英日対訳:T.ビーチャム自叙伝A Mingled Chime第37章(1/2) 芸術と記憶/卒業生を子供扱いする教師の風土








During August the English Opera Company broke fresh ground by putting in a month at Blackpool, the Margate of the North, and this was a fortunate addition to the year's work, as it had given fewer performances during the summer season at Covent Garden than in any previous year, owing to the return of the Internationals. I went there myself for a few days, stayed at a country hotel halfway between Blackpool and Fleetwood, and before leaving, walked once more along the familiar road to Rossall. Since I left to go to Oxford in 1897 I had revisited the school once only, when I took the Halle orchestra and gave a concert in the hall where as a boy I used to play the piano. To my eye the place was beginning to lose much of its old attraction, quiet isolation: buildings were springing up where formerly there were fields, and the ancient landmarks had vanished or were hard to trace. I rarely contemplate returning to scenes after long absence from them without a nervous apprehension that I shall find a difference too great for my happiness; and it is the same with people whom I have not seen for many years. If I find much alteration in their appearance I am so uncomfortably embarrassed that I half wish I had not met them again. It is otherwise with those with whom we are in touch almost daily: they too alter, but imperceptibly, and preserve for us the semblance they wore when first we knew them. But where music is concerned, the passage of time has been powerless to change or modify my first attachments, and that which I loved as a youth still holds the foremost place in my regard. No matter if a generation go by without my hearing some strain of which I have affectionate remembrance, I always find undiminished the brightness of its original spell.  




Toward other arts, particularly painting and architecture, I have been unable to maintain this constancy of mood. Nearly every time I find myself after a lengthy interval in a great gallery like the Louvre or the Vatican, I am startled by the entirely different appearance of pictures which I have been carrying clearly in my mind’s eye the while, and I have a similar disconcerting experience with buildings, although here it is less a question of individual examples than of whole styles. In my earlier days, and I believe most young people share a like obsession, I was wholly wrapped up in Gothic: neither Romanesque nor Renaissance had any but the slightest interest for me, and as for Baroque I fled at the sight of it. Then gradually I began to see these other styles one by one with new eyes and to find in them points I was incapable of appreciating before. Reflecting on this experience, I have often conjectured whether the ear be an organ that retains its sensory faculties longer than the eye: or if it is that the pictorial and monumental arts are tangibly bound up with scenes, peoples, creeds, and philosophies of which our personal ideas and evaluations are continually changing, while music is after all in the last analysis devoid of association with any other definite thing in our consciousness.  




A well-known British statesman has told us that the only man alive who ever inspired him with awe was his former schoolmaster. At the height of his career and fame he never went down to his old school and into the presence of the Head, without feeling that he was in for a severe “jaw” or something worse. Similarly there was at Rossall one whom I had equally dreaded, and his pedagogical austerity had not diminished with the passing of time. He still addressed me in the style of twenty years back, only now and then pulling himself up for a moment to apologize for what he thought was a lapse into undue familiarity; but in ten seconds he had reassumed his wonted manner and was the terrifying old Dominie once again. This continuing consciousness of a pupillary state extending into mature manhood is characteristic of the public school, and I sometimes wonder if, despite the many other admirable features of its system, this particular one does not carry some disadvantage. Its conservation of the boyish element in the British character to which I have alluded, although questionable, is less baneful than the perpetuation of those numerous prejudices and inhibitions that separate the bulk of our ruling class from every other community of men. A member of the Government that was in oflace when the present war broke out had been visiting Rossall while in the North, and to his surprise had seen my name on boards as both the captain of my house and a member of the cricket eleven. A little while afterwards he met and said to a friend of mine, “You know, he can’t be a bad sort of fellow after all.” This attitude to music and musicians is peculiar to England; it exists nowhere else and is an abnormality of nineteenth century growth. Its possessors are under the melancholy impression that it is the mark of a sterner manhood, as if the Germans were any the less virile for the possession of over eighty permanent opera houses. If they could be persuaded to give a backward glance at their Elizabethan and Georgian ancestors who were busy creating that Empire which they themselves appear to have been almost equally absorbed in disrupting, they would discover that music played there a part nearly as important as in ancient Greece, also an historical epoch not wanting in heroic character. The simple truth is that the want of the musical sense is just as much of a deformity as the non-existence of an eye or any other organ, and means that the one truly international link between a hundred different peoples, separated by .the differences of language, customs, and institutions, has no place in their understanding. In other words, they are cut off from their fellow creatures in other lands in a way that no musician or musical person can ever be, either of whom feels completely at home in any circle whose culture joins his own on this common meeting ground. 





Rossall School is an independent co-educational boarding and day school for 0-18 years olds, situated on the coast in Fleetwood, Lancashire, United Kingdom. www.rossall.org.uk