Author's Notes

The heavy looking man with the huge white beard turns round and bows to his audience. They know him well and greet him with warm applause. Then he turns back to the stage. 69 members of the Helsinki Philharmonic Orchestra look at approximately one thousand and six hundred people. The 11th chief conductor of the orchestra, Leif Segerstam, raises his hands, and time stands still.
His palms form an invisible triangle, his head makes an unexpected turn. Suddenly Sibelius emerges from the instruments and flows through the air of the Finlandia-talo, the famous concert hall of Helsinki, designed by Alvar Aalto.
His music takes my mind back to the Hotel Kämp, which I had left an hour ago. There Sibelius had found friends, kindred spirits, a home away from home. Days and nights passed in discussion, inspiration, illumination. On the wings of his second symphony I am inventing this little tale, set in Helsinki of the year 1887. Here it is:
For years a restaurant, called Opera Cellar, was the gathering point for students, among them a group of young musicians. One day Carl Kämp, the owner of the restaurant, announced his plans to move his premises from the much-beloved cellar to a new hotel, which he had bought. One of his young guests rose and said: ‘This posh new hotel will be much too expensive for all of us. Sad, dear Kämp, that we will not meet again.’
Kämp looked at them astonished and said softly: ‘For you, dear friends, there will always be a place under my roof.’
‘And when I am a famous composer, I will celebrate each of my premiers at your new restaurant!’ another young man exclaimed.
‘May I take your reservation, Sir?’ Kämp replied laughingly.
‘The name is Sibelius. My friends call me Janne, dear Kämp.’
It took years until Sibelius, the greatest of all Finnish composers, returned from his studies in Berlin and Vienna. When he touched Finnish soil again he had not forgotten Carl Kämp and made his way to the restaurant at the Hotel Kämp, which he made his personal retreat for many years to come. This is how it could have been . . .
The next morning Laura Kolbe, a Helsinki Professor for History, takes her dog and myself for a walk. We stroll up a hill overlooking the harbour. Ferry ships from Sweden arrive. Professor Kolbe looks into the sky, then down again and explains: ‘Unlike many other European capitals, Helsinki has no medieval city centre. Helsinki is a town of the sea. In the arms of the sea lies the destiny of Helsinki, safely enveloped. The town has grown out on a peninsula, out of the sea, towards the sea, the blue field of Helsinki. It meant access to Europe, connections, freedom, dreams and interaction. The sea opens up towards the south, where it meets the European continent, signifying trade, harbours and wealth, whereas the sky symbolizes the inland, its stability and homeliness. Between those two blues are the roots of the natives of Helsinki.
‘The sea creates visual effects, scents and sounds, reflecting four distinct seasons. Out of the open sea, the wind, humid and cold, blows in the life of Helsinki. In the summer, it is a nice, warm, refreshing breeze. During the cool days of autumn, the sea, with the warmth of the summer, works up a mist wrapping the town in its arms. In the winter the frozen sea – all white and bright – glimmers, attracting bait fishers, skiers and promenade lovers. When the ice melts away, or “leaves” as we say, Helsinki is finally set free, waking up invigorated, towards the light and life of the summer. The sea is present in the bevy of wild ducks and the flocks of screaming sea gulls flying over roof tops, visible in the surface of primary rocks, smooth to touch. It is heard in the reeds, rustling by the seaside streets. You can smell the sea everywhere.’

Andreas Augustin

» Add to cart for 28,00 EUR + S&H | View Cart