The musician and the mermaid: a love story that touches the very soul of art

I began to explore the music of Leoš Janáček out of admiration for Milan Kundera, who speaks of him with great admiration in some of his books. However, being as ignorant as I am about the modern and contemporary musical world, I had not ventured much beyond his piano works, which are perhaps more ‘accessible’ to the untrained ear. Having now read an extraordinary novel that recounts the passionate nature of the Czech composer’s character, I feel I understand every note, and I am writing this article whilst immersed in his galloping "Sinfonietta", truly appreciating its grandeur. Thanks to a novel? Yes, thanks to "Il musicista e la sirena" by Leonetta Bentivoglio, now published by La Nave di Teseo. Leonetta knows more about dance and music than almost anyone else – do not be put off by the modesty with which she speaks of herself in the book – and she knows about theatre and poetry, as demonstrated by her articles in La Repubblica and her many books. I shall mention here only the most recent ones, published by Clichy: Pina Bausch – Una santa sui pattini a rotelle; Sylvia Plath – Il lamento della regina; *A Clear Confusion – For Patrizia Cavalli*. She also understands the art of storytelling, in the sense that many works she has read, both past and present, have shown her the way. A path that is magnificently lofty and contemporary – yet, in the sense that it is entirely different from the one taken by so many who write about real-life figures, without being able to invent anything to delve into the depths of their souls and those of the reader.

In "Il musicista e la sirena", the structure is particularly compelling, immediately enveloping the reader in mystery, because Bentivoglio, by placing herself personally within the story as author – researcher – translator, tells us of Janáček’s final diary, intended for the children of his great love, Kamila Stösslová, thirty-eight years his junior, who, over the course of a very long courtship, granted him just a single kiss whilst they lay in a meadow. But nothing was ever known of the diary, and the way in which Leonetta claims to have come into possession of it is very strange… Readers are strongly advised not to skip ahead to the final pages; instead, they should allow the narrative to unfold as intended. This is a love story, the tale of an overwhelming and unresolved passion that fuelled a musician’s genius, driving him almost to erotic and emotional madness. The fact that the object of this fixation, this constant and unsettling turmoil, was a woman of the utmost ignorance—who knew nothing of music or genius—nor even particularly beautiful, and, moreover, incapable of returning his love, is ultimately irrelevant. Yet it is a love story that stands out for the skilful way the author of the novel handles it, giving voice to her character whilst discreetly stepping in from time to time to shed light on something, to set a scene – perhaps by introducing their contemporaries Kafka and Freud – or to provide musical explanations.

“That creature resonated within me like music”: this is how Leoš Janáček describes his great love. And: “For me, music and the voice have always been everything.” Did he really mean that? Are these words attributed to him by the author who studied him for years, reading letters and biographies, and interpreted the ramblings that emerged from a dream? For this is how reality speaks to a writer and suggests scenes and words that are closer to the truth than the truth itself. And this is how a life recounted becomes a personal experience for the reader or listener. As Janáček himself maintained (and I could swear these are his very own words): “When teaching music, I asked my pupils to think first and foremost of an inner portrait of the piece they were to compose, before tackling issues concerning its formal structure.” If it is not always and in every case an inner portrait, where does art come from? And indeed, “music that comes solely from instruments lacks authenticity”. Just like fiction that comes solely from a plot.