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[fancy_pants]

[Schultz appears to be in the art room, where among other supplies and a few odd instruments there is a piano. He straightens the cuffs of his sleeves. His hat can be seen sitting atop it.]

This ought to be moved to the dining hall. I can imagine a fair many who might enjoy a little music with their meals from time to time.

[A soft, somewhat sad chuckle.]

I haven't been taken by the current flood, worry not, and such a harmless event. I almost regret it. As it is, since everyone is in a musical mood whether they wish to be or not -- I certainly do. And therefore, with that in mind, I thought I might join in anyhow, with a little offering of my own.

[A hand to his chest.] And my apologies in advance. I am no balladier, and it has been some time since the last time I played, but this is an old song from my home country, which became quite popular when I was a much younger man.

[And with that he sets the journal on a nearby worktable so that it continues to project a picture of him at the piano, and he begins to play. Whatever his assurances, his fingers are quite nimble and one wouldn't guess he didn't practice every day. The melody is soft and a little sad, and his voice is hardly fully polished and refined, but it is not unpleasant either. He can carry a tune. (ooc: And yes, it's a woman singing in the link. I didn't look for a man singing the same song. Use your imaginations!)]
 
Ich hab die Nacht geträumet
wohl einen schweren Traum,
es wuchs in meinem Garten
ein Rosmarienbaum.

Ein Kirchhof war der Garten,
das Blumenbeet ein Grab,
und von dem grünen Baume
fiel Kron und Blüte ab.

Die Blüten tät ich sammeln
in einem goldnen Krug,
der fiel mir aus den Händen,
daß er in Stücke schlug.

Draus sah ich Perlen rinnen
und Tröpflein rosenrot:
Was mag der Traum bedeuten?
Ach Liebster, bist du tot?


(ooc: Translation, according to the youtube page: "Last night I had a heavy dream. A Rosemary tree was growing in my garden. The garden was a churchyard, the flowerbed a grave. Flowers fell from the green trees, and I collected them in a golden pitcher, which fell from my hands and broke into pieces. I saw red droplets running out of it. What does this dream mean? Are you dead, my love?")

Comments

[deadly_ned]

That was beautiful.

And German. I wish I understood it but it's German and I don't speak it. But it sounded beautiful even though it didn't quite go understood.

[fancy_pants]

It tell the story of a dream. The dreamer sees a rosemary tree growing in his or her garden, but the garden was in actuality a churchyard, and the place where all of their lovely flowers had been planted was, in fact, a grave. As flowers begin to fall from the trees, the dreamer tries to collect them in a golden pitcher, which due to clumsiness or sheer misfortune falls and breaks, and the dreamer sees blood. Waking, the dreamer ponders on the meaning of the dream and worries their true love is dead.

Not as upbeat as my usual fare but I was feeling nostalgic.

[deadly_ned]

That's less beautiful. And more sad.

Do you worry that your true love is dead?

[fancy_pants]

I honestly haven't the faintest idea. [He totally is, however.]

I remember this song, pretty though it is, would make my wife so very anxious. Mmm, perhaps it's not the right word. It moved her to an excess of affection.

[deadly_ned]

People who think they're about to die or are musing constantly on the idea of death naturally appreciate every minute they're given. It's...natural your wife would be more affectionate when you talk about eternal separation.

[fancy_pants]

I do not disagree with this sentiment. She was rather a tender, lonesome person.

[deadly_ned]

She sounds like a lovely, wonderful person.

[strangehistorian]

How beautiful!

[Clapclapclap]

[fancy_pants]

Why thank you, Fraulein!

[most_feared]

[Oh god, this song is a little bit of heartbreak for him right now. Not even a little bit.] You've got an admirable singin' voice, sir.

[And a knack for choosing some heartwrenching numbers.]

[fancy_pants]

That is most kind of you to say but I am certainly not known for a virtuoso.

[most_feared]

Neither am I, but sometimes you can hear someone really feelin' it. If that makes any sense.