The sky was clear, at least for the time being. Light clouds floated overhead, hurrying to side with the denser and darker lump that had just passed and brought tremendous rain. The damp and dew-laden leaves glistened as the setting sun reflected off of them. There was a cool breeze in the air, that would eventually turn cold. But every wait had its reward.
I sat on the banks of the Hofvijver (pond), with my legs crossed, next to countless others who had braved the cold and rain earlier to attend this classic music concert. I had heard that under the direction of neeme Jaervi, the Residentie Orkest (Hague Symphony) had with a number of years become world-class, so this was not to be missed. The Buitenhof (parliament) buildings lay behind the stage, adorned by the echoes of the music in the air, or decorated with the tranquil reflection in the water surrounding it, taking on a completely different coat of class and wisdom in age. From time to time, I would temporarily close my eyes to collect myself… while at the same time, recollect the whole stunning atmosphere and combination of nature and man’s quest and conquest of beauty in music. Seagulls dipped in the pond like dragonflies, and circled the air in delicate motion.
Borodin’s famous piece from “Prince Igor” started off the evening. Captured the audience in sudden swings in between the tense marching of soldiers, and the elegant dances of the Polovetsian tribe. Ducks swam around the lake in sync, their movements and ripples seemed to match the music, as they danced to beautify the orchestra’s performance. Mussorgsky’s dashing piece of “Night on Bald Mountain”, which starts off frantically, echoing the danger and darkness of the looming night, but brightens towards the end with the sound of church bells and light clarinets signaling the rise of day. A lonely swan, snow-white, graceful and so majestic with its down outstanding in the dusk light, cruised the water with its neck held up high in elegance. The leaves moved to the music too, swaying in the wind ever so gently, as if afraid to move, but move it must because of the emotions that the music evoked.
Ravel’s crescending “Bolero” took the audience further into the evening. As the evening sky darkened, the music simultaneously got louder and louder. The same notes, soft flowing clarinets, hushed trumpets, flickering guitars and the stable undertone of drum beats, criss-crossed and met, circled and replayed themselves again and again. The crowd moved from side to side, to the music which got louder and louder, seemingly mesmerised like the way a snake would be under the skillful playing of an Indian guru. As the piece reached its climax with the clashing of symbols under the last stroke of the maestro’s elegant and agile directions, the crowd roared into applause, elated. People stood up and applauded continuously, wanting more. Brahm’s “Hungarian Dance No. 5” served as the crowd pleasing encore.
The ducks had disappeared, and the seagulls long gone home. But the music and memories linger, on and on.
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