful - I don't have a lot of classes, but a lot of homework! Well, let's start the first lesson now..."
Soon, Ma Sicong discovered that this composer who lived in the countryside was eccentric but enthusiastic, not much but philosophical, serious in composition and indifferent to fame and fortune, knowledgeable and serious in teaching.
Every time he went to his villa to attend classes, he always entertained Ma Sicong for lunch, always potatoes, cucumbers, green peppers, onions and bread, and never opened meat. "I like vegetarian food." "Because I'm a vegetarian, I've never been sick, not even a fever. ”
He wrote many works, changed and changed, bound up a book of staves and put them in the cabinet. It is neither published nor performed. "Once a work is finished, I don't care about it anymore. What about publishing? Or do you put it in a cupboard? It's the same for me. Then he said indignantly, "Who wants to buy my tunes?" Who can play my tunes? Those people had long been accustomed to playing comfortably and effortlessly, and only the occasional man like Oberdofer would take the effort to rehearse my difficult pieces. ”
Parallel octaves. Parallel fifths. In every class, he would really assign a lot of homework. He thinks that the key to composition is to be able to "compose" music after knowing harmony, and doing more practice is "composition", which is the initial creation. "Try to be as strict as possible when you study, and try to be as free as possible when you create." He repeatedly stressed his teaching principles to Ma Sicong.
Ma Sicong works hard. The noisy Paris, after midnight, gradually calmed down, only occasionally from a distance to hear one or two car horns, Ma Sicong is still immersed in writing. Whenever he handed over his homework to Bi Nengpeng, Bi Nengpeng immediately put on reading glasses, took a pencil from Ma Sicong's hand by the way, and changed it. After changing it for a while, Bi Nengpeng put the pencil in his pocket. Then, from Ma Sicong's hand, he grabbed a pencil and changed it. After finishing his homework, he put almost all of Ma Sicong's pencils into his pocket. When they met next time, he smiled and returned a bunch of pencils to Ma Sicong, and said, "I always have such a habit of carrying pencils in my pocket." For a while, I was teaching several students at the same time, and when I came home, I found a lot of pencils in my pocket! "Ma Sicong, knowing the teacher's habitual action, simply bought several dozen pencils for backup!
Although the professor is 58 years old and Ma Sicong is only 18 years old, the age difference between them is exactly 40 years, but they have become friends who have forgotten their years.
Music has connected the hearts of two generations, and there is nothing left to talk about. Ma Sicong gradually realized that the lessons he received from Professor Bi Nengpeng were not from the classroom, but from walks in the woods and chatting after tea and dinner.
Bi Nengpeng has many incisive views on music and art, and he talks eloquently about Ma Sicong, but always says: "This does not mean that you should listen to my point of view." You should think for yourself. Because I was able to have today, I thought I benefited from independent thinking! ”
Bi Nengpeng discusses the music masters of ancient and modern times. He said to Ma Sicong with great emotion: "Many composers today think that they can cut ties with the past to create today's things. I guess that's wrong. A history of music is a complete chain that cannot be disjointed. Today's composers should learn a lot from the works of the past. ”